Page 5 of I Love You in French

Lily is the person I can talk to, or not talk to, about anything. Sometimes I think we’ve switched roles, and I’m the one now having an existential nearly-one-third-of-a-century crisis on the proverbial beanbag of life, while Lily is reading to me reminders of the dreams I’ve had and how to not lose sight of myself, even when all I feel are the burning coals of disappointment. Heaps of them.

“I think you need to tell me more about the man you met today.”

“Ugh. You would’ve loved him, actually.” Lily’s eyes light up for a fraction of a second before they dim and resume their “not interested” type of look. Talk about a fortress. She accuses me of such a thing but never goes out with anyone. And I would know—she tells me everything.

She raises her brows and waits. Chocolate drips from the whisk she is holding as she makes eye contact. This is one of her stare-offs, and it will not go in my favor. As much as I wish there wasn’t a little pool of melted dark chocolate forming on the industrial counter, Lily is focused, chocolate forgotten.

“He was perfectly ...fine. Just not the person I’m going to spend my life with.”

Lily chucks the whisk into the sink and glares. “And. Why. Not?”

Honestly, she’s terrifying when she gets into interrogation mode. I never had to worry about bullies or any other type of threat when we were in school with Lily as my best friend. Thank goodness I know which side of the line I’m on when it comes to her wrath, even if I do see glimpses of it every now and then.

I scrunch my nose and dip a spoon in chocolate. I’m going to need it. “He’s not French?” I say while I shove the chocolate in my mouth.

“Of all the ridiculous . . .” Lily trails off. She rolls her eyes, and it’s not the first time. “You must know you’re not in an enchanted castle with magical objects wanting you to be their guest, right?”

We’ve had similar conversations before. And truthfully, I get why she’s upset. Only my parents could’ve known the truth behind why I’m so hopefully set on giving my heart to someone who understands me when I say I feel like the Seine must be a character and not just a river.

“Gah!” She’s got a spatula and is now stirring up the chocolate so fast I think it’s just to break her own record for attempts at chocolate destruction. “The most frustrating thing is that you’ve probably opened a portal with your words because your little French crush, Jacques, asked about you today . . .”

I inhale sharply. “Really?”

“Yes, but don’t get any ideas. You did not orchestrate his apparent and, dare I say, new interest in you with your ‘man on the train platform refusal,’” she says as her arms flail about, melted chocolate bits raining to the floor. How it’s gotten all over her arms too, I’ll never know. “Got it?”

I wince slightly. She’s not wrong.

Lily’s eyes are slits, but I see her soften. She comes closer to where I’m standing with my chin held a little higher than necessary. With her hand on my shoulder, she looks into my eyes, and I see the same friend I found in the reading corner all those years ago once again.

“Rory, you know I love you.” I’m Sparrow, of course, but Lily has called me “Rory” since we were kids. Somehow, because she’s Lily, most of the town has caught on and call me the same.

I wait for the next part of Lily’s commentary. There’s always a next part. I raise my brows and tilt my head to signal for the rest.

“But ...maybe what you’re looking for is someone to really see those broken parts of you and love you anyway. To be perfectly free, not perfectly French.”

I pull out a tray of cookies from the case and place them on the counter as Lily wraps her chocolate-covered arms around me.

“I love you too much to let you hide for the rest of your life.”

I feel tears brewing, so I keep pulling out pastry trays just to do something with my hands.

When I look back, Lily is staring at the tray as if it personally hurt her. Sometimes I wonder if her mannerisms have a bite simply because she’s hiding parts of herself too. I walk to her side, and she grins softly. There are bits of cookies on the tray from where I moved it a little too forcefully from the case. We each pick up a broken piece and take a bite.

Chapter Three

Sparrow

The music of the river rushing over the rocks below carries through the air. Walking around town as the sun sets and the night creeps in, I’ve already seen four bunnies and a chipmunk chirping from a rock. I love the way their whole bodies seem to move with their calls into the parting summer air. The light is starting to fade earlier each evening, and soon we’ll be celebrating our Maple Fest.

I’ve never seen a town celebrate holidays like Birch Borough. New England is known, in general, for celebrating autumn like the whole season is a miracle. I love it so much. The maple everything, the pumpkin everything, the celebration of boots and sweaters...

I nod to my friend Ivy, the owner of the dance studio and dance shop in town called En Pointe, as I pass by its windows. I stop to take in the little ones running around in bunchy tights and slippers with their strings untied. The piano music makes me smile and brings back the memories of sweet days of my own at the barre.

I see Grey across the street in her family’s independent bookstore, Marlee’s Books. The shop’s lights illuminate her as she stacks and organizes books. I don’t miss how she peeks at the inside of each cover as she does. Grey and I went to school together, and I’ve always admired the way she tunes out the rest of the world and gets lost in a book. We have a lot in common, and she has always been very sweet. I make a mental note to reach out to her soon.

While Lily and I were always the best of friends, Grey and Ivy were our crew. In high school, we went down separate paths and no longer had many classes together. And then, when Grey’s mother died and Ivy’s family moved away, life seemed to get between all the details we should know about each other. But I miss the days of sitting outside Bette’s Ice Cream, enjoying our cones and talking about crushes, books, baking, and nemeses (the nemeses were brought up by Lily, of course).

I keep strolling, waving to people as I go, taking in the way dusk has transformed the sky into an orange-and-gold glow and the feelings this town always brings out in me. As much as I’ve wanted to visit France, I can’t imagine ever leaving this place for good. It’s home.

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