Chapter Fifteen #2
‘I didn’t really expect it to take off. The blog, I mean.’
‘That’s brilliant, Luna. I’d have a look, you know, if friends and family and ex-boyfriends weren’t banned.’
He’s smirking.
‘It’s important that we follow the rules, Emmett,’ I say, even though I don’t know what the rules are. I’m certain that Emmett and I are not following them at the moment though.
I messed up a couple of months ago and posted a link to The Art of Dying on my personal Instagram. I realised after half a day and deleted it straight away. It’s easier to bare your soul to strangers.
The Deathers know I’m dying. Like I said, some of them are dying too (not in the way that we’re all dying, which, by the way, is one of the worst things you can say to someone who is actually dying).
‘Why did you stop drawing, Luna?’
‘Lots of reasons, they aren’t important.’
I think he’s about to say more. To push me on this. I didn’t want to answer him yesterday and I can’t answer him now.
He doesn’t though, so we drop it.
I have another sip of wine. ‘How about you – how did you end up working for Médecins Sans Frontières?’ I ask, trying for a French accent but sounding stupid.
He shifts a little. We’ve been sitting on the floor for some time.
‘I specialised in emergency medicine and applied. It was pretty straightforward.’
Something tells me that the process is slightly more competitive than Emmett is making out. I’m rarely drawn to humble; I haven’t found it so attractive in the past. But none of my rules seem to apply when it comes to Emmett.
‘And that’s when you learned to speak French?’
‘Yep. It’s not, like, a requirement. But lots of the countries we work in have French as their first language, so it helps. I’m not fully fluent.’
‘You sound it.’
He shrugs. ‘It comes back, the more time I spend in Paris.’
I assumed that he’d arrived at the same time as me, to see the opening at MAM. ‘Haven’t you just arrived?’
He shakes his head, looking off into the pond where the stars are reflected on the now-still water.
‘I was here before. I’m between postings.’
‘Do you know where you’re going next?’ I ask.
‘There are a few options. I’m still weighing them up.’
I laugh, I don’t mean to, it just comes out.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘It’s just that you’re so calm here. So level-headed.’
‘Ah, yes, well that would be the antidepressants.’
I put down my cup. Balance it precariously on the grass.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘You didn’t. I offered the information. And you knew how I was, when we were younger. Therapy and antidepressants were an inevitability, I think.’
I don’t feel ready for this yet, for a little heart-to-heart about his traumatic childhood. Back then, I tried not to think about it. Now, it hurts too much. I say something inane about how I’m glad the medication helps.
‘It does, my head feels much clearer these days.’
‘That’s good. Really good, Emmett.’
And even though I wish things were different for me, for Emmett at least there’s hope. It’s everything I used to want for him.
I spend some time looking for other hotel rooms in the city but it’s stupidly short notice and so I agree to stay with Emmett. It a classic case of how things can feel so wrong yet so right at the same time.
There’s a breeze in the air by the time Emmett walks me back to my hotel. I promise myself, that even if I never see Emmett again, after this time in Paris, at least we’ll have had this evening. This evening has felt a lot like closure, and I’ve waited an awful long time for closure.
‘So I’ll see you outside MAM at eight tomorrow?’ he asks, even though we’ve already agreed this.
‘Yes, I’ll be there.’ I’ll be setting alarms and then back-up alarms to make sure I’m there.
We’re standing on the street outside my hotel, spotlighted under a street light.
He’s close and I think how often we stood like this before, and how easy it would be to reach up and kiss him.
He wets his lips, his eyes focused on mine, maybe having the same thought.
But no, I’m not going there again. It wouldn’t be fair to me, or to him.
With hitherto untapped strength, when it comes to Emmett at least, I take a step back.
‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
He straightens too, shaking his head, just a touch.
‘Yes, see you in the morning, Luna. Thank you, for a perfect day.’
And with that, Emmett walks away.
I’m desperate for some of my own space, some peace and quiet so that I can reground myself, but my phone has been blowing up constantly since I sent Mae the picture of the carousel. So, once I’m in my room, I skim through the gazillion messages she sent, focusing in on the last couple.
Mae: Are you shagging him now?
Mae: I can’t believe you’re having sex with Emmett.
Mae: Have I taught you nothing?
Mae: Is it good at least?
Mae: I bet he’s really kinky. The mysterious ones always are :/
Me: I’m not having sex with Emmett. I’m in my hotel room, alone!
Mae: Okay, I don’t know whether to be proud or not.
Me: He showed me around all day and looked after me when I took a funny turn this afternoon.
Mae: What do you mean, funny turn?
Me: I just got shattered walking up the Eiffel Tower. I’m fine now.
Mae: YOU WALKED UP THE EIFFEL TOWER?? I’LL KILL HIM. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??
Me: That it might be nice to feel normal for once? I told him I had glandular fever.
Mae: Shit.
Me: I know.
Mae: You still didn’t tell him then?
Me: Nope. I won’t be telling him tomorrow either. Or the next day.
Mae: What are you doing tomorrow?
Me: Going to see The Edge of Always again. The curator wanted to talk to me. And other places from Earl’s art. There was a cemetery, and a door, we don’t know what that is though. I’m staying with Emmett until Friday. The hotel didn’t have more space.
Mae: Wow. Lot to unpack there. Ask one of your internet sleuths to figure out the door. A whimsical art-inspired tour of Paris and staying in his bed. This is all sounding very romantic to me.
Mae might be onto something with the Deathers.
Me: Yeah, in a completely tragic way. Plus, there’s a spare bed.
Mae: Course there is.
Mae: Aren’t all the best love stories tragedies?
I shake my head at my phone. This isn’t a love story. It’s just a tragedy.
Mae: For the record, I still vote for telling him.
In a way, Mae is right. I should tell Emmett my secret.
I’m so weary of it all, but my being weary doesn’t change the fact that I’m doing exactly what I did all those years ago – by not telling Emmett the truth.
I barely admitted the truth to myself back then.
But that one lie – it devastated Emmett so much that he left and never came back.
I’ve thought so often about how I’d do things differently if I could have that time again.
So many secrets. Mistakes too. Earl, Emmett, Ahmed. Ahmed. That was not my finest moment.
But that’s the thing: honesty this time around makes no difference. It makes no difference at all to how this ends.