Page 25 of Ticket to You

“Yes," I reply, my voice hoarse with sincerity. "It truly is.”

14

ADAM

“What about you?”Ophelia asks after we watch the tower’s lights in silence for a few moments. “What brought you toOutdoorsy?”

“Is that your question for the day?” I ask, the corner of my mouth twitching.

Ophelia tips her head back in exasperation. “Oh, comeon, I just answered, like, five questions.”

Maybe if Ophelia gets to know me, she won’t hate me so much. Unless I actually am as much of a jerk as she thinks.

I sigh and twist a piece of grass between my fingers. “I grew up in the outskirts of New Haven, Connecticut. My parents both worked a lot, so whenever their days off lined up, they would pull me and my siblings out of school to hike or bike or swim or…whatever, really. As long as they were away from work and surrounded by all of us, they were happy.”

“That’s sweet,” Ophelia hums, a broken smile on her lips.

“When I got a camera for my fourteenth birthday, I fell in love with taking photos. It allowed me to be near the action without needing to be the center of attention. But when I went to college, my parents insisted I major in something besides photography. I chose journalism, figuring it would allow me to write the stories that went along with my pictures. I’m sure that’s not exactly what they had in mind, but after I landed anOutdoorsyinternship my senior year at Cornell, we all knew I was hooked. After I graduated,Outdoorsybrought me on staff as a full-time writer. It bridges a lot of my interests and keeps me moving and busy, which I like. My parents’ work was always tying them down, and that freaked me out. I wanted to do something different.”

Ophelia chews on my words for a while. I can imagine the jolt it must be to hear me talk so much when the majority of our past conversations have been full of one-word remarks.

“Nice job just throwing that whole ‘Cornell’ thing in there,” Ophelia says finally, smirking.

I smile back, pleasantly surprised to see her looking at me with anything besides disdain.

“Before I forget, do you mind if we stop there?” I ask, gesturing to a pharmacy on the other side of the road.

Ophelia waves her hand in alead-the-waygesture and follows me.

Almost as soon as we enter the store, Ophelia’s mouth twists into a mischievous smile. “So, what are we picking up? Votre prescription d'hémorroïdes?” Her voice is loud—plenty loud enough for some customers near us to hear. A duo of teenage girls snicker.

I glare at Ophelia. Unlike her, I don’t speak French, but I’m able to piece the gist of the translation together.

“I just hope it’s not condoms. It’s not that kind of trip,” she stage-whispers.

“It’s something special to see you like this,” I grumble, walking to a rack of postcards.

“Sending out an SOS via snail mail?”

“The postcard is for me.”

Ophelia whistles softly. “That’s very depressing. If you want to get mail from somebody so bad, I can find you an actual pen pal.” She grins playfully. It’s a gorgeous sight.

“I pick up postcards throughout my trips, write a bit about the trip—like a journal—and send it home. That way, I can relive the highlights when I get back.” I pluck a postcard out. It is a vintage photograph of one a road we biked down today. The Eiffel Tower dominates the center of the frame.

Ophelia peers over my shoulder. “What are you going to write? ‘Today, my nemesis put me through excruciating torture, including sightseeing around Paris, eating at a French bakery, and looking at beautiful clothing.’”

“Something like that.”

After another hour of wandering the streets, brainstorming interview questions, a stop at a crêperie, and a few photo-ops, we eventually make it back to our hotel room. The day of travel is getting to us. Though Ophelia and I both have generally good posture, our shoulders slump and our heads hang a bit, too heavy for our necks to hold up right now. When we get into the bedroom of our suite, we throw our bags onto the bed at the same moment.

My eyes flash to Ophelia and I see the situation click for her right as it’s clicking for me.

One bed.

“I’ll take the couch,” I blurt out, already turning to head out the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ophelia says, grabbing my elbow and sending a shockwave through me.

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