15. Chapter Fifteen - Reed
Reed
T he door clicks shut behind her, the soft rumble of her suitcase wheels fading down the hallway.
And I slowly sink onto her bed, paralyzed. Just like that, it's over. It feels too sudden, too unceremonious. Too soon .
All of a sudden, the room that was filled with her giggle, her moans, her teasing banter, just like that it’s eerily quiet, only the sound of my heart thundering in my chest filling the silence.
How can I feel this broken over a woman I've known for barely a week?
I jump up, grabbing my shoes and leaving the room, making my way back to my own room, running my hand over my face, through my hair, fingers itching with the need to do something. But what?
This was never going to be more than a holiday story. I knew that. It’s what we decided in the beginning, so why does that sound like the dumbest idea I’ve ever had now?
I pull my room door close behind me, leaning my back against it and exhaling a deep sigh. Hell, we don't even live on the same continent. Even if we wanted to, there’s no way that could work out. Right?
I have no idea if she’s even looking for a relationship. For all I know, she’s going back to a happy single life at home, glad she’s not committed to anyone. Then again… am I looking for a relationship?
I don’t know. I didn’t think I was but now I can’t shake the feeling that what and who I’ve been looking for is her.
I startle, heart beating fast, when my phone suddenly starts buzzing. I’d left it here so I could enjoy the last few hours with Abby without interruption.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, rummaging through my rumpled sheets. “If this is Adam trying to send me to another fashion show, I swear to God, I’m going to—”
That’s when I see the name on my screen. Oh. That’s not Adam. It’s Zoey, my sister. I force myself to take a deep breath and roll my shoulders, trying to calm down before answering.
“Hey, Zoey. What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound cheerful.
“When are you coming back?” she demands without a greeting, but I’ll forgive it, because she sounds like she’s on the verge of a breakdown.
“Tomorrow. Why?” My whole body tenses. “Did something happen?”
“Everyone here is driving me up the goddamn wall,” she says, exasperation in her voice. “That’s what’s happening.”
“Don’t curse,” I scold her, rolling my eyes when she throws in some more curses for good measure. “What exactly is going on?”
“Tanner invited me to his place for the weekend, but Adam won’t let me go,” she complains, and I hear her footsteps, grinning when I realize she’s pacing too. It really is a family trait. “Because apparently, in Adam’s mind, all I’m supposed to do in high school is bury my nose in history books and spend hours every day doing schoolwork or working on college applications.” She takes a deep breath. “Reed, I need you to hear me, I can’t look at letters for another second or my brain is going to fucking explode.”
“Did you tell Adam that?” I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from chuckling. Yes, Adam is kind of a hard-ass, I know that better than anyone. The fact it’s now reaching my sister? The princess of the household, the baby of our little messed up family? I admit, it amuses me.
“Please,” she scoffs and I just know she’s rolling her eyes. “As if he’d listen to me. I’m just a teenager. So you need to move your ass back here and talk to him, maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“First of all, a ‘please’ would help your agenda a lot. Secondly, I hate to break it to you, sister dearest, but I don’t think that’s how Adam’s brain works. You’ll have to play him, manipulate him into thinking it’s his own idea.”
“I don’t care about his brain, I just—” She suddenly stops mid-sentence. “Wait a moment. Why do you sound so depressed? Did a designer cancel on you? Did someone steal your wallet? Did another model take you for drinks again? Are you hungover?”
“No, no,” I assure her with a chuckle and come to a stop by the window. The clouds are still heavy over Paris, like the world is trying to reflect how grey my life’s about to get.
It feels heavy, just like every footstep I’m taking. As I glance down towards the street, I see Abby pulling her bags towards a taxi, talking to the security guy. I can see from up here how she turns on her charm, until he heaves her bag into the taxi for her.
“No, it’s not work,” I say softly and let out a deep sigh.
“If it’s not work, what’s with the melancholy?” she asks, her interest clearly piqued. “You sound like someone stole your last donut.”
“Eh, the feeling’s pretty comparable,” I say with a chuckle, watching Abby climb into the car. “And you do know I have a life apart from work, right?”
My throat tightens as I watch the car peel out of the parking space, slowly driving down the cobblestone road, a heavy feeling settling in my gut, the fear that I’m making a huge mistake, but I feel numb, unable to move, much less to think of a way to make it stop. It’s like I’m trapped in a nightmare, where I run as fast as I can, yet don’t move an inch.
“I think I might’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life,” I admit to Zoey, choking back the tide of emotion swelling in my throat.
“What’s her name?”
“I never said this was about a woman.”
“Oh, please.” I can’t see her, but I know she’s pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance.
“You’re my brother, Reed. I’ve known you since I entered this world. I can tell what you last ate, just by you saying ‘hello.’” She continues quickly before I can jump in to test out that statement. “I heard it in your voice. You sound just as crestfallen as you used to when you got dumped every other month back in high school.”
“You so cannot,” I can’t help but chuckle, though it’s a hollow sound with no real amusement behind it.
