Honeymoon Alone: A Novel Read online

  “Jacques is her boyfriend,” he finally spits out, the word ‘boyfriend’ seeming like acid on his tongue.

  “Oh,” I say stupidly. He moves to the floor and lays his head back against the bed, eyes closed. “How idiotic am I?”

  “She never mentioned Jacques before?” I ask, joining him on the floor.

  “No.” He looks at me again. “That’s what is strange about the whole thing. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend at all. We talk all the time. On the phone. In email. I’ve never heard of him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I agree.

  Neither of us says anything for awhile.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks, after a long while.

  “About something my grandma Lucy said to me when my college boyfriend broke up with me.”

  Cary looks down at me, stoic and interested.

  “She said, ‘your heart can break, but if it’s still beating, you’ll be okay after all.’”

  He laughs, and pulls me closer to him. Relief courses through me. His smile says it all.

  ow exciting – Christmas day in Paris! A sparkling blanket of calm cloaks the city. It seems everyone is staying in today. And why not? It’s a day for family and loved ones. Oliver, even, stayed back to enjoy the day with his sister. At least that is what I hope he’s doing. I sort of left while he was in the shower, telling Jessie to wish him Merry Christmas for me.

  I finish my hot latte and warm croissant from a tiny little Parisian café and make my way down the avenue that borders the River Seine. Little strings of colorful Christmas lights twinkle above, tracing the charming espresso shops that line the street. Intoxicating aromas of coffee and baked goods waft out into the street. Boutiques display the kind of clothes I’ve only ever seen in magazines while vendors sell paintings that bring the City of Love to life with colors I’ve only imagined in my most vivid dreams.

  I take a deep breath. This is what I came here to do. It’s just me here in these quiet, nearly deserted streets. Everyone seems to be closing shop early for the holiday, ushering down the streets to family and traditions. This year, my traditions have gone out the window. This is my honeymoon. Alone. Well – technically Cary was supposed to be hanging out with me today, but he was such a downer on account of the whole Anne-having-a-hoity-toity-French-boy-toy thing that I sent him away to go find her and talk before she left for her own Christmas festivities. Because at the very least, they are friends. And I know feeling reassured of that fact will (hopefully) save his Christmas spirit a bit.

  But he did leave me his phone, in case I get lost. And to “completely remove the temptation to text Anne or stare at it waiting for her to text him.” They agreed on a place and a time to meet, and he decided to take a page from my book and disconnect while he made his way there, letting me know that I should call anyone at all since he did drag me into his personal love problems quite literally.

  I’m on my way to The Eiffel Tower. I have one day here and I will see as many famous landmarks as I can. There it is now, in the distance. It’s a long walk, but I can’t think of a better way to warm up.

  Continuing along the river, the tower is my own personal north star. Compared to the bustling streets of London in the pre-Christmas craze, these streets are quiet, but they still have people, sipping coffees or eating croissants, bundled warm, cozying up to one another. I watch the lovers, the artists, the families, the locals and the tourists. Some walk around me. Others sit on the wall along the river, lost on their own little adventures. I wonder what I look like to other people. I lift my chin and toss my hair. Maybe I look worldly and adventurous. As I stare at the people and the sights, I realize that it’s far more likely that I look like the world’s biggest tourist.

  Finally, I’m there. At the Eiffel Tower. I can’t breathe. I mean, I, Lucy Gray, am in France, standing before the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by many people who look like they’ve popped out of a storybook. This is definitely a moment to document.

  I pull my camera out of my backpack and focus the architecture of the tower in the viewfinder. I begin snapping away. I walk a few steps forward and put my backpack on the ground by my feet. I lay down on my back, resting my head on the bag and look up. Some passersby regard me strangely, though most just walk around me as if someone sprawling out beneath the Eiffel Tower is totally normal.

  As I gaze up, the tower disappears into a cloudless sky. Peering at the scene through the lens, sunlight renders the people around me mere silhouettes darting around before my eyes. I smile and take the picture of what I can only describe as the most perfect moment. Ever.

