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“You don’t know that,” I interrupt. “So much can happen in a year. Maybe she decides to go to therapy and changes. You loved her at one point; what happens when you start to see glimpses of that person she used to be that made you fall in love?”
“I…it won’t be the same. It has never been the same,” he murmurs. “I’m not the same.” He offers as his lips form a straight line. Full lips I’ve grown accustomed to feeling against mine. I’ll miss the way they move against mine and the way his stubble scrapes against my cheeks and everywhere else he puts his mouth because he can’t keep his lips off of me. “We could have really been something.” He laughs, but I can hear the pain in it. “It’s crazy to think that in another life where you don’t work for me and I’m not married, I’m probably convincing you at this very moment to move in with me.”
“Chris…” I start, but he shakes his head.
“I get why you feel this way, but it doesn’t mean I like it.”
“I’m not crazy about it either,” I tell him honestly.
“Try not to break too many hearts out there, yeah?” he asks as he opens his door. A part of me thought he’d try to kiss me one final time, but he’s out of my car, letting the rain beat down on him.
“Wait…aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” I know I shouldn’t ask but if I’m never going to kiss him again, I’d like the last one to be memorable. He hesitates at first like he’s not sure he wants to before he moves back into my car.
He reaches for my cheek and I ignore the fact that his hand is wet because his mouth is an inch from mine. “For the record, this is not goodbye because this is not the last time I’ll ever kiss you.” He gives me a smile and then he pushes his lips to mine. His tongue darts out and rubs against mine once before he pulls back, not even giving us a chance to sink into it. “That’s all you get for now.” He winks and then he’s out of my car.
I don’t know how I got home. Or how I made it to work the next day or the one after that. In theory, I know I did the right thing, but the way my heart throbs in my chest every time I even hear Chris’ name makes me feel I’ve done all the wrong things. Chris had our one on ones switched to emails for the time being but that wasn’t a permanent solution. When it had only been three days, it felt like I’d been avoiding him for months.It was pretty hard to avoid the CFO of the company that works on the same floor and it felt like I’d been working overtime to do so.It wasn’t until a meeting at the end of the week when Mr. Beckham announced they were ready to send a team to Paris for six months to open the new office that I realized the best way to avoid the CFO for an extended period of time.
By the following week, I was in Europe.
I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled about you leaving to begin with, but you actually left without saying goodbye?
C
I open the email for the hundredth time that’s been sitting in my inbox before I even landed in France two days ago. I notice he’s sent it from what I assume is a personal email address and he’d sent it to my personal email that he must have gotten from my resume.
What did he want me to say?
It’s not like he didn’t know I was leaving. It’s also not my fault that he was in Seattle the day I left. I’m sitting at one of the many cafés on the same street as my temporary apartment staring at the words on the screen. I don’t know why I keep opening his email because I have it memorized at this point. I pick at the croissant in front of me, suddenly wishing I hadn’t ordered it; I’ve already had four in the two days I’ve been here. It’s going to be a long six months if I’m already overloading on carbs.
But fuck they are so good. They’re my weakness at home. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist them here.
I fell in love with the look of this café instantly because it reminds me of one at home—Avery’s—which I know the owner modeled after a Parisian café.
I open the email again, finally deciding to respond because I’ve had two espressos and my caffeine anxiety won’t allow for it to go unanswered another second.
You said we weren’t doing the whole goodbye thing.
His reply is almost instant. It’s noon here which means it’s six in the morning at home—on a Saturday for that matter—so I’m shocked at the swift reply.
There she is. I was beginning to think you were ignoring me. It’s a good thing I’m getting updates, or else I’d think something happened to you.
I want to reply something sarcastic along the lines of something had happened to me. Him. But I decide against it because I’m the one that walked away. It’s strange, but I haven’t cried very much. Maybe because I haven’t let myself stop moving since he left my car that day. I went home, deep cleaned my room and three others in my house, listened to two audiobooks and started binge-watching Sex and The City immediately so I wouldn’t have to be alone with my thoughts, and then spent a week going through my closet as well as my mother’s and Autumn’s for a perfect wardrobe for Paris. I didn’t have time to be upset over our breakup.
Nope, I’m fine. Just been busy since I got here.
I type out as I lazily scroll through Instagram. He probably knows that’s a lie. We don’t technically start until Monday but they wanted us to get here a little early to get settled and adjust to the time difference. So, for the past two days, we’ve been on our own with optional dinners with the team every night.
Hope you’re having fun. But not too much.
Another email comes through a second later.
I miss you.
I don’t respond to that and the next day, while I’m taking a bubble bath in a tub worthy of an aesthetic Pinterest page, my phone beeps indicating a message. I set down the book I’m reading and grab my phone, sighing when I see that he’s texted me this time.
Chris: My apartment isn’t the same without you here. I hate sleeping in this bed without you.
Me: Are you alone?
