Page 10 of All My Love
7
Elizabeth
The crowd is thinningout as the night progresses. I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here talking, but it only feels like a long time when I look around and see how few people there are still aroundus.
The atmosphere here is electric, even with only a few people left. Next door, I can hear the muffled thud of bass coming from what looked like a hip, trendy bar from the outside. I noticed it and when I realized what it was, I was relieved when Ben lead me here instead ofthere.
To say I’m not into the bar scene would be the understatement of the week - signed, sealed and delivered with a postage stamp with the Queen of England’s face on it. It’s not that I don’t like to drink. I do. I’d just rather do it where there is at least a mild semblance of order. The disorder that comes with people in their early twenties getting drunk is a scene that no good can comefrom.
“Do you mind me asking what the call was before? You looked a little concerned when you came back to thetable.”
“Right,” Ben replies, wiping the corner of his mouth with his white linen napkin. “I was speaking to my boss about a project I’ve been working on for the last, well it’s actually been more than a yearnow.”
I was curious before, but now I’m really interested. The idea of nursing a project and developing it over the course of a year or more is intriguing. I know he’s a hard worker and I really admire that abouthim.
“That sounds exciting,” I say, propping my elbows on the edge of the table. “What is theproject?”
“It’s a new program I’m setting up to help students across disciplines write a thesis that’s more relevant to the kind of work they’d like to do in graduate school. The entire academic landscape is changing and it’s changing fast, and I like to be ahead of the curve when it comes to this kind ofstuff.”
There’s something undeniably sexy about a man who is confident. I picture Ben coming home from a long day at the university, feeling satisfied by a job well done, putting his feet up and reading a book or doing some puzzles in the newspaper. A sudden sense of longing comes over me. I have so much life to look forward to, and I’m excited for it all to happen. I just want to get started. Sometimes I feel like I’m on one of those moving walkways at the airport, but it’s not working. I’m walking on it, but it’s not getting me to my destination any faster than I’d get if I were just walking on solid land. Sometimes I feel like I’m missing out on life. That something’smissing.
I have so many questions I want to ask Ben, but before I have a chance, I see our waiter coming out of the restaurant with a plate and what looks like a Forth of July sparkler sticking out ofit.
Ben sees the shift in my gaze and turns slightly, quickly turning back to me with a big, sexysmile.
I feel the blush in my cheeks deepen. I’ve only had two glasses of wine, but I feel like they hit me all at once right as the waiter puts the plate down in front of me, but in a good way. In a very good way, and a wave of pure delight and comfort washes over me. In chocolate sauce on the plate is Bon Anniversaire in a really gorgeous handwritten script and there’s a big 21 scrawled below it. The hum of the other few still-remaining patrons turns into soft clapping and I feel the hue on my cheeks bleed down to my neck. Of course there’s a big, fat slice of chocolate cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream tucked in next to it. I feel warm and happy all over, and when the waiters are finally done singing to me in French, I lean down to blow out the sparkler and make awish.
“Happy birthday, hon,” Ben says to me, putting his hand over mine. With the other he spears his fork into the corner of the cake and brings it to his lips, closing them around the silver tongs of hisfork.
“Thanks,” I breathe, grabbing my own fork. He watches me and takes his hand away from mine with what feels like reluctance. I don’t know how to read it, so I just read his face. His smile. He goes in for anotherbite.
This is a happy birthday. Really, reallyhappy.
* * *
“I still can’t believeI’m finally here,” I say, drawing my shawl tighter around my shoulders. We’re walking along the Champs Elisees and the warm spring night is making my arms plump with goosebumps. I feel like I’m surrounded by silk and flowers. The view is gorgeous. The tower is stunning. And I’m feeling new warmth bloom inside me with every click of my shoes on thepavement.
“Believe it, kid,” Ben says next to me without lookingover.
“Have you ever heard of Paris Syndrome?” I ask him. As we’re walking, we come upon a trio of street performers: two men playing guitar and a third controlling a marionette puppet. The instruments and the puppet are all made of delicate, intricately-carved wood and we pause to take in their littleshow.
“Yes, I have,” Ben replies. “It’s when something is so big in your mind, looms so large in your imagination, that when you’re confronted with it in reality it’s aletdown.”
“Yeah, and it got its name, obviously, from people who travelled to Paris and had expectations that weren’t met. Did you experience that when you first got here,Ben?”
“That’s a good question.” He takes a small step closer to me and then puts his hands on my shoulders, moving me so I can get a better view of the puppet and the guitar players. His hands glide down my upper arms and he takes them away suddenly as though he’s just realized he shouldn’t have touched me. But it was just a casual touch, despite the ripple it caused inme.
“Thanks for that,” I tell him over my shoulder. “I can see much betternow.”
The puppet has a beret and is wearing a black-and-white striped shirt, boatneck, with a big black skirt. She looks like she belongs here. Hell, I even feel like I belong here, even if it is only temporary. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like I belong more than I do right now, and in a kind of existential way. I take a big, deep breath in and smell the fresh air, the scent of flowers, the masculine scent Ben’s cologne is giving me. It’s all justperfect.
There’s a small part of me, deep on the inside, that thinks there could be something happening between me andBen.
Notsomething,as in a connection, the kind reserved for women far more adventurous than I am. Still, it feels like a quiet kind of friendship, the kind that could last. The kind that sneaks up on you. The kind that feels, when you realize it’s there, that it’s been there all along. Even if he is older than me. Quite a bit older. And very much an old friend of myparents.
“I loved it here as soon as I arrived. I never felt homesick. Something felt like it clicked in me when I got here. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I came here for work, though. I think it’s possible that I was so laser-focused on one thing that kept any distracting feelings at bay. But at the same time, you know, it’s just beautiful and I love it here. Always have. I can’t explainit.”
I can’t explain it, either. I fish a bill out of my purse and add my contribution to the performing arts to one of the guitar cases. Behind me, Ben smiles, adds a few bills of his own, and gestures for me to take the lead as we continue ourstroll.
