Chapter 33
C harlotte didn’t have much of a settling in period. She’d arrived in Paris and after taking a day to recover from jet lag, she’d started work. The DreamUs headquarters was on the outskirts of the city, with the park site a short train ride away. Charlotte had become a pro at working on the go, hopping back and forth between a desk and the mounds of dirt slowly taking shape between fiberglass and steel.
Paris, sparkling as the city was with no shortage of sights for her to see, faded into the background as Charlotte worked and slept on repeat, not even noticing how quickly she’d returned to giving herself to the job. Pointedly not questioning why she was so eager to exhaust her mind every day.
She hadn’t left any loose ends in the work department at Lands; Charlotte had worked with her family to make sure she’d handed off all her responsibilities. Other than those communications, she hadn’t known how to interact with them. Aunt Marianne seemed to take her choice in stride and, after a heart-to-heart, she texted Charlotte often about progress on the construction and with updates on the Faery Festival. Uncle Frank didn’t text, but he’d joined the heart-to-heart with Aunt Marianne and they were okay. Emily hadn’t reached out, hadn’t apologized, and honestly, that was fine. She probably didn’t think she had anything to apologize for.
And Gregory. She didn’t even know what to do with Gregory. Or without him. When she looked out the office window at the city around her, all she could think about was how much she missed their weekly pizza nights and how much she wished he were there. He emailed occasionally when he needed a small something for Lands that Charlotte had forgotten to pass on, but she didn’t reply. But after he’d sent her a photo of a brood of baby ducks waddling through Bluewhistle Meadow, Charlotte finally replied, suggesting the transition would be easier if they weren’t in touch for a while. She did it to spare her foolish heart, which kept pining for his gray-flecked eyes, the crinkles around his mouth, and his friendship.
Melanie was on the market for freelance work and had offered to help Lands scoot toward the Under the Waves opening, but she made her thoughts on Charlotte’s choice clear. Charlotte had called her from the airport while on the way to Paris, waiting so long to tell her best friend on purpose, and Melanie had threatened to somehow stop her from boarding the plane. Melanie, as ever, hadn’t hesitated to call Charlotte on her shit. While she understood Charlotte’s frustration and sense of being betrayed by Gregory and her family, Melanie couldn’t believe her response was running away to Paris. Running away to the company that had once laid her off and sent her into an existential spiral. Running away to work with Chad, who had contributed in a very big, very negative way to said existential spiral.
Melanie’s words were weeks old by now, but they still played loud and clear in Charlotte’s head in quiet moments, like today when she was alone in the office for a round of virtual meetings with other Dream Mechanics at the DreamUs office in Glendale.
Charlotte: Saw this in the patisserie window and thought of you.
Charlotte sent a photo of a decadent-looking éclair with the text to Melanie. Her friend didn’t always answer her texts, but Charlotte kept trying.
Melanie: !!
Melanie: Please have one for me and report back.
Charlotte smiled.
Charlotte: You got it.
Charlotte: But if you come to visit, you could try for yourself.
Melanie: And hang out in Paris by myself while you work the whole time? Nah.
Melanie: (I promise I’m saying that with love).
Charlotte couldn’t argue with Mel as she looked out the office window at the lights glowing against the darkening sky over the city. The time difference with the home office meant some late-night meetings—meetings Chad usually took from his apartment with Jeni, who had moved to Paris but left DreamUs to work at a marketing firm. Charlotte opted to stay in the office alone because she couldn’t bring herself to set up a desk in her already small bedroom. She didn’t want to add up the number of hours she spent at the office or onsite, though. It would be staggering.
Maybe tonight, when she was done with work, would be the night she would meander through the neighborhood on the way home. She could pretend she wasn’t lonely and stop for an indulgent late-night dinner—one probably with large quantities of wine.
* * *
Melanie’s jab about not visiting because Charlotte would be too preoccupied with work haunted Charlotte the next few days. She was in Paris, and Paris had much more to offer than her small apartment, the DreamUs office, and the park’s construction zone. It was criminal that she hadn’t given the city any special attention.
She committed to disconnecting from work and putting her desire to continue wallowing aside for a full weekend by exploring her neighborhood and maybe visiting a museum. Two days. Charlotte could do it. She put it on her calendar to make sure her team knew she wouldn’t be available.
When her weekend off arrived, she flipped her phone into “do not disturb” mode, and walked out of her apartment and down the building’s rickety spiral staircase with purpose. Charlotte strolled to the lone place in her neighborhood she had become acquainted with so far: the boulangerie around the corner. Normally, she got her coffee and croissant to go, juggling the butter-stained bag as she navigated to the office on the train and getting crumbs everywhere.
Today, she would eat here, sitting in the nook by the window that she eyed every time she came in. She placed her order and sat down at the bistro table overlooking the street outside, not so bustling this early on a Saturday. When her café au lait arrived in a cup a reasonable person could call a bowl, Charlotte picked it up with both hands and took a careful sip. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the chair.
Slowing down was good. Why was it so hard for her to remember to do it?
Charlotte put down her drink and picked up the flaky croissant that arrived with it. As she peeled a layer of the pastry away, a sense memory swept her back to Sir Cinna-Swirls on Gregory’s first day in the park. Recalling his formal posture back then and thinking of the ways he’d softened since punched her in the core. She put the pastry back on its plate as if setting it down could wash the wave of sadness and regret away.
They’d gone from bickering coworkers to friends, to lovers, to people who lived across an ocean from each other and didn’t talk.
No , Charlotte told herself. Pastries make you feel happy. They do not leave room for sadness. With that resolve, she devoted every fiber of her attention to dissecting and savoring the croissant.
It still tasted like nothing.
A long walk to the Musée d’Orsay would set things right. She’d wanted to visit the museum for ages, and its appearance in the Doctor Who episode about Van Gogh that made her cry buckets only moved it higher up her list. She ordered another drink to go and stepped out into a spring morning with air so light it buoyed her steps.
After confirming the route on her phone, Charlotte opted to turn off the navigation and instead meander in the museum’s general direction. She followed narrow sidewalks to cobblestone alleys and stepped into the brightening sun to see if it would wipe the heaviness from her shoulders. And it did. For a while.
She was in one of the most beautiful cities on the planet. Old buildings crowding the streets, loud church bells punctuating the hustle and bustle, smells of rich food wafting through the air, history oozing out of every crack—and she was here alone. Charlotte didn’t have anything against solitude; it was an old friend. But here in this place, in this moment, she felt empty. No family. No Melanie.
No Gregory.
She wandered into a green space, sat on a bench, and asked herself what the hell she was doing there.