Four and a Half Weeks Later
My alarm goes off, but I don’t want to get up.
I’m tired and it’s Saturday. I deserve a day off.
Opening my eyes, I know today won’t be that day.
I don’t allow myself too much free time or my thoughts wander to a certain American in Paris.
Straight to the coffee pot, I start the machine, then the shower.
A knock on the door jolts me the rest of the way awake.
I shouldn’t have company at seven-thirty in the morning and my roommate went back to Kansas for the winter break, so I have no idea who it could be.
I walk to the door of my apartment and peek out, but no one is there.
Finally, I open the door and a small box is sitting on my doormat.
Looking around, I see if I can find who delivered it.
It didn’t come through the postal service or package delivery because it’s blue with an orange and white striped ribbon around it.
I lean down for closer inspection and see a tag. The tiny note reads:
Kandace,
Open Me.
Hrmmm... This is peculiar and totally intriguing. I grab the box and go back inside, securing the deadbolts back in place.
I set the package on the coffee table and watch it for a minute before I remember I have the shower going. Damn it! The hot water has probably already run cold. Hurrying into the bathroom, I shower quickly, taking advantage of the remaining warm water, but think about that package the entire time.
With a towel wrapped around my head and my robe on my body, I pour myself a cup of coffee, then sit on the couch to stare at the mysterious box a little longer.
In the few minutes I do, absolutely nothing changes, moves, or gives me any indication to what’s inside.
So I take the box in hand and open it. When I lift the lid, I find a miniature silver Eiffel Tower.
Picking it up, I turn it around between my fingers and sigh.
Thoughts of Olivier cross my mind and my heart starts racing.
Anxiously, I dig under the fluffy filling, but there’s nothing else in the box to tell me where or who it came from.
I take a sip of my coffee, then lean back on the couch, remembering Olivier’s.
.. Oliver’s face, his smile, what he looked like when he was sleeping, the way he made me feel before his lies were discovered, and the tears in his eyes when I kissed him goodbye.
I set the Eiffel Tower down on the table and stand. One last glance is given toward the door wondering who was on the other side of it just minutes before.
The library is always empty around the holidays, which is why it’s my favorite time of the year to be here.
Most people are recovering from Christmas to bother with spending time in a dusty room full of old books.
But I love it. There are a few other sad souls like myself jumping ahead on their spring schedules, but other than that, just staff is here and they’re scarce.
Two of my professors gave me the syllabus early, knowing I like to work ahead and be prepared.
I look out the large window next to my table and watch as people pass by. This is my favorite corner of the library. It has a great view and is set away from the main books and other large rooms, giving me more privacy.
Turning my attention back to the large book in front of me, I flip to the next page and dig back into my research.
The alarm on my phone goes off two hours later.
Due to expected bad weather, the library is closing early today.
It shouldn’t. If I’m willing to give up my holiday to be here, they should let me stay.
I roll my eyes as I stand, gathering my belongings.
Outside the window, I see a man sit down on a bench.
The wave of his brown hair reminds me of Oliver’s shaggy hair.
It’s not him... though after getting the mysterious Eiffel Tower this morning, I kind of want it to be.
“We’re closing now, Miss,” an older man in a bow tie and cardigan says from behind the information desk.
I grab my backpack and pull it on. When I pass him, I smile, and say, “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year.”
Three days until the New Year begins and I’ve got a case of the holiday blues. It happens every year around this time, but this year I didn’t go home and with my friends gone, I’m feeling very alone.
I actually went on two dates this semester and neither was worth a second.
It was a bummer too because on paper, one of them should have been a perfect match for me.
He’s in the Bio Engineering Program, likes sushi, but not spicy Mexican.
He drinks wine, appreciating quality instead of chugging beers like other college guys.
He has never been in a fraternity, although he did do the pentathlon last year for the Sigma Chi’s.
He was even from Pennsylvania like me, but he was so boring.
Sitting up suddenly, I stare down at the sushi in front of me. Oh my God! Am I boring?
Bewildered by this thought, I shake my head. I’m not boring. I’m fun. Totally fun. Adventurous. I mean, I went to Paris all by myself, after all. If that doesn’t shout fun I don’t know what does...
Smacking my hand to my forehead, I hear Oliver’s words come back, “Step out of your box and live a little. Don’t just exist. Live.”
Live.
Am I living life?
Experiencing all life has to offer?
The answer is too depressing, so I try to ignore it.
I ignore it until the next day when another package arrives on my doorstep and I can’t ignore the fact that the best time of my life was in Paris.
I pick up the box, a little bigger than the last, but not by much.
This time I don’t hesitate, I just open it.
Inside is a shiny, silver engraved keychain with a key attached.
The engraving reads, Mon coeur t'appartient.. There’s a note inside this time.
I open it quickly. Il en va de même pour mon appartement.
Rushing to my computer, I sit down at my desk and open a search engine. As soon as it’s ready, I type the phrase engraved on the keychain.
My heart is yours.
Leaning forward, I rest my head on my hand while trying to calm my quickening thoughts and heart. Olivier.
Taking a deep breath, I type in the phrase written on the note—Il en va de même pour mon appartement.
So is my apartment.
Tears flood my eyes unexpectedly and I run to the door to open it wide. Stepping into the hallway, I call, “Olivier. Oliver. Are you here?”
When no one replies, I try again, “Oliver?”
I’m disappointed again. I go back inside my apartment and close the door. I mentally tally the gifts, trying to piece together who sent them.
An Eiffel Tower.
A key to an apartment that I don’t even know where it is.
Going back to my computer, I type in Olivier DeMarche and wait as pages upon pages fill the screen.
Duke Olivier DeMarche, served in the French military as well as from a noble family by birth.
I read further, scanning the page until I see his descendents—Grace Hanning, Chicago.
Married to George Hanning. Two sons—Christoph and Oliver.
When I click on images, photos of the Duke pop up.
I scroll down the page and pics of Grace and George, Christoph, and Oliver show up.
My heart stops momentarily as my gaze lands on the man who crushed me with his lies.
Why did he have to do that? Why couldn’t he just be Oliver Hanning from Chicago?
Why is he contacting me now? Why is he sending me gifts? There is no other reasonable explanation. They have to be from him. This makes me happy in ways it probably shouldn’t, but maybe I can forgive. And if I can, where can I find the apartment this key unlocks?