Page 52 of I Love You in French

As I turn fully to head back toward Graham’s apartment, crushed leaves under my shoes and dried milkshake on my coat, I hear Lily call to me. “Go get her, D’Artagnan. On behalf of all the heartbroken, change the ending.”

Chapter Nineteen

Rafe

I haven’t seen Sparrow for four days. I would say it’s because I’m too busy writing and getting ready for another show, but that’s not entirely true. I’ve written, sure, but I’ve also been as distracted as I ever remember being. I joined the gym in town just to try to wear myself out and lift really heavy things without people wondering what was wrong with me. It was horrible. So now I’m sore and can’t bend my legs too much. But the worst pain is the one that’s pulsing near my lungs. She went out with Jacques.

My phone rings. I think it could be her but deflate as soon as I see it’s my dad. I know he’ll keep calling if I don’t answer, so I accept. He wants something.

“Son,” he says. “Another article came out here about your band. Talks about trouble in our family. Your mother and I need you to meet us in London. The family needs to be seen together for a photo op.”

I clench my jaw so tight something pops near my right ear. “Ow,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t care anyway. “And my answer is no.”

“You need to be there,” is the response. There must be people around for him to speak so vaguely.

“Can’t do that.” I don’t even apologize.

“Is this because of one of your shows?” he seethes. I hear the meanness breaking through his civility. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll completely crack.

“Listen, I’m going to let you go. Thanks for checking in. Hope all is well. Do tell Mother I said hello.” And with that, I hang up.

I put my head in my hands and wait for the text I know is coming. My phone pings, and I turn over to check ... because I still can’t seem to fully separate myself from my parents—no matter how hard I’ve tried.

Dad: I’ll send you your flight information.

My thumbs type furiously.

Rafe: Don’t waste your airline miles. Can’t be there. Wear your blue suit. Looks better in photos.

I shouldn’t have added the last line to twist the knife, but I’m so sick of feeling like a pawn in my father’s dreams. And I won’t let them keep overtaking my own.

The image of Sparrow getting out of the car with Jacques still has me in knots, but I did this to myself. It’s what she said she wanted. All I wanted was to see her happy and to show her that I’ll get out of the way if it means she gets to live her own dreams. And it feels ridiculous to think I could try to make this situation go in any other direction.

Graham and I had a solid heart-to-heart last night, and he told me I have to remember that I’m leaving. I am leaving, right? I’ve never considered trying to pursue music outside of a major city. And while I haven’t had it in me to return to Paris yet, and living in LA felt like a piece of my soul was sinking bit by bit, it has always been my plan to return when I found the courage. Except, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Home suddenly feels like weird, small-town activities and the river that changes color depending on the weather. It feels like the tiny studio in the music shop on Main Street, where Liam has a cup of coffee waiting for me when I arrive. It feels like Lily giving me slightly hostile advice and Graham answering every time I call. It feels like a box of croissants and eating pizza in a studio. It feels like a woman slow dancing in my arms.

I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m wearing a crisp white dress shirt with my solid black tie. A suit jacket hangs from one arm. This is what came to mind when Lily advised me to make a grand gesture, not because I think it could sway her but simply because I’ll do anything for her to smile like she means it. I’ve gelled my hair in a classic Hollywood way and parted it to one side. I’m clean-shaven tonight. I’ve even got the shoes right—the Oxford ones—to look like I just stepped out of a 1950s film. I’m dressed as Seb from La La Land because I think Sparrow will like it. While Graham asked me if I was auditioning to be a Frank Sinatra impersonator, I know she’ll get the reference immediately.

Iam trying to be charming, and I don’t think I’ve ever tried to be charming—not intentionally, anyway. So I’m not sure what to do with this new part of my personality, but it’s too late to back out now. I promised Graham I would show up to this little town Halloween Happy Hour thing, and so I will.

∞∞∞

Standing near the gazebo in the town square near Main Street (yes, this is real life and not a movie set), I take in the little kids walking around with their parents. It’s all smiles and oversized costumes. It’s attempts at being fictional characters and sticky hands from candy already being snuck from their orange plastic pumpkins. It’s the way the masks don’t quite fit where their tiny eyes should be looking out. The effect is ... adorable.

I clear my throat. I’ll try to say it’s from the cold, but this town is getting to me, as is the sight of parents holding hands with their little ones. A thought of Sparrow as a little girl, holding her parents’ hands and asking for candy, hits me so strongly. The people she held on to are gone now. And I wonder if she wants to have a family and take them trick-or-treating too.

This must be a great town to grow up in. While I was falling asleep under tables at fashion events that lasted until 2:00 a.m. and sneaking hors d’oeuvres as my dinner, she was waking up to the smell of croissants and sprinkling sugar on chouquettes. While I was begging my parents to come see me at a show or a game, she was a comfort to her father in their grief. And while I was running as far away from Paris as possible, she’s been dreaming of booking a ticket since she knew that she could.

We’re from different worlds, and yet I think we could balance each other out. Be the one the other needs. When my eyes catch on a bright-yellow dress, I know I’m right. It’s got capped sleeves, cinches at the waist, and flares out. It’s vintage. It’s Sparrow, and also, it’s Mia from La La Land. We look like we’ve each tried to recreate the movie poster with our costumes. She sees me and stills, a sweater thrown over her arm. I thought it would be okay to see her, but my heart is screaming at me for being this close to her. It’s both a comfort after days without her and a new level of pain.

I scuff my shoes on the concrete beneath them, not willing to break eye contact. She takes a deep breath, and I don’t miss the way her mouth slightly turns up, and she shrugs as if to say, Of course we did. While I was secretly getting ready for my role tonight to make Sparrow smile, she was doing the same for me.

I try to avoid getting in the way of tiny princesses and cowboys as we meet in the middle of the street. It’s closed off for the event, and it’s far too crowded on the sidewalk. As we get closer to each other, I take in her hair, which she has perfectly styled in a vintage way. I note her bold lipstick and the fact that she’s also wearing Oxford shoes. I want to hug her and tell her how much I love how the lights are casting a glow around her that I’ll never forget. Even if I had my camera, I don’t think I’d try to get a picture since I know you can’t always catch magic with a lens.

We stare at each other for a moment when a flash goes off to my right. Startled out of our focus, I turn to see Lily with a smug look on her face. Looks like we got a picture of tonight after all. And now all I’m thinking about is how to convince Lily to let me see it. Although, it may not be the same as I remember it, I want something to confirm that Sparrow might have been looking at me the way I thought she was. I remember Jacques and wonder if he’s around here somewhere. I give a quick glance around but don’t see him in the crowd.

---