  “What do you mean you saw the Eiffel Tower?” Mary asks me an hour later. “Aren’t you in London?”

  “Mary, pay attention.” I clutch Cary’s cell phone tightly to my ear and tear off a piece of a croissant I bought at the only café that I passed that was still open, and take a bite as I walk down a winding, charming avenue. “I’m in Paris now.”

  I purchased a calling card because while it was really sweet that Cary lent me his phone, and even sweeter that he keeps insisting that what’s his is also mine, I simply cannot take advantage of his loyalty to his craft. He’s a little too caught up in his role as husband.

  “You’re in Paris?” Mary shrieks. “I can’t believe you.”

  “I can’t believe me either,” I say. “How’s everyone?”

  “They’re good. Christmas Eve was interesting.”

  I stop in my tracks. “You saw my family for Christmas Eve?” I ask, looking around at the street names, not understanding any of them. I thought I was heading back to that street where the taxi driver dropped me off but nothing around me looks familiar. At all.

  “Well, just for a few hours,” Mary says quickly, “because Jake and I…we…”

  “We?” I interrupt, biting my lip. “You and Jake are a ‘we’?”

  “Um…”

  “Mary,” I say, trying to sound calm. She doesn’t say anything, which only proves one thing to me. “What’s going on? Last time we talked, you were going out with Evan Abbott to see if he was the missing love of your life.”

  She sighs. “He wasn’t. He came to our date with his guitar for ‘old time’s sake’. And he wouldn’t stop playing ‘Free Falling.’ He kept saying it was our song. And even after the wait staff repeatedly asked him to stop, he said that he could not and would not. Lucy, I panicked and called Jake. Before my date, he was arriving at your place to fix your sink so, I don’t know, I guess he was fresh on my mind or something.”

  “Uh huh,” I say, struggling to keep up. I mean, Mary and Jake have known each other for two decades and barely talk to one another. And they’re total opposites. She’s a bookworm and he loves to go out to parties and bars. He loves dating. I can’t even picture him settling down with anyone. Not yet, anyway.

  “He told me that he’d come help me out of my date, but when he got here, he literally sat in another booth, ordered lunch and laughed quietly at me and Evan for like thirty minutes. Finally he came over and told me that my house was burning down and that I had to leave the restaurant immediately.”

  I smile at the idea of a man taking Mary out and playing the same song on his guitar for an hour straight. “That was nice of Jake to finally rescue you. How like him to make you suffer first. He’d do the same thing to me.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “It’s weird. I don’t think that we have ever hung out without you there. And he’s not what I imagined at all. It’s so easy to talk – we stayed up until three in the morning talking. And I always pictured him as this smooth operator. But he gets tongue-tied and he blushes. A lot. He’s actually tripped at least twice. He spilled a drink on me.” She takes a deep breath and I can sense her struggling emotionally. Despite being a romantic and so open to love, she doesn’t fall easily, ever since her last boyfriend crushed her heart into about a million tiny pieces. “These cannot be his moves,” she explains, a slight quiver in her voice. In a whisper, she adds pleadingly,
“there’s something here.”

  “You’ve known each other forever,” I say quietly, a nervous laugh escaping before I can help it. I’m never nervous with Mary. I want to be supportive. I do. And honestly my brother would probably kill a guy who was bad to Mary. She’s family. I clutch the phone tightly to my ear and look around at the unfamiliar surroundings, wondering if Jake actually could change. Fall in love. It would be fantastic if he finally settled down. And to fall in love and settle down with Mary? That would be a dream come true. She has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met and she’s beautiful – not that she gives herself any credit on either front.

  “I’ll just have to see this to believe it!”

  Mary breathes a long sigh of relief and laughs. “In one week, you’ll see it all. You know, I can hardly believe it myself.”

