Page 60 of I Love You in French

“Lily, you’ve gotta help me.”

She smirks. “Well, that’s obvious.”

I groan. “Lily, you don’t understand. This was never supposed to happen. And you should’ve seen his face. Devastating.”

“Well, he likes you. I’ve been saying that from the start, I’ll have you know. You were just too stubborn to see it.” She crosses her arms in a satisfied-with-herself way, and I watch as Lily checks out my current state.

My hair is in a haphazard bun. I’m wearing sweats with a coffee stain on them. I can feel a speck of icing or some sort of sugar on my cheek, and my eye makeup hasn’t been removed since last night. She doesn’t approve.

Rafe and I kissed. Heaven and earth moved. And when it was over, and he left my apartment, I ... panicked. It was the kind of kiss that changes your life, and you feel it while it’s happening. I’ve been moved across countries and across worlds with that kiss. But my life is here.

Which is why, for the first time, I’ve called out of work to avoid a man who is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. He’s been calling, and I’ve ignored him. He’s been texting, and I’ve silenced them all. He broke through my walls, and I can feel myself building them up again like I’m trying to defend myself from an oncoming war. I hated the look of confusion in his eyes when I avoided him at the café yesterday. After we shared our kiss, I was walking on clouds ... until I fell into the abyss. It was all so real. Too real.

“What am I going to do?” I say quietly.

“About what? The fact that you met a beautiful man from whom even you can’t find a way to hide or that you look like a deranged raccoon?”

My mouth drops open. “How. Could. You? I am fragile. I am vulnerable. I am shook.”

Lily smirks and takes another sip of her rosé. “You’re not on social media. So, my comments actually help build your resilience. I express my love in a multitude of ways.”

I love her too much to fight, so instead, she gets a throw pillow chucked at her head. Her hand goes higher into the air to avoid impact, and a tiny drop of rosé falls from the glass onto her cheek. Lily’s eyes go wide, and I let out a laugh. I might as well have sprayed her with a water gun for the dramatics of her wiping the one spilled drop from her cheek. She shakes her head as if she can’t wait to retaliate, and I sink deeper into the couch.

“I don’t think Paris is for me. And when I say ‘Paris,’ I really mean all of it.” The confession slips out before I pass it through a mental filter.

It’s a moment before Lily recovers, and I see her eyeing me again. This time, she wants details. “You don’t normally talk like this ...”

I look out at the rain gently forming drops on the windowpanes and watch as one seems to make a fragmented path toward the sill. While most of the drops join and create streams of water, it’s the one on its own that I can’t seem to shake. “I feel like I’m being punished—that’s how it feels.”

I turn to catch a glimpse of Lily’s face as she takes in what I just said. Her blue eyes flash with empathy. “Rory ...”

“No, let me get this out.”

I wipe a rogue tear, much like the one from the wet glass, and look my best friend in the eyes. “I missed my number. I can’t seem to get over this frustration that feels like, at some point in my life, my number came up, and I was on a call, or I missed my name being called ... It’s like everyone got a manual except me.” I manage to get that much out before swallowing.

“I feel something with Rafe . . . so deeply,” I choke. “And before I can make sense of it, before I can talk myself out of walking away . . . my heart is locking itself up, with or without my permission.” I stand up and start pacing in front of the record player. “And I’m lonely. And I’m ... scared.”

I look toward a picture of my parents and me when I was a little girl. Next to it is an image of my mother standing on a bridge, looking out at the Seine. “And I’m mad.” I clench my fists but can’t seem to raise my voice. “I’m so mad, Lily.” The anger is making its way into fatigue. My limbs are heavy with it.

Lily stands and leans her head against my shoulder and watches the rain with me, the weight of my words sinking into my bones.

“Can’t you just tell him? Tell him that you’re scared. Tell him you don’t want to lose him. Heck, tell him that you’re bleeding out because you miss him.”

I wipe my face with the edge of my sweatshirt and look around my cute little apartment with so much character it could have its own novel. “I—I don’t think I trust myself to love him. And if I’m too scared to try and too scared to let go, then that leaves me exactly where I am now. And he’s too beautiful to get caught in that.”

It’s the first time I’ve articulated what’s really going on in my heart—the fight of fear that’s been warring within me. What if I ask Rafe to stay, and he resents me and leaves anyway? What if I don’t let Rafe in on how I feel about him and realize no one will ever make me as happy as he does? What if I try to find a way to do long distance with Rafe and realize I was never what he needed all along?

“Lily, I’m so glad I have you. Honestly, I can’t imagine my life without you. I’m grateful every single day—even when you keep me humble with your comments.”

Lily grins. “I don’t have all of the answers, but whatever is happening here ...” She motions across her mind. “And here ...”—she points to her heart—“is not letting you really live. Trust me, I’m living in it too.”

I want to ask her what she means, but she’s already shaking her head as if to say, “Don’t go there.” I nod but make a mental note that there’s something Lily hasn’t been telling me—and I get the feeling she doesn’t want to burden me. But one day, when she’s ready to open up, like she’s waited for me to open up to her, I’ll be ready to listen.

“He doesn’t deserve to have anyone mess with his heart,” Lily continues. “I know you don’t mean it, but you’re hurting him. In your silence, you’re hurting him.”

“I know. And it’s killing me.”

“But the thing is, life isn’t certain. I know you know this. Tragedies happen. People let us down. Even happy moments don’t last. And so, it’s up to us to hold on to what we can.” She leads us back to the couch and takes another sip of her drink. “And out there, probably three or four streets away, is a very attractive man, who happens to play guitar and put up with me ... which is a miracle, honestly. And he happens to have a love for ‘Sugar.’”

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