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Jesscrashed onto her bed,her feet tired after an afternoon and evening tramping the streets ofParis.Thecity was awalkable treasure trove; every corner she turned revealed a jewel to behold.Centuriesblended into each other, like layers of silt.MarieAntoinettetumbled intoChopinwho tumbled intoVoltairewho tumbled intoCocoChanel.Itwas a historical box ofbonbons.
Theonly slight downside to the afternoon was when she’d received a text from her father:
Anything you’d like to tell me?
Thiswas followed by an explosion of excited emojis.Sherealised that he must have known about the proposal.Ofcourse,Krishwould have done things by the book and asked for her hand in marriage.Swallowingher pride, she pressed her dad’s number on her phone and sat on a bench beneath theEiffelTower.Thephone barely had time to ring when he answered.
‘Hello, pumpkin!Soshould your mother buy a hat?’ he asked.Jesscould hear the excitement in his voice, which made her heart sink.Knowinghim, he was already working on his speech.
‘Um…not quite.’Shebreathed in and quickly spit out, ‘Actually, we broke up.’Sayingthe words to her dad was hard, and tears flooded her eyes.Theconcept ofKrishbeing herex-boyfriend still seemed strange to her.Tellingher dad made it real.
‘Whatdo you meanbroke up?Ithought?—’
‘Iknow, daddy.Idon’t really want to talk about it now, but he fell in love with somebody else.Anex-girlfriend.’Shewiped her tears away.Shedidn’t want to cry about this anymore.
‘Anex…?What?Buthe…Krishdid this?’
‘Yup.’Herparents had lovedKrish.Sherealised they’d be experiencing their own grief from losing him.
‘Oh, well.That’s…um…are you okay?’
‘I’llbe fine.’Sherolled her eyes upwards and flapped her free hand to dry them.
‘Whydon’t you come home this week?Letus take care of you.’
Shewinced. ‘Actually,I’minParis.’
‘What?Byyourself?Inaforeign country?’Hesaid foreign country like she’d announced she was moving into aBolivianprison.Herparents didn’t travel much outside theUK. ‘Whatare you doingthere?’
Avision ofGabriel’shead between her thighs passed through her mind and she blushed. ‘Just…experiencing the culture.’
‘Isit safe?I’veheard there’s a lot of knife crime.’
Jesssnapped her tongue. ‘Nomore thanLondon, dad.’
‘Okay, well…when are you back?’
‘Thursdayafternoon.’Sheimagined him marking his trusty calendar.Herfather was one of the few people who still kept a paper diary instead of a digital one.
Hesighed. ‘Okay, text me every day to let me know you’re safe and…see you next weekend?’
‘Yes, dad.Loveto you and mum.’Shekissed the air and then hung up.Asmall smile played at her lips.Nomatter how old she got, she would always feel like their little girl, and she was grateful for their unconditional love.
Hershoulders relaxed.Shehadn’t realised how stressed she was about telling her parents, but now that it was done, she could move on.
Atleast she hadn’t started sobbing while talking to him.Greatprogress already.
Afterthat, she’d walked away from the theEiffelTower, towards theLouvre.Maybetomorrow, she’d buy a ticket to see theMonaLisa.
Next, she’d wandered to theArcdeTriompheand, finally, past theMoulinRouge.Pigalle, the area surrounding the redwindmill, surprised her—not because of the abundant sex shops and erotic museums; she expected those.Itwas the tired feeling ofPigalle, like the whole district stayed too long at the party.Eventhe infamousMoulinRougein all its gaudy glory made her feel sad for a bygone age in ways that other parts ofParishadn’t.
Climbingthe stairs towards theSacreCoeur, she was delighted to find a fire juggler entertaining tourists on the basilica steps, with all ofParisand her lights stretching out in the distance behind him.Jesswatched him twirl his fire wands for a while and dropped some euros into his hat before continuing on.Aroundthe corner from her flat, a clothing shop tempted her inside with its boho window display, and she bought two casual dresses, a pair of embroidered jean shorts, and a couple of peasant blouses.
Allin all, she’d clocked over 35,000 steps on her watch.
Backon the bed in her flat, her stomach gurgled happily in memory of the three-course dinner she’d eaten.She’drestricted herself to one glass of excellentFrenchwine and read a book as she dined alone.Sheenjoyed the experience more than she thought she would.Therewas something satisfying about doing exactly what she wanted, when she wanted—no one else’s needs to consider.Shewasn’t used to it, but maybe she should do more of it.Selfcare,Krish’ssister,Ankita, called it.Sheloved going to spas for self-care weekends and had invitedJessalong a few times.
ThinkingofAnkitathrew a momentary pall over her happy glow.Jesshad thought they’d be sister-in-laws in a year’s time.Howswiftly life changed.Onesecond you’re about to get engaged; the next, you’re flying overParisin a helicopter and letting a gorgeousFrenchmandine out on your body.