  “Now tell me why you said Christmas Eve was interesting and make it quick. This is very long distance because I am – “

  “ – in Paris, I know,” she says, feigning annoyance. “Okay, well…are you sure you want to hear everything from me and not your family?”

  “I’m dying over here, Mare.”

  “Charles and Samantha are expecting another baby.”

  Samantha’s pregnant again? I can’t believe it. I mean, two years ago when Tristan was born, they said they were done. They had two amazing, healthy kids. They always loved the idea of two children. And yet…Charles has been really stressed out lately now that I think about it. Not unhappy stressed either. Just overwhelmed and definitely overprotective, if his behavior regarding Ian and my vacation is any indication. Oh yeah. He’s in daddy-mode, big time.

  “Lucy?”

  “That’s so cool,” I finally say, my heart pounding with excitement. They make the cutest children. Though I may be slightly biased. “Is there anything else?” I ask. Because I know there is. Mary could always give away too much by barely saying a word.

  “Julie has decided to become a professional makeup artist.”

  “But she’s a doctor.” Is Mary messing with me?

  “Your mom was not exactly thrilled.”

  “I can imagine,” I laugh. “I think it’ll be quite the pay cut. And Jules loves her vintage dresses and designer jeans.”

  “Your mom brought that up as well.”

  “What did Julie say? Did she give a reason for abandoning her life’s work out of nowhere?”

  “Well, she sort of implied that your little international jaunt motivated her to be more true to herself.”

  “You’re kidding,” I say, throwing my hand to my forehead. As if I hadn’t given her enough ammunition lately, my mother is going to kill me. She takes unbelievable pride in telling anyone who will listen that her Julie is a ‘real doctor’.

  “She gave your mom a beautiful makeover before the night was over and I think that softened the blow a little,” Mary says, stifling a laugh. She’s always loved my family. As an only child, she sort of adopted us in grade school and fancied herself an honorary Gray ever since.

  I hang up with Mary and stare at the phone for just a moment, taking in everything she told me. Just two weeks ago, everything was normal. Now, it’s just all changed around back home. Is this what happens when you make spontaneous decisions and take a leap? Does life completely go haywire when you aren’t looking? Does everything get turned upside down when you’re out taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower?

  Major things are happening with the people I love the most at home. And here I am in Paris….

  I look around.

  Here I am in Paris completely lost. At some point during my conversation with Mary, I wandered without paying any attention. I can’t even spot the Tower in the distance anymore to get my bearings.

  And – everything is closed. Most people are gone now except for a few, and there don’t seem to be any taxis around anymore. Plus, it’s getting colder by the minute. I jab at the map app over and over, but the wheel just turns, searching for a WiFi signal.

  From the pocket of my faded blue jeans, I extricate the business card Jessie handed me as I headed out the door this morning – ‘in case of an emergency!’ I dial the number she gave me and am happy to hear a distant ringing on the other end.

  “Hello?” answers a male voice that I’m coming to know only too well.

  “Hey, Oliver,” I say, trying to sound cheerful, like he is just the person I am calling to talk to.

  “Ah, Miss Gray,” he says, and while he tries to sound bored, I can detect a note of interest in his tone. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas. Um…is your sister there?”

  “She’s not.”

  I sigh. He’s purposefully being difficult. I can hear it in his tone. And I hate to ask for his help in any way. Looking around, though, I realize that I hate being lost even more. “I’m lost,” I finally say.

  After a brief pause, he asks, “all right, well, where are you?”

  “Well, if I knew that—“

  “—you wouldn’t be lost. Yes, I know,” he cuts me off impatiently. “I mean, what are you near? Where did you go today? I assume that at some point you were not lost.”

  “I was at the Eiffel Tower about thirty minutes ago. But I walked away from it.”

  “In which direction?”

  “The away direction,” I say brazenly. I am very self-conscious about my directionally-challenged nature that’s followed me through life. It’s not my fault that Boston, while lovely, was built like a one-way curving nightmare.

  He is silent for a long moment. “You really wear on my patience, do you know that?”

