Chapter 30 Scarlett
SCARLETT
Nadia raises her glass. “A toast.”
I quirk a brow. “Why exactly are we toasting?”
“To loving again,” she says, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
I laugh, shaking my head in amusement. “Did you not hear me? He said he didn’t want to try. He’s not willing.”
Lifting her glass of white wine, Nadia nods sagely as she kicks her heel back and forth from her spot at the sidewalk café. “But I’m not talking about him. I’m proud of you for loving again, so I’m toasting to you.”
“Fair enough,” I say, raising my glass and clinking it against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Always.”
We finish, I pay the bill, and we wander along the cobblestone street in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. She hooks her elbow through mine. “You tried again. That’s a big deal. You were hurt. You were devastated. And you found it in you to give love another shot,” she says, ever the encouraging friend.
“But did I?” I ask, a little pensive as we stroll along the boulevard among Parisians and tourists out for the evening.
“You told him you loved him. That sure sounds like you did.”
“But did I fight for him? Did I do enough?” I stop at the corner, looking up at the streetlamp, then at the green sign on the building marking Rue Bonaparte. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”
She nods, like she’s considering the question. “So you think you should have done more. Like what?”
As I turn around, soaking in the city, the answer is right in front of me. The answer is all around me. The answer is—I am here.
I am in this place that I love, living this life that I love.
I did move on. I did mourn. And I did heal from the pain, the shame, the self-loathing.
Daniel is not Jonathan. This is not the same. The man I’m crazy about is alive, and he’s here, and I can say my piece. I don’t need to retreat when I have words to say and a heart that’s still full.
I have a chance to live differently.
I grab Nadia’s arm, excitement roaring through me.
“I don’t need to say more for him. I need to say it for me.
Not to win him back. Not to change him. Because that’s up to him.
But I want to say something more because I can.
I want to tell him my heart, my truth. Because that’s what he did for me.
He showed me that I could love again,” I say, my chest filling with happiness, with possibility.
With hope. Whether for a future with Daniel, or just a future where I don’t hurt.
Because I don’t hurt anymore.
He showed me love. He treated me like a queen. He adored me. Whether he can do that for a long time or a short time, our week was worth it. I loved every second with him, and I want to say everything to him that’s true and powerful.
I didn’t get to say all of the true things to Jonathan, because he died too soon.
But Daniel is alive. Whether we can ever be together or not, I can still express how he made me feel in that week of time.
“I can speak the truth now. And I want to,” I say.
Nadia smiles, bright and proud. “Then do it.”
I grab my phone from my purse, slide the screen open, and I’m about to call him when a message pings from my parents.
I open it. It’s a photo of an ice-cream cone.
Dad: We went to a new vegan ice-cream shop in the Village. I got a double chocolate. Impressed?
Mom: Salted caramel for moi. Mine was better. Your father knows it and tried to barter for my cone.
Dad: Not true. I simply suggested trading off.
Mom: Translation: you had ice cream regret. Admit I picked a better flavor.
Dad: I will admit nothing of the sort. But I’ll admit this – Scarlett, when you’re in New York next, we will definitely go to Sweet Nothings.
I reply quickly.
Scarlett: Oh yes, we will. Also, you had me at vegan.
Dad: I knew we could get your attention with that word!
Mom: Does that mean you’ll come visit us soon?
Scarlett: I promise.
My chest expands, it glows, and I see things even more clearly.
I have this. I have this frequent connection, this regular contact, the thing Daniel misses the most.
It’s such a simple, wonderful thing.
No wonder he’s scared. No wonder he’s terrified. He lost something more than precious.
I know what it’s like to have it.
I can do something for him and something for me. To let him know how deeply he touched me and how much I’d be willing to try for him.
But it’s past midnight. And midnight is for regrets, so I don’t call him. Instead, I send a message asking him to meet me in the morning.