2 Rhys
2
Rhys
What was I doing? No fucking idea.
Ten minutes before, I’d gotten out of the subway ready to go home (if I could call it home), thinking I’d heat up a cup of noodles and eat it while I mindlessly watched TV without sound or put on some music and read.
But instead, there I was, sitting on the subway next to a girl who looked even more lost than I did, which wasn’t an easy thing to imagine, our legs were rubbing against each other’s, and I still hadn’t decided where to get off, because I was making it up as I went along, as always.
“I don’t like not knowing where we’re going.”
“Two more stops and we’ll get out,” I said with a smile.
She made me nervous. Every inch of her, from her feet in her red Converse to her brown hair pulled back carelessly in a ponytail. Maybe because I hadn’t found a label for her yet. Ginger . That was her name, I kept telling myself. She was a complete blank to me, I guess because she seemed to have everything under control, but she’d actually just hopped a plane a few hours ago for no reason. And that didn’t make sense. Nor did the unexpected tremor I felt when I saw her cursing in front of the ticket machine. So short. So funny. So pissed… She reminded me of a child’s cartoon.
“Where are you from, exactly?” I asked. It was obvious she was English, but I couldn’t tell from where by her accent. Her voice was soft, almost raspy.
“London. You? No, wait, let me guess.”
“Fine.” This amused me.
“Alabama?”
I shook my head.
“You’ve got a Southern accent though.”
“Try a little further north.”
“Tennessee.”
“Yep. That’s it.”
“What are you doing in Paris?”
“It’s not a forever thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Get up. This is our stop.”
I stood, and she followed me to the doors as they slid open. We cut through the people walking back and forth and went out onto the street. It was bitter cold. Ginger was hugging herself, and we were walking fast, hoping to get somewhere warm before long.
The Eiffel Tower stood there in the distance.
“Is that what I think it is?” She smiled. And it was a smile so precious, I wanted to frame it. I would have if I didn’t hate photos. Ginger was one of those girls who deserved to be immortalized, not because she was especially pretty or unusual, but because of her eyes, the way her lips curved upward without her even thinking, the little contradiction I could sense inside her, even if I didn’t know her yet.
“Yeah, that’s it. One of the iconic sights of Paris. I realize I’m not much of a tour guide, but in my defense, we’ve only got a few hours. Anyway, I wanted you to remember this.”
The Seine flowed to our left as we walked under the starless night sky and the full moon. I remember all I could think about was how it had been worth it to trade my cup noodles for the smile on her face.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No. It’s been forever since I’ve had anything to eat. I had a coffee this morning, but then the drama happened this afternoon, and it was bye-bye to my everyday routine. I couldn’t have gotten anything down, anyway. I’m doing it, I’m talking too much again, right?”
“Yeah, but I like it.”
She looked away.
Was it embarrassment? Shyness? I didn’t know.
“Shall we go eat then?”
“I know a place nearby.”
“Good, because I’m dying of cold.”
“I would’ve thought you’d be used to it, living in London.”
“Nobody ever told you there are people who never get used to the cold? ’Cause I’m one of them. It doesn’t matter how much I bundle up; I can have two scarves on and three pairs of socks; still, I’m like a block of ice. When we used to get in bed, Dean would…”
She stopped and shook her head.
“Let me guess: Dean’s the guy you just broke up with, and he used to warm up your feet?” I couldn’t help but crinkle my nose. “That’s disgusting.”
“What? No, it’s not, it’s super romantic.”
“Feet gross me out. I can’t even touch my own feet. And I’m not sure about your ideas about what’s super romantic… ”
“Fine. But you know what? I don’t know you.” She giggled. I liked it: soft, sweet. “So I’m not going to worry about your opinions as far as what is and isn’t romantic. Plus, you look like the typical guy who…you know.”
I stopped, even though we were across the street from the place I was planning to take her for dinner. I stood there, looking at her sternly. I was almost two heads taller than her. She looked up defiantly. I liked that too. “Aren’t you going to finish your sentence?”
“Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.”
“Damn right. You just saw me for the first time fifteen minutes ago. But who cares? I want to know what your impression of me is. I won’t let it affect me, I promise.”
“You look like the type of guy who doesn’t give a shit about romance. The type of guy who bangs a girl one night, and then it’s adios. The kind who’s allergic to commitment.”
“You’re being redundant.”
“Sorry. I was trying to make a point.”
“Sure.”
I started walking again. We crossed the street. Once we were inside, I noticed the smell of freshly made crepes. I babbled in French and ordered a couple with cheese, tuna, and mushrooms. From the corner of my eye, I saw her take off her backpack and settle down at a corner table near the window.
“Hey, beer or Coke?” I asked.
“They don’t have water?”
“Yeah. Water then?”
“Actually…maybe a beer.”
I shook my head. The girl was a walking question mark even when it was about something simple. I turned back to the guy behind the counter, who didn’t seem in the mood to wait. Soon afterward, I grabbed the tray with our drinks and the crepes off the counter and carried it to our table.
“I could eat a baby elephant,” she said, her eyes devouring our still-steaming dinner. Then she looked at me. “Thanks. For real. I haven’t said that yet, have I? The truth is, I just felt like it would be a good idea to do something crazy for once in my life: catch a plane without thinking about it, you know. But then I got here, and… I was terrified. I’d have probably ended up spending the night in the subway station next to whatever kindly beggar would clear off a nook for me, waiting for the sun to rise so I could fly back to London and, dammit, I just can’t stop talking. You say something.”
“Be careful with the crepe. It’s hot.”
“No. I mean, say something about yourself. You know enough about me already. You know I left my boyfriend, you know I’m nuts, and you know I can’t figure out how to use a ticket machine.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?” I took a bite of my food.
“You never answered me the first time.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You do though. You’re lying. And you’re bad at it. You’re one of those people who looks the other way when you’re lying. I like that. It could be useful. So tell me: Are you a stalker or a serial killer who preys on girls in subway stations?”
“No.” I suppressed a smile.
“Good! See? You didn’t look away.”
“I suppose that’s a relief to you.”
“You better believe it. Now, let’s find out if you’re one of those guys who’s into one-night stands and doesn’t go for romance.”
I grinned. It had been ages since I’d had so much fun. When was the last time I’d met someone who threw me for a loop like that, someone I couldn’t take my eyes off of? Especially without having to do anything special, just being herself and blathering on and on like a caffeinated parrot.
“By romantic, you mean stroking people’s feet?”
“Ugh. I mean, it does sound gross when you put it that way.” She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Maybe warming up someone’s feet sounds better, but it’s the same thing, Ginger.”
“You’re fucking up one of the few nice memories I have of Dean, just so you know.” She took a bite of her food and chewed thoughtfully. “Damn. That’s delicious. This cheese is just…mmm.”
She licked her lips slowly, not thinking, not trying to make an impression.
“Tell me about Dean,” I said, forcing myself to look away from her lips.