“This is gonna be so awesome,” Maggie gushes, wiping the chocolatey smudge from her lips with a pink napkin. “I was so nervous about coming here and being without my parents. I’ve never really done anything on my own before and I was so scared that I’d get a roommate who hated me. You always hear horror stories about college roommates, you know. But you and I… we’re gonna have so much fun, I think.”
“We are,” I agree, smiling at her.
“So, what’s next?” she chirps happily, leaning back and starting to idly braid her hair over one shoulder. I shrug and take another bite of my delicious crepe, thinking hard. I don’t really know what all there is to do in Paris. I mean, I’m sure there’s a lot — but I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to begin.
“Well, it’s your city, Maggie! What do you wanna do next?” I shoot back, winking. She looks positively intimidated to have been given the reins yet again. She’s clearly not accustomed to being in control. I get the sense that, just like I’ve spent most of my life trailing after my parents who are in their own little world, Maggie has been her parents’ silent shadow for a long time.
“Hmm,” she begins thoughtfully, chewing her lip. “Well, we are both eighteen now… so we could do something bad.”
I have to snort at the way she says “bad.” She sounds like a little kid suggesting that we raid her mother’s cookie jar or something.
“Uh, like what?” I press her. She blushes.
“We could go to a bar or something,” she suggests, so quietly I have to strain to comprehend her words.
“Don’t we have to be twenty-one to drink?” I ask, confused.
She shakes her head, blinking at me in shock. “No, Liv. The drinking age in France is eighteen. We’re both old enough to buy alcohol.”
“What?” I gasp in full disbelief. I can’t believe how much of an idiot I am for not knowing this. I feel like such a stereotypical dumb American, assuming the laws are the same as they are back home. Except back in Toast, drinking at any age is severely frowned upon. That’s one of the many downsides to living in a formerly dry county. A lot of the stigma remains.
“I’ve only had a few sips of wine with my parents, though. Ever,” Maggie admits, looking ashamed of herself.
“I’ve never had alcohol except for… well, this boy on the flight over here gave me a little bit of his champagne,” I tell her, the whole awkward scene with Will jumping back into my mind.
“Ooh! Was he cute?” she asks, wiggling closer and resting her chin on her hands.
“Uh, yeah. He was alright,” I say, downplaying how cute he really was. Sure, he’s cute, but he crossed a line when he tried to kiss me. Didn’t he? Now that I’m sitting in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, sucking the intoxicatingly mystical air of a Parisian evening into my lungs… I wonder if maybe I overreacted. Perhaps I was the one who got it wrong. Maybe that’s just the way things happen here — all of a sudden, with no warning and no real reason or rhyme beyond the fact that it feels good at the time. Back home, most of my friends hardly even held hands until the third or fourth date. But maybe here in Paris, it wasn’t unusual to kiss an almost-stranger.
Maybe Will deserved a second chance.
But, I realize with a sinking heart, I never gave him my number, nor did I get his. I simply ran away before I could really take full stock of the situation. Maybe he was really a nice guy who simply liked me and wanted to show it with a sweet gesture, and I just slammed the door in his face. Suddenly, I feel incredibly rude and cruel. And foolish.
Just then, as though summoned by some spirit of kismet, my phone screen lights up to indicate a new email. It’s a weird time of evening to get a school message, but I open my email just the same… and see that it’s not a message from the university address, nor from Pavlenko.
It reads:
Bonjour Olivia!
Found your email address in a student registrar online, since I didn’t catch your number in time before you left this morning. Hope I didn’t freak you out too badly. Sorry if I was being too forward. I just got swept up in the moment, I guess. Anyway, if you’re feeling up to it, there’s a big party happening tonight in the 11th arrondissement. We’re meeting up at Zero-Zero on Rue Amelot in an hour if you want to join. I want to make it up to you for overstepping boundaries today. Please let me show you a good time. I promise not to kiss you… unless you want me to.
À bientôt!
- Will
“Oh my god, speak of the devil,” I murmur, staring in shock at my phone screen.