Once inside, we paused side by side, taking in the incredible architecture of the one-time train station. “Well, this doesn’t suck,” said Lou, eloquent as ever.
I love the Orsay Museum. I think it looks like the set of a steampunk gothic murder mystery film. If I lived in Paris, I’d go all the time.
Because Lou had particular pieces she wanted to see, we decided to go our separate ways and meet up at 3:30pm near the entrance. My sister’s like that too—someone who loves art enough to have favourite pieces. She’ll sit in front of a single painting for an hour, just taking it in—Sunflowers by Van Gogh is her fave.
I prefer to wander. I’ll stop for a minute or two if I see something that captures my attention, and though I’d be hard-pressed to name a favourite piece, or even artist, I do like the Impressionists. It’s like the whole movement stemmed from wanting to capture the stuff of dreams—and not the weird, distorted dreams the Surrealists had—seriously, what were they smoking?—but the kind of dreaminess the Impressionists depicted by choosing the right colour and applying it just so.
Maybe I do like art. And, of course, I love a marble sculpture.
From the museum, we had walked to the Arc de Triomphe, where we watched a handful of idiots try to cross the road at the busiest intersection in the world, then took the underpass. We wandered around all four columns, through the smaller arches, and stood under the largest arch looking up.
“Can you believe the detail, especially in the murals?” asked Lou, as we craned our necks.
“It’s ridiculous. I mean—” The beeping of my phone interrupted me. “Hang on.” I took the phone out of my bag and read the text from the home screen. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“The roommate?”
“Alex, yes.”
“Are you going to reply this time?” She gave me a look. It said, “Reply already,” and I exhaled heavily. “Look, if you don’t, he’s just going to keep texting you—every day for the whole trip.” She said the last part really slowly, so I would get it. I knew she was right, but I was in Paris. Couldn’t I put Alex off until we were somewhere boring, like on a motorway or something? “Look, send him a quick text. You don’t even have to talk to him. Here,” she signalled for me to show her the phone. “What did he say?”
I showed her the screen.
I really want to talk to you. Is now a good time?
“Okay, so, maybe it’s not just a text message then.”
“Oh, bollocks. Just give me a couple of minutes.” I searched for a quiet place under the most iconic arch in the world and settled for a spot in the shade where I could face a wall. I tapped the “call” button and Alex’s phone started to ring.
“Hi! Hello!!” He sounded surprised.
“Hi, Alex, what was it you wanted?” I asked with feigned politeness.
I don’t think I pulled it off, though, because he stammered his reply. “Oh, I … I just … uh, wanted to say hello, to hear how it’s going.” I sighed, not thrilled that I was becoming a frequent sigher, but I realised I wasn’t frustrated with Alex. I was frustrated with myself.
The whole “love fugitive” thing was already tiring, and it was only day two. Yes, I was having a good time. Yes, I’d met some interesting people, but I could not spend the next twelve days dodging Alex’s texts because I’d end up back in London with exactly the same problem I’d had when I left.
“Cat, are you there?”
“Sorry, yes, I’m here.” Deep breath. “Alex, I have to tell you something, all right?” I carried on without waiting for a reply. “I know you think us sleeping together was the start of something, and you have all these feelings for me. But, I’m sorry. I don’t feel the same way. For me, you’re just my flatmate—friend—my friend, and that’s all.” I wished I hadn’t made the “flatmate/friend” blunder, but at least I’d been clear.
Silence.
“Alex? Can you hear me?” I hoped my mobile signal hadn’t dropped out, or I’d have to say it all again—obviously without the “flatmate” part.
“Uh, yeah, I heