Page 66 of I Love You in French

It was the baseball cap on the train. It was his laughter as I hid guitar picks. It was him tapping his pencil on the counters my father made. It was the million little things that told me I was with the person I was meant to be with all along. When our worlds collided, it wasn’t a breaking but a mending. And I confused my hesitancy with my healing.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sparrow

I’m walking home, the river so loud it’s blissfully overtaking my thoughts. We’ve had so much rain recently, pouring in sheets and sheets, that the river is high. Its chaotic and rushing flow seems to match the level of my disappointment. I thought this would all be different. If only I had been like the river, rushing toward Rafe instead of away from him. Then maybe I could’ve been swept away instead of thrown ashore from the emotion of it all.

But that’s the thing. It’s not just emotion I’m experiencing. It’s a hunger for commitment. To be the one who knows what it’s like to hang my jacket on a hook next to his. To share toothpaste. To know what it’s like for his cologne to mix with the smell of my perfume. To see his shampoo bottle in the shower and his dirty t-shirt on the floor. Do people know what a gift it is to share space with someone? Do they realize how sacred it is? When you spend so much of your life alone, as I have, knowing a man would want to wake up to me every day just because he can seems like a miracle. A dream too far out of my reach.

Except, it was within my reach. For a moment, I saw it. I saw it all. Rafe wanted to show me how much he loved me, and I wouldn’t let him.

I’m brushing tears from my cheeks, unaware of the people shuffling around to get out of the cold. The cold feels good to me tonight. It reminds me that I’m alive. It’s sharpening the ache into something a bit more manageable.

It’s only when I’m leaning on the stone bridge over the river, watching the water swirl below, the cold seeping through the sleeves of my jacket, that I feel an arm wrap around my waist. I startle and turn to find Ivy. Her hair is pulled back under a chic little hat, large mittens covering her graceful hands.

Suddenly, I’m back in the dance classes we took together, our tights bunching around our ankles and our hair pulled back in a bun with sparkly clips. While we don’t meet at the barre anymore, she never stopped dancing. I think it’s her anchor. And being at the bakery so much, I know how important having one can be.

“Oh, Ivy. I’m sorry. I know I’m a mess.”

She shakes her head. “Never apologize for letting your emotions out, Rory. It’s what keeps us alive. If I didn’t dance, I would be out here crying with you.”

“What happened?” I ask, my focus shifting toward her.

“Nothing worth mentioning. Another bad date is all.” She shrugs, but I see the hint of sadness behind her eyes. “Grey keeps asking if I’d like to write a book about all the terrible dating experiences I’ve been having lately. But I keep telling her there’s no way I want to relive them. I’m trying to get out of this level of hell, you know?”

She laughs, and for a moment, I grin. I do know how terrible it can be out there. Which brings a memory of Rafe’s arms wrapped around me, and the tears start streaming again.

“I’m sorry, Rory. I know you love him.”

“How do you know?” I ask as she leans her head on my shoulder, connecting us and keeping us a bit warmer from the wind.

“Because I’ve never seen you cry over a man before. Except your dad.”

We stay there for a moment before we both decide we’re absolutely frozen. Ivy has to return to the studio but stops with me to get a hot chocolate at Eloise’s Chocolates before we part. I’m rounding the corner to my place when I spot a light on at Gladys’ place. I can’t help but grin as she spots me walking by and throws her dish towel in the air to run to the porch.

“Come in, come in, Rory!” She’s all energy and excitement, and I’m the opposite. She looks me up and down and makes a tsk sound. “Oh, the things men can do to us, eh?”

I have no response to this except to grip my now cold to-go cup of hot chocolate a little tighter. She waves me toward her, and I welcome the warmth from her heated porch. She’s known for spying on the town and bought herself a new porch swing last fall. It’s her pride and joy. And even though I’d rather be invisible tonight, I’m grateful for her need to keep tabs on everyone at the moment.

“I’m afraid I’m not much company right now,” I say, a slight shrug of embarrassment washing over me.

“Oh, that’s okay, dearie. I know what it’s like to be heartbroken. Don’t you fret.”

Tears fill my eyes as she hands me a steaming cup of tea. She dumps the rest of my hot chocolate, and I’m too tired to protest.

“Now, tell me. Did he hurt you?”

I nod.

“You hurt him?”

I nod again, shakily. She lets out a sigh.

“Isn’t that the way? Don’t always know what we’re worth until we lose what we wanted all along.”

She gets up to sit beside me on the cushioned porch swing and gathers me in her arms. It’s such a motherly thing to do and such a comforting gesture that it’s all it takes before I’m undone. She smells like tea and lemon, and I remember all the times this eccentric woman has stepped in when I needed a mom. The Band-Aid on my knee when I fell off my bike. The flowers she gave me at every one of my dance recitals. The way she sent food to my house when my father was ill. She’s always made sure I am taken care of. And I’ve never been more grateful.

“Let it out, dearie. Let it out,” she whispers in a gentle yet commanding way. She’s giving me permission to release some pain. And I do, the sound of my regret like the nearby river, pouring out from somewhere deep within.

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