Chapter 28
We stand before the giant castle-drawbridge door of the youth hostel. I feel nervous and excited at the same time. Beside me, Tyler takes a huge breath.
What happens now? Will Monsieur and Madame Mouton let us back in without incident? Will we be able to race upstairs before Mademoiselle Alvarez ever realizes we missed curfew?
But even more important … what will happen when we go back to regular life? Will I look back on this night like some kind of dream, some kind of miraculous fluke?
Tyler and I turn the knob together. We lean our weight against the door, and it opens easily.
The musty odor of old wood and dusty rugs and moldy stone overtakes us.
Madame and Monsieur Mouton are standing still at the desk like they never left. They simply nod to us, and if they’re surprised to see us coming in at this hour, they don’t show it.
“Bonjour,” we whisper as we pass.
I look at the rusty elevator leading up to the boys’ dorm. “You know,” says Tyler quietly, “that’s where I had my Proustian memory of the night.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something about being that close to you, so high up … it reminded me of that rope ladder, and how you’d always been there for me. And how I’ve been in love with you all my life.”
Okay, wow. I couldn’t have written a line that good myself—that’s just ridiculous.
Before we get on the elevator, we hold each other, tight.
I feel so much of Tyler’s body heat through his plain white T-shirt—he left his hoodie on the bank of the Seine for someone else to find.
These will be the last moments before we have to rejoin the group, our last moments of having Paris to ourselves.
I want to absorb as much of Tyler’s heat, his essence, as possible while I still can, uninterrupted.
But our moment is interrupted by the phlegmy clearing of Monsieur Mouton’s throat. Tyler and I jump apart, and we nod to them. And does Madame Mouton give us a fond smile? Maybe she does.
Tyler and I kiss the entire elevator ride up, so this time he’s not scared. And I can’t believe the scene I imagined way back in the Hotel Ritz came true.
* * *
We unlock the door to our room, trying to keep quiet, and tiptoe inside. It’s still dark in here with the shades down. Gaston is snoring louder than a bulldog. The whole room smells like Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and socks.
Tyler and I sneak into our narrow beds next to each other.
We each crowd in under our sheets, fully dressed.
We could get changed into pj’s, but that could wake Gaston—and even though he fully knows we stayed out all night, Tyler and I seem to wordlessly agree: We want to have as much time to just ourselves as we still can.
We lie there facing each other, trying not to laugh. We’re feeling giddy, like we got away with something huge. I guess we did.
“Do you think you can fall asleep for a whole fifteen minutes?” Tyler whispers to me.
“I should probably try,” I whisper back. “I get really grumpy without sleep.”
“Same,” Tyler whispers. “Oh, wait.” Then he reaches under the sheets and shifts his body. To my surprise, he lifts out his wallet, opens it, and pulls out a folded piece of paper.
“Here,” he says. “Something to read before bed.”
I frown, confused. “Do you carry Proust with you in your wallet?”
“No,” he says, stifling a giggle. “It’s not Proust. Look.”
He reaches over and hands it to me. It’s a piece of hot-pink paper. And it’s heart-shaped.
Holding my breath, I read my own childhood handwriting; it’s neat and big and bubbly—it hasn’t changed much in the past six years.
When we see each other again, Tyler will be eating a special grilled-cheese-and-jelly sandwich.
He’s kept it this whole time.
I can hardly take it; it’s so romantic, better than any movie I’ve seen.
“You kept it,” I whisper, clutching the paper to my heart with one hand and reaching for Tyler’s hand with the other.
“Of course,” he whispers back. His eyes drift shut and he falls asleep.
I watch him, admiring his long eyelashes and the way his chest rises and falls. I used to think enchantment came in big moments. But maybe it’s just memory catching you off guard, tasting like butter and grape jelly and grief, all at once.
I roll onto my back. I try to fall asleep, but I can’t. The night is technically over. The sky is already a strange blue-gray that looks like a dream not quite done dreaming. I should be exhausted. But instead, I feel electric. And something else?
Yes. I smile. Enchanted.
In just a few minutes, we’ll be awake again, part of our spring break trip.
Off to the flea markets, and a museum I can’t pronounce, and we’ll be returning to the Eiffel Tower with the whole group.
And for once, I want to see it all. I want to wake up and drink the coffee and eat the crusty baguette and stand in front of old paintings and feel like I’m inside my life. All with Tyler next to me.
I’m ready now. For the rest of Paris. For whatever comes next.