56
It’s been over a month since I came back to France.
The rest of the family joined me shortly thereafter—all of us ended up leaving LA for good.
But the most beautiful city in the world has never seemed so dull, so ugly to me.
It’s fitting though, because that’s pretty much how I would describe my life here.
Clémentine is due to arrive today, and the cab is going to drop her off here.
Apparently, she doesn’t want to stay in the U.S.
without me. I suspect she’s actually tired of listening to me crying over the phone.
That she’s had enough of my endless questions, to which no one has the answers; the memories that I constantly revisit; my regrets; my dark thoughts; and above all, the strict order I gave her not to tell me anything about what’s happening over there.
The D’Aragon whirlwind will soon descend on my room, and something tells me she’s going to want to make up for lost time—and shake me until I have no more tears left to cry.
“Lancaster, I’m here! Don’t even think about hiding!” Clem yells from the door.
She enters the apartment and drops her two huge suitcases at my mother’s feet.
“First rule if you want to stay alive: never call me by my last name again!” I say, trudging over to her.
“Second rule if you want to stay alive: you’ve got to eat!” She pinches my skinny arm and smiles sadly.
Then, she throws her own arms around my neck, almost knocking me over. I hug her back, but don’t go as far as admitting that I missed her zest for life and her energy.
“You’re strangling me! Isn’t the third rule of survival to make sure the other person can breathe at all times?”
“Okay, okay! Oh man, I’ve got so much to tell you.” With that, she links her arm through mine and drags me toward my bedroom as if this were her own home.
It is.
My hyperactive friend flops down on my bed, while I settle cross-legged onto the floor.
My eyes immediately drift into the distance, as they do every time I experience the pain of remembering…
him. In this room, in this bed, sneaking in and joining me in the middle of the night. Our romantic getaway to Paris…
Clémentine throws a pillow at my head in an attempt to wake me from my daydream. I clutch it, holding the fabric close and inhaling deeply, as if it might still be possible to detect a trace of Ciao Amore lingering there.
“In your dreams!” Arcadi would quip.
Everything. Absolutely everything leads me back to him.
“Alright, so should we start with the elephant in the room?” Clem begins with a sigh. “Maybe you’ll be able to unwind a little after that.”
“Okay…”
“Vadim has been released. Your dad’s lawyer friend really came through.
He managed to prove that Keith set the whole thing up—the drug bust and all the rest. He even convinced Cheyenne to testify!
Oh yeah, and they figured out who took those photos of the two of you!
Keith had hired someone to follow you everywhere and take pictures—and they confessed.
But Keith himself still denied it! He’s such a psychopath!
How could I have ever dated him? Anyway, he got twenty years without parole. ”
I stay silent, unable to get a single word out.
“That’s good news, right? It’s what you wanted!”
Clémentine waits for a reaction from me.
“Yes… Did you see him again?” I ask in a small voice.
“Keith? Oh sure, we had a candlelit dinner, and then caught a movie… buried the hatchet…”
“Vadim!” His name bursts out of me. It’s the first time in a month I’ve allowed myself to say it out loud.
“Just briefly, when he was released. It was impossible to talk to him though. Alonso was all over him, yelling and being his usual goofy self. But I gave him your letter.”
“Thanks. Do you know if he read it?”
“No, sorry… But he didn’t tear it up right in front of me! That’s a really good sign, right?”
The rest of the updates from college leave me indifferent.
Timothy’s new girlfriend. The basketball team’s triumphant end to the season.
Basile’s boyfriend, Isaac Sanders, hooking up with his ex, Assistant Coach Zach Powell, the day before Basile left.
Phoebe McPherson’s new pair of boobs, a graduation gift from her parents.
The unlikely new romance between two painfully shy students: Jude Lee, my former project partner, and Hannah Goldberg, the class’s top student.
The Sunset Café slowly emptying as the holidays drew nearer.
Mr. Abrams continuing to wander around the campus, a long time after classes officially ended.
When the professor finally found out about my permanent departure, he asked my best friend to send me his regards, adding that he had been “a little hard” on me. Clémentine tells me it’s his way of apologizing. She smiles at me, seeming overcome by nostalgia.
And I am left reeling as I realize just how much life goes on.
Without me.
Without him.
I have absolutely no desire to resume mine.
The days go by, and I still have no news.
If Vadim has read my letter, he clearly doesn’t feel like answering me.
I’ll write him more; I know I will. Maybe he’ll never forgive me.
Maybe he has already erased me from his life.
Maybe he even went and scratched out what he once carved into wood and stone, back when he loved me.
It feels like an eternity ago.
Not a day goes by without me digging into my memory box.
I open it up and look at the three Polaroids Vadim gave me for my birthday: the wooden bench, the little steps in the square, and the wall of the café.
I run my fingers over them, trying as hard as I can to feel the relief of the carved letters.
To prove to myself that You + Me really did exist.
To be continued