Page 165 of You + Me – Against the World

“That’s what I love most about Alma. She doesn’t judge. She scratches beneath the surface, she digs deeper, and she forms her own opinion. She wants to know everything, understand everything. She always asks the right questions, presses where it hurts, and when she puts her finger on something, she doesn’t let go. It’s irritating sometimes. She thinks too much. But her laser-like, green eyes see things that others don’t. When she looks at me, she sees right inside me. She points out my contradictions, she stands up to me, and she never agrees with me. On principle. She dares to tell me that I could heal. That I could stop hating the whole world. Just to see what happens. And she makes room for me, she gives me a role.

“For the first time, I’m useful to someone. There is someone waiting for me who needs me. Someone who yells at me, someone who cries when I disappoint her, someone who smiles at me when she’s proud of me. Someone who loves me for who I am. Alma is the best of me. And I’m going to end up believing her when she thanks me for making her better too. Together, we pulled off a magic trick. Being ourselves, but better. Our real selves.”

VADIM IN PARIS

One month later

Tonight, it’s just her and me.

Sitting on a velvet banquette in a fancy restaurant on the Champs-Élysées, Alma looks stunning in a little, red dress that’s giving me all kinds of ideas. I can’t stop looking at her. With my ripped jeans, I’m not as classy as she is, but I’m wearing the white, button-down shirt she had the good sense to pick out for me. And anyway, this girl—who is way too good for me—just whispered that, even if I were dressed in a trash bag, I’d be the best-looking guy in Paris.

She’s a good liar, this little pixie.

She orders for me. I can’t decide what I want, and anyway, I can barely understand a single word on the menu. We share our two dishes; everything is incredibly tasty, but it’s unbelievable how small the portions are. Even a five-year-old would go hungry here. More Parisian pretentiousness, I guess.

I take up the role of difficult customer and ask if I can have more scallops, because three doesn’t feed anyone, especially at that price. They politely refuse, so I ask to see the manager, just like that, for the fun of it. The annoyed waiter finally brings me an extra plate of sides. I don’t leave a single crumb. To prove a point.

Alma isn’t embarrassed. She gives me an amused smile as she plays with her glass. That red dress is driving me crazy, but what drives me even crazier is her expression. Playful. Mischievous. And maybe a little… in love.

The waiter brings us the next course and takes off just as quickly as he appeared.

“You’re not exactly making friends,” Alma comments, laughing.

“Who? Robert?”

I make up a name for him. Then a whole life.

“Me and Robert, we’re like this.” I lace two fingers together. “He’s an art student, so he’s kind of like us.”

“Vadim, in France, nobody his age is called Robert.”

“Okay, wait, I’ll ask him his name!”

“No, it’s fine, you’ve already traumatized him! Leave him alone. We’ll say his name is Robert.”

“You’re no fun. So Robert works as a waiter to pay for his studies. His parents are loaded, though. But they think being an artist isn’t a real job. ‘No, no, no, Robert, it’s finance or nothing! If you want to become some kind of bohemian, Mommy and Daddy won’t write any more checks!’ So, he starts looking for a part-time job, and since the only places he knows are the luxury restaurants where his folks go, he ends up here, dressed like a penguin with a… What’s it called? His sort of superhero cape thing?”

“A tailcoat,” giggles Alma, starting to enjoy this game.

“That’s it! And as soon as his shift is over, poor Robert zips off to Montmartre on his scooter to draw caricatures of tourists. He hates it, but at least he gets to improve his drawing skills. And he gets to make people ugly too, give them big noses, double chins, make them cross-eyed. There’s also the fact that the people he sketches are always happy. Not like his parents, who are constantly in a bad mood—”

“Vadim?” Alma interrupts me.

“What?”

“Do you hate my parents? You always describe families as if they were your worst nightmare.”

“No, I like your sister. She’s cool. And your mom is…”

Her green eyes pierce right through me.

“What she’s done for me means a lot. She’s made me feel right at home. She’s given me a chance, and that’s rare. And she hasn’t even tried to change me. I kinda hate all mothers, because it hurts me that other people have one and I don’t… And I would have really liked to know mine. But I don’t hate Marie Lancaster. Are you happy with that?”

“Hmm… No, keep going.”

When she smiles at me like that, I can’t refuse her anything.

“I actually prefer her daughter. I don’t know if you know her…”