Like We Were in Paris

Chapter 23

Tsui is right. Outside, back on the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, the streets have mostly emptied out and the sidewalks are a mess.

There are sanitation workers, dressed in bright green jumpsuits, out collecting trash—flyers for clubs, for Tsui Ennui’s performance; beer bottles and wine bottles; even little puddles of vomit, or, what they call it at Disney World, “protein spills.” But thanks to my new sunglasses—and the fact that Tyler and I are holding hands—I really am seeing everything through a lovely haze of pink.

Tyler and I stop on a corner and start kissing again. It’s almost like the fight on the street never happened, like we’ve picked up where we left off.

Or no. It’s not that. The fight did happen; it was real. But it’s made our bond even stronger.

“So where were we?” Tyler murmurs as we kiss. “Oh, right. Going to see the Emily in Paris street.”

“Do you remember where we parked the scooter?” I ask, reluctantly pulling away from Tyler so I can glance around the quiet Marais.

“Yes, it’s right there,” Tyler reminds me with a chuckle, pointing.

It’s a relief to see “our” Mercedes-Benz scooter right where we left it.

“Are you okay to drive?” I ask Tyler worriedly. “The beer—”

“I had like a half a sip,” he reminds me. “I’m pretty sure it’s out of my system now.”

“Good point.”

We climb back on and adjust our helmets. This time I don’t hesitate as I rest my chin on Tyler’s shoulder and wrap my arms around his waist. I lean close to his ear and whisper to him what street address to put into his map app.

And then off we go.

To get to Montmartre, our scooter has to climb winding hills and squeeze through narrow little alleys. I have to hold on extra tight to Tyler—which is so unbearable.

Finally, Tyler parks the scooter outside an adorable boulangerie with a bright blue awning. We stow our helmets, and hand in hand, we walk.

The Parisian vibes are even stronger here: quaint little buildings covered in ivy, rustic cobblestone streets, the bell tower and spires of the white stone Basilique du Sacré-C?ur gleaming like teeth from above.

It’s almost like we’ve entered a secret little pocket of Paris that transports you deep into the past—except this is one of the most popular tourist spots in the whole city.

I can’t even imagine how many Emily in Paris fans just like me have flocked to Rue de l’Abreuvoir; the only reason it’s completely empty right now except for me and Tyler is that it’s an ungodly hour.

“So is this the prettiest street in Paris?” asks Tyler, spreading his arms out and doing a little spin.

In the show, after a fun night out on the town, Emily and her bestie, Mindy, come to Rue de l’Abreuvoir in Montmartre as their last stop, both a little drunk. That’s when Mindy explains that Rue de l’Abreuvoir was voted by locals as the “prettiest street in Paris.”

I balance on a toe and twirl, too, holding on to my sunglasses with one hand. When I come out of my twirl, Tyler wraps his arms around me from behind. I breathe in the cool air through my nose, and I feel totally safe. I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.

“I haven’t seen a prettier one,” I say. “Have you?”

“No. I gotta say, I’m taken by the view right now.”

“Did you just quote Taylor Swift on purpose?”

Tyler sings into my ear, and I melt. “I was taken by the view / Like we were in Paris.”

I turn to look up at Tyler. He’s gazing at me—we’re each other’s only view right now. We kiss again, and it’s like I’ve touched a live wire. I have a series of head rushes in the best way.

When we finally pull away, I say, “I can’t believe sunrise is coming so soon.”

“And we still have a breakfast picnic to plan,” Tyler says.

“We can’t be late getting back to the hostel,” I remind him. “We’ve gotten away with so much as it is.”

Tyler checks his phone—it barely has any battery power left. “We’re good. As far as Mademoiselle Alvarez knows, we still haven’t moved all night.”

The dot tracking Tyler’s Apple Watch is right where it’s supposed to be—in the heart of the First Arrondissement next to the other eleven dots in the hostel.

“We need to take a selfie on the prettiest street,” I say.

Tyler sighs but grins. “All right. Do you wanna take it or should I?”

“You have longer arms,” I say.

We get in real close. After Tyler snaps a selfie of the two of us, he says, “Got it.”

“Are you kidding me?” I say. “You can’t just take one selfie. We need options.”

I commandeer the phone to peek at the photo we just took. The lighting isn’t the best, but that’s not the problem. The shadows on the street make my black-butter eye look downright grotesque.

“Oh no,” mutters Tyler. “So much for selfies.”

“You really don’t know technology. iPhones and Apple Watches are wasted on the analog.” I delete the first photo, set a heavy filter, and give him back the phone to snap many, many more takes.

“All right, fine,” Tyler grumbles. “I told you I’m not much of a social media guy.”

