Page 63 of I Love You in French

All in all, I should be so excited, but I’m not. It’s the bittersweet feeling of your favorite show in its final episode. You loved it, and its leaving, and you know you’ll never get a new episode to love again. It’s trying to let go of something that you never wanted to say goodbye to in the first place.

The screen near my gate lights up with a message as my phone does the same. My flight is delayed. And instead of seeing this as a sign to stay or wait until a later date to figure out if Sparrow will break through her fear, I choose to put in my earbuds and go over a track that I’ve been mixing, which may or may not be about the woman I’m leaving behind.

∞∞∞

When people think of Nashville, they often think of country music and all the things that go with it. While they’re not wrong, I’ve found Nashville to be the place I go when life doesn’t make sense. It has rescued me a few times because of the connections I have and the feeling I have of being capable of anything while I'm there. I hope it can rescue me again.

After leaving my heart in a small town near Boston, I’ve been holed up in a studio used by some of the biggest country artists. Am I writing country music? No. But I am creating. It’s been a week since I’ve left Birch Borough. I keep telling myself that it will get easier, that I won’t miss the way Sparrow greets me in the morning. I tell myself, as I chew on a mediocre bagel and sip a slightly burnt cup of coffee, that I don’t miss Sparrow’s Beret and its maple croissants. To be fair, Nashville has great food. But I grabbed whatever was left over in the break room at the studio so I didn’t have to go out in public and face ... people.

I look out the windows that give a view over the street and see tourists milling about with their cameras out and ready. A guy in a cowboy hat just got stopped by a bunch of teenagers and is now crouched down and taking pictures with them. I don’t envy him. It’s wild to me how Broadway Street in Nashville looks like Hollywood Boulevard got replicated. But instead of fake awards in the windows, it’s cowboy boots. And instead of street performers, it’s open windows flowing with cover songs.

I’m not recognized here, and that’s more than okay. But I am lonely, and so, in between recording sessions, I decide to call Graham. It’s only two rings before he answers.

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “Already missing me?”

The truth is, I am. But he already knows that. Still, I indulge him. “Something like that.”

“Hmm . . . Nashville isn’t enough this time?”

I look out of the window at the skyline of the city. This place where I’ve often found so much comfort just feels ... uncomfortable. I feel like I’m hiding out instead of finding refuge.

“She’s fine,” he says clearly.

I hold my breath and wait. I wasn’t going to ask him about her, but if he’s bringing her up, then I’m willing to hear about it. I want to hear about all of it.

“I didn’t think you’d ask about her, but I stopped by and saw her. She looks ...” I remind myself to keep breathing because I’m starting to see spots. “... distant. She looks distant,” he concludes.

I know why, but I don’t want to comment any further. I don’t think my emotions would allow me to speak anyway. I manage a hum and then will myself to keep talking. I fill Graham in on my parents and the ways that they’re disappointed in me yet again. I fill him in on all the time I’ve spent in the studio. And then I decide to ask him the question that’s been bothering me for so long.

“Do you think I could be both?”

He doesn’t need me to explain. He knows how I’ve split my life up and all the ways I have been hiding behind my music. “I think you need to think about what you’ll regret. I know it has never ended the way you wanted in any city or town you’ve been lately, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep trying. Keep risking.”

There’s silence on the line for a few seconds as I twirl an unimportant to-go coffee cup in my hands. Unlike the ones from Birch Borough, there’s no joy in it. “I thought it was bad when I left LA, and it was. I was burnt out. I wasn’t creating. But now . . . I don’t know, man ... It’s like I finally felt alive and then woke up to a nightmare.” I take a deep breath because this is the thing that’s been haunting me since I left. “I really don’t know how to move on without her.”

Graham lets out a knowing sigh. “I know. In more ways than I’ve ever told you.”

I’m taken aback by his confession. I’ve suspected there’s a heartbreaking story beneath his cool, businesslike facade. “You’ll get the full story soon. But, in the meantime, just know that we really don’t regret trying. It’s when we don’t try that it kills us. Slowly and painfully.”

“Graham, I still think it has to be her. I don’t want other options.”

He sighs. A long, drawn-out sigh. But not the kind that tells me he thinks I’m not thinking clearly or that I have the wrong idea. It’s one that seems to get what I’m saying and knows this feeling of there being no going back. “Ok, so what do you need me to do?”

“Do you think ... Do you think you and Lily could help me get her back?”

“Absolutely not. Not with her.”

His response is unnerving. I knew he didn’t have a great impression of Sparrow’s best friend, but I didn’t think he would be this adverse to being near her.

“But you’re my best friend. And she’s Sparrow’s best friend. See where I’m going with this?”

He sighs again, this one out of frustration. “I understand. But you don’t know what you’re asking of me. There’s ... history there.”

Wow. I really may have underestimated this situation. “No, it’s okay. I’ll figure this out on my own.” Silence. I know I’m making the right decision. Whatever happened between him and Lily, he’s not ready to face it. And I have to respect that too.

“If there’s anything I can do myself, I will. You know that, right?”

I grin. “I do. Thank you. For inviting me. For letting me stay at your place. I know I’ve probably brought more emotions and feelings—and loud music—into your world than you ever would’ve wanted, but you’ve been great, man. I appreciate it.”

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