Page 102 of From Maybe to Baby

I ran. Called it adventure. Called it dreams. Called it anything but what it was—fear

Like mother, like daughter.

My mom's words hit hard:

Running isn't adventure. It's just running

I'm not running. I'm living my dream

Are you?

The waiter swings by, more out of obligation than anything. Everyone around me is having late night—or should I say early morning?—cocktails. And I’m drinking coffee.

"More coffee, madame? Or perhaps a tissue?"

I'm not crying. I just have allergies. And maybe jet lag. And possibly regret.

Ryan’s final note:

Either write about Paris or go home. This in-between is helping no one.

Home.

When did that word start meaning a big, buff pro athlete who happens to have two cute mini-me’s.

Whose touch I can’t stop dreaming of.

Mom continues:

You know what real adventure is? Staying. Choosing love even when it's scary. Being brave enough to risk happiness

That's terrible advice from someone who left

That's perfect advice from someone who knows exactly what running cost her

Want to know what real fear is? Realizing you ran from the wrong things toward the wrong dreams

A find another Goldfish at the bottom of my computer bag.

Even Paris can't compete with that kind of reality check.

Next day,I call Jonas at what must be midnight in San Francisco. Not because I've been drinking expensive French wine all night and now it’s morning here, but because I can’t stop thinking about his messy but adorable bedhead and how each morning’s first glimpse of his crystal blue eyes made my heart go wild.

"Hey." His voice sounds tired. Wary. Like he's not sure which version of me is calling. "Everything okay?"

"No." The wine makes me honest. "I hate Paris."

A pause. Then, "That's not what your articles say."

"My articles are terrible. I just wrote five hundred words about how the Eiffel Tower looks like a giant phallus. Like that hasn’t already been done before. My editor actually suggested I take a break. I think he meant from writing, but I'm considering Paris in general."

He yawns. "What are you talking about? Paris is awesome.”

"I saw a little bit of your game."

"Oh. Yeah. Well."

We both sigh, remembering we're not supposed to be doing this. Not supposed to be talking like nothing's changed. Like I didn't run away to chase a dream that's starting to feel more like a well-dressed let-down.

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