I take Tyler’s phone again to swipe through our options. “Aww, look how cute,” I coo. “We’re so wholesome.”

“You look cute,” says Tyler. “I look like a weirdo.”

“You do not!” I say. I smile as I favorite a photo. Tyler still looks insanely hot, but he clearly doesn’t know how to pose; he’s tucked his chin toward his neck, giving himself jowls. He doesn’t quite look perfect, but it gives him vulnerability—making him more attractive to me than ever.

“Okay, so filters can work magic,” he says, “but how do we explain that black eye in real life?”

“I’ll just tell Mademoiselle Alvarez that I fell off my bed and hit my face on the floor or something,” I say, sighing.

Tyler’s lips separate a little. “Umm, who’s comfortable with lying now?”

“You’ve rubbed off on me,” I say, smirking. “Besides, Mademoiselle Alvarez already thinks I’m a total mess. I have no reputation to uphold on this trip.”

“Yeah, that’s true. You couldn’t be any more of a mess.”

I elbow him, laughing. “I’m sending a pic to my mom later,” I say, putting my sunglasses back on to protect my injured eye.

I realize it’s almost midnight in Georgia.

Mom’s definitely still up—she’s a night owl, and she often has to stay up to book Disney restaurant reservations for her clients the second they become available online—and she probably wouldn’t think it’s weird that I’m texting so early in the morning.

She’d assume I was in bed in my hostel, awake with jet lag.

“Actually, can I send it from your phone now?” I ask.

“Of course,” says Tyler.

Mom’s phone number is the only one I remember off the top of my head. I type out a message to go along with the selfie:

ME: Mom, it’s Ben!!!! Had the best first day in Paris in spite of the phone debacle. Look who I spent all day yesterday with!

I wince as I hit send. How easily that lie came right out of my texting fingers. This night really has transformed me. But Mom would never be okay with me staying out all night, especially not after the phone-stealing incident. Better not to worry her too much.

Mom starts typing right away, and a second later, her reply pops up.

Whose number is this? Who’s that with my son?

Oh right. I guess I need to explain a little more.

BEN: Mom, it’s me, Ben! BEN-OONIES. I’m on a friend’s phone.

MOM: Just to be sure … who’s Ben’s favorite Disney princess?

BEN: Trick question—it’s a three-way tie: 1) Tiana for her singing voice and commitment to her dreams 2) Belle for her love of books 3) Rapunzel for her love of various indoor activities. DUH.

MOM: BEN! MON BEBE!!!!!

I smile.

BEN: Hi, Mom.

MOM: You look so adorable!! I hope Paris is like a movie!!!!!

MOM: Your beret!!! Tres chic!!!

MOM: Your dad rocked a beret on our trip! Your taste runs in the family! And you’re wearing the handkerchief your dad got me.

BEN: Of course I am. I’ve been thinking of Dad this whole time.

MOM: I love that.

MOM: Hold on. The guy with you.

MOM: IS THAT LITTLE TYLER TRAVERS?!?!?!?!?!!?

BEN: Yep.

MOM: Not so little anymore!!! Tres beau!!!

My cheeks go hot. I text back:

BEN: Moooommmmmm

MOM: You didn’t tell me TYLER was with you!!!!!!

BEN: Surprise! He’s the friend who’s letting me use his phone.

MOM: Bonjour, Tyler!!!!

I tell Tyler my mom says bonjour, and he says it back.

BEN: Bonjour from Tyler.

MOM: Hope you two are looking after each other!!! I feel so much better knowing you two are together. Especially after yesterday. No luck finding your phone, right?

BEN: No such luck. But Mom, I just want you to know … I know you worry that I’m a “target” and everything, but I still want to take chances. Not dumb chances. But I came to Paris to write my own story. Just like you and Dad did before I was born.

Mom starts typing immediately. Then she stops. Then she starts again.

MOM: Ben-oonies, I’m sorry I told you you’re a target. That was me just wanting to keep you safe.

BEN: I know, Mom.

MOM: But I know staying safe is not really that safe. A comfort zone isn’t that comfortable.

BEN: Is that from a book club book?

MOM: No. That’s from your dad. And Celine Dion … “What do you say to taking chances?”

BEN: LOL

MOM: If Dad had any regrets in the end, it was that he didn’t take more chances.

MOM: I’m going to trust you, Ben. Not just to make the smartest decisions. But to come back home safe, with your own story.

I smile, feeling my throat tighten. I pause for a bit, then start typing.

BEN: Well in that case …

BEN: What if I told you that my story is already off to a super juicy start? That after getting my phone stolen I got locked out of the hostel and stayed out all night running around the city with my childhood best friend?