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” Glee drips from her voice.
“Of course you are,” I admit, letting myself fall back onto the bed, and greedily inhaling the fading scent of vanilla that suddenly surrounds me, her only remaining trace in this room.
“Well? Spill. What’s her name?” I contemplate telling her. What if saying it out loud makes it more real, keeps the wound open instead of healing with a clear cut by pretending it never happened?
Then I realize I can’t. There is no way I could pretend Paris didn’t happen. Like she never happened.
“Abby,” I whisper, reaching for the pillow she lay on just an hour ago and hugging it to my chest, then repeat her name louder. “Her name is Abby.”
“And? Are you seriously gonna make me fish for every bit of information?” I shake my head. That’s my sister, inpatient and unapologetically straight to the point.
“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter and run my fingers through my hair. “She’s gone now.”
“So… don’t you have her number?”“No,” I admit, heart sinking and feeling like the biggest idiot for not asking. “But she has mine,” I suddenly remember, my heart starting to beat faster. Fuck yes. I gave her my number, back after our Louvre visit.
“I ask this with all due respect, but are you dumb?” Zoey giggles. “How did you not get her number?”
I groan but let a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth. She’s right. This is ridiculous.
“I might be. Logic didn’t really exist whenever I was with her.”
“Ahw, how romantic,” she coos in a high-pitched voice like she’s talking to a dog. “So, what’s your plan?”
“I mean, no plan. As we just established, I don’t have her number. Now the only thing I can do is hoping that either she calls me or the universe throws us together again someday.” That spark of hope I had suddenly extinguishes. God, both of these sound pretty hopeless.
“That’s dumb,” she snaps, and I blink confused. Wow. That rage in her voice comes out of nowhere. “And lazy. Seriously? You’re just going to leave this up to the universe?”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do? Conjure her phone number out of thin air?”
“You fucking fight for it,” she says, fire in her voice I didn’t know she had. Not about me finding a girlfriend, at least. “Did you seriously think it’d be that easy? ‘Oh, if the universe thinks we belong together, we’ll meet again,’” she says, mockingly imitating my voice. “You might be older than me, Reed, but goddamn are you na?ve.”
“Hey. Don’t talk to me like that,” I scold.
“Fuck that. And don’t tell me not to curse,” she says, now fully spiraling. “You sound basically heartbroken over this woman you were dumb enough to not get a number from. Why the hell are you talking to me ? Why the hell aren’t you booking it to the airport to catch her in some dramatic terminal chase scene and propose or something?”
“Because that’s not how real life works, Zoey. We’ve only known each other for a week,” I say, exhaling deeply. “A week. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s flying back or taking the train. But even if I did, if I just appeared there for a grand gesture, she’d probably get me arrested on harassment charges.”
“So?” she fires back, unimpressed by reality. “You’d really rather let her go and spend the rest of your sad little life wondering ‘what if’? Or you could grow a spine and at least try . Then you’d know.”
“A week, Zoey,” I repeat once again, but I don’t think she’s even listening anymore.
“You’re a coward, Reed,” she says dramatically and I have to bite back a chuckle. “Stop being such an adult. Where’s the romantic in you?”
“I’m sorry to say, but as you get older, some of the romance gets replaced with logic,” I reply, wincing at how much I sound like Adam. “Just because two people mesh well during a vacation doesn’t mean anything more would work out.” I take a deep breath. God, this whole discussion is making me more heated than it has any right to. “You’re talking about regrets? Let’s flip it. If the universe doesn’t put us together again, I’ll still have something to hold on to. I’ll still have amazing memories to look back on, I can still dream about the ‘what ifs.’”
I swallow hard as the memories shoot through my head like a dia-show on timelapse.
Memories of walking through the Louvre together, of her laughter, our night walk this morning, the way her voice echoed through the room…
“What if trying to turn it into something real only destroys the memory? There. That’s romantic.”
“Not nearly,” she scoffs, but sounds a bit calmer now. “Sounds more like a tragedy, but I’ll accept it as an excuse. And in twenty years, when you’re still talking about your mystery woman from Paris, I’m going to look you straight in the eyes and tell you I told you so.”
“It’s a deal,” I say and finally let go of the pillow, clearing my throat. “Now it should be my turn to ask you about boys. Who are you going to prom with?”
“Actually, I need to go,” she says quickly. Way too quickly.
“Sure you do.” I chuckle when she squeezes out a fast “bye” and hangs up before I can ask her anything more about her date.
I have a few more hours here in Paris. What used to be my favorite city suddenly feels dull without her. I don’t even feel the urge to visit museums anymore, knowing I won’t run into her there, don’t want to take a walk and admire the old architecture because it would mean doing so without my hand on the small of Abby’s back.
God damn it. No, I will not let this overexaggerated heartbreak destroy my love for art and for Paris.
So, with another deep sigh, I get up, grab my jacket and umbrella. Only a few more hours. And I’m going to make the best of them.