  I smile, pleased that I wear on his patience. Because he definitely wears on mine. “Do you see any signs?” he prompts after a moment. He almost sounds eager to help me. Or find and annoy me.

  I look around and spot a sign, a pretty large one just in front of an office building. “Yes,” I say excitedly. “Yes, okay. Here’s one.”

  “Yes?” he urges me, bursting with impatience.

  I open my mouth to read the sign, but stop, suddenly self-conscious. “Don’t make fun of my accent. I never learned French. Though I was great at Spanish. All A’s.”

  “Miss Gray.”

  I sigh and look at the sign. I guess, to his point, this really isn’t the ideal time to boast about my good grades fifteen years ago. “It says ‘A Vendre,’” I say. “Is that a restaurant you know or something?”

  He’s quiet for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing.

  “What?” I ask, growing concerned. “Where am I?” But he only continues laughing. I’ve never really heard him laugh. It’s actually kind of a nice sound. I wasn’t sure he had it in him, honestly. “Oliver, pull yourself together,” I beg, staring at the building and this oh-so-humorous sign. “I warned you about my accent.”

  “It’s not your accent I’m worried about,” he says, still rippling with laughter over the phone line.

  “Where am I?” I order through gritted teeth, hoping my frustration is making its way through the phone line and into his ears.

  “For starters, you’re in front of a building that is for sale,” he says. And then he bursts into laughter all over again as I begin slowly turning all shades of red. I walk to the sidewalk behind me and take a seat, shaking my head at that darn sign. Of course I had to choose that sign to read to this man.

  “Stop laughing,” I plead, though I start to feel the beginning waves of laughter bubbling within myself. “I don’t speak French. It was an honest mistake that anyone could have made.”

  “I feel like it could only happen to you, Miss Gray.”

  And then we’re both laughing. Really laughing. Somehow, after feeling on the verge of crying fifteen minutes ago, I’m having fun. Sitting on a Paris curb. Completely lost. On the phone with Oliver, of all people. Wiping my eyes, I reach into my bag and remove my camera to take a picture of the sign. This sign – this stupid, uninformative sign – made Oliver Burke laugh hysterically – no small feat with someone like h
im. This sign definitely needs to be documented. It needs to be remembered.

  embarked on this adventure completely on my own, yet I never seem to be alone. This fact was the very reason I was so excited to have the full afternoon to experience Paris in my own way. Seeing the Eiffel Tower, walking along the Seine, taking thousands of photos all around the city. Every incredible moment was mine and mine alone.

  Having someone show you around, however, has its benefits too. Even when that someone is Oliver Burke. It eliminates the option of getting lost, for one thing. On top of the directional benefit, Oliver actually knows stuff. A lot of stuff. From history and culture to local hangouts, he has this city down. He’s like the tour guide from the Tower of London tour – just an endless stream of trivia.

  “I assume you’ll want to get your camera ready for our next stop,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.

  At his words, I reach for my camera as we round a corner. “What’s next?”

  “The Arc de Triomphe,” he says with a bit of pomp and circumstance, gesturing toward a proud, stately and gorgeous structure just as it falls into view. After snapping a couple of pictures, I decide immediately that the Arc de Triomphe is, like the Eiffel Tower, a great candidate for another cleverly angled photo. In silence we walk until we are directly before the building. Perfect spot. I sit down, placing my photo bag and purse beside me. I peer through the lens at the building and start to lean back.

  “What are you doing?” Oliver asks, standing over me with an expression that seems to be questioning my sanity. “You’re going to lie down on the ground for a photo? You do know that it’s about ten degrees outside.”

  “For this shot, I’d lie on the ground naked,” I say, immediately regretting my word choice. I mean, you don’t just say things to guys that could cause them to think of you, you know, naked. Especially one day after said guy very nearly caught you naked. I pull the camera away from my face and peek at Oliver. He’s just staring at me, shaking his head in clear disbelief, his cheeks much redder than before. That could have something to do with the cold though.