MOM: W

MOM: H

MOM: ATTTT

MOM: Benjamin Jin-Il Remy Lim!!!!

MOM: Please tell me this is just your beautiful imagination running wild.

BEN: Ummm. Yeah, let’s go with that.

MOM: Do I need to call Ms. Alvarez right this second?

BEN: NO!!!! Mother, if you believe in what Dad would want for me on this trip, you would NOT do that.

MOM: Oh, don’t you dare. But fine. I won’t.

MOM: It makes me feel better that you’re with Tyler either way. But I hope you’re just joking!

BEN: Trust me, Mom, okay? I’m fine. I promise. Better than I’ve been in a while.

MOM: I do believe you.

BEN: Thanks, Mom.

MOM: But I’m calling you right now to check!

BEN: Phone about to die—can’t, sorry!

And before Mom can call Tyler’s phone, it really does go black. Whew. Let Mom think I’ve made up that whole story for now. I’ll call her later, after Tyler’s charged his phone, and explain more. She won’t love hearing about all the rules we broke. But Dad will, I think with a small smile.

“Tyler, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to go so long with Mom. The phone’s dead …”

I hand the phone to Tyler, who slides it into his back pocket. “It’s fine,” he says. “We won’t really need it before we go back to the hostel. How’s your mom?” he asks.

I laugh. “She’s good. I think she’s thrilled that you’re here with me.”

“I love your mom.” Tyler glances at me. “I remember her always having this positive energy. Do you think she’s still happy, even after everything with your dad?”

I smile thoughtfully. “My mom believes that ‘expressing enthusiasm makes room for the real joy to come flooding in,’ ” I say.

“But she is genuinely a happy person. She was really devastated when Dad died. She’s worked hard for so long, and things were really tough in those first few years.

But recently she’s finally been able to open her own company and do what she loves. ”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“She started a travel advising agency. She basically plans people’s trips to Disney World for them. The company’s called Enchanted Adventures.”

Tyler squeezes my hand. “That’s awesome. You must be really proud of her.”

“I am proud. Disney World was my parents’ second-favorite place in the world after Paris. Her company’s not going to make us rich any time soon, but I’ve gotten some free trips to Disney World, and it doesn’t get much better than that.”

Tyler laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“How about your mom?” I ask. “How is she doing now that she’s separated from your dad?”

“Well, as you know, she’s never worked outside of the home before,” Tyler said.

“But moving back to Georgia, where she grew up, is a huge step for her. I think there’s a part of her that’s excited by the possibility of being free from my dad for real.

Once they actually get divorced, it will be like a weight’s been lifted for her, you know?

For us.” He sighs, but it’s more like a sigh of relief than sadness.

I nod. “Hey, your mom should totally join my mom’s Single Mamas Wine and Book Club. My mom would love to have her. They’re a really supportive group of women who can help each other get through anything—and read some pretty spicy romance, too. I think our moms could be a pretty solid team.”

Tyler gives me a look of total adoration that makes my insides melt. “We could be a pretty solid team, too … when we get back to Sandy Springs.”

“So you want to keep this going?” I ask, my heart leaping.

I think of the possibilities. All the new memories and montages we can make in the future.

We could support each other throughout the rest of high school.

We could join forces and be kind of unstoppable—take the LGBTQIA+ Alliance by storm.

Make it into the community that people need; maybe even overthrow Topher Willis.

But I can’t get too far ahead of myself—that’s a lesson I’ve had to learn recently. “This isn’t a one-night thing to you?”

Tyler bites his lip and looks away—he looks a little shy. “To me, this has been a whole-life thing. I really never stopped thinking about you the entire time I was in New York.”

I gaze up at Tyler’s shining gray eyes. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean it,” I say.

“I would never,” Tyler insists. “Can I admit something embarrassing?”

“Always.”

“There’s another reason I avoided you when I first got back,” he says. “I was jealous. You and Lucas seemed like such a good couple. It was kind of hard for me to see you guys together. I mean, the first thing out of your mouth was introducing me to your boyfriend.”

I cringe. “Oh God. Yeah, sorry about that.”

“And when I saw you across the room, I was like, Damn. He got hot.”

“Okay, now you’re just buttering me up,” I say, fluffing my hair. “I’m not even fishing for compliments this time like I was earlier, but hot? I mean, I’ve been told I have an amazing personality, that I’m smart, that I’m funny, and that my humility is a ten, but …”

“You’re a ridiculous person,” laughs Tyler. “But just so you know, even if your personality were complete merde, just a real pile of Topher Willis–level dog poop, I would still, on a totally superficial level, think, Damn, at least he’s hot, though.”

I practically swoon. “That’s literally the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”