Epilogue （Somewhere between Paris and the Moon）
He’s leaning on his elbows on the wall overlooking the Seine and staring at the Eiffel Tower rising up on the other side. It’s warm. He was there years ago on a winter night, but now the breeze is mild, the tourists are walking past, they continue up the sidewalk, and he can smell the food from a nearby restaurant.
He got there a half hour early, but it doesn’t matter. He’s nervous. He’s tapping his fingers on the balustrade to the rhythm of a song he knows well, one he heard a long time ago in the same city, one that starts with the beating of a heart. It plays on the radio often now. He sighs, impatient. Tries not to think about the possibility that she won’t show, especially when he remembers all the obstacles they’ve had to get past, the times he tripped over his own feet, the words he shouldn’t have kept to himself.
She walks in a straight line. A long time ago, she decided that when life offered her a chance to take a turn, she only would if it was worth it, if she was happy to before she even knew what lay around the corner. She must have chosen this path long ago, even when she didn’t imagine it would land her on a roller coaster the day she wrote her email address on the hand of the boy who accompanied her to the airport.
She sees him.
She trembles. She smiles.
He’s looking at the reflection of the moon in the river. She walks over slowly, happy because he’s gained a little weight, he looks like a better version of himself, and he can’t stop tapping his fingers to a rhythm only he hears.
She doesn’t call his name. Doesn’t warn him. She wraps an arm around his waist from behind and feels him flinch and then relax. She leans her cheek on his back, holding him. Breathes deep, breathes in his scent. She doesn’t want to let him go, but she can’t help it when he turns, seeking her lips. A soft kiss, deep, sweet. The only way a person can kiss someone who’s been dangling upside down from the moon without even thinking about vertigo.
She holds her breath when they pull apart.
They look at each other, feel each other, in silence.
“I was waiting for you to dance.”
“We’re getting older…”
He ignores her. He does exactly the same thing he did years ago. Puts his phone on the wall just as “Je T’aime…Moi Non Plus” starts to play. He takes her hand and holds it to his chest, trying to bring her as close to him as possible. She blushes when she realizes people are looking at them and whispering and giggling. He doesn’t care. He just smiles, looking at her, soaking her in as the melody enwraps them.
“Je t’aime, je t’aime. Tu es la vague, moi l’?le nue. Tu vas, tu vas et tu viens.” He bends over to whisper it in her ear. She shivers as all the memories rise up. I love you, I love you. You are the wave; I’m the naked island. You come, you come, and you go…
He hugs her. They stop dancing. He sinks his face into her hair and strokes her cheek with a trembling hand. He can’t let her go. He’s scared to, even if he knows that this time, everything’s different, and that when the night reaches its end, they won’t walk off in different directions.
She stands on her toes. Her lips search for him, find him.
“Ginger, tell me where we are right now.”
“We’re on the moon. Always on the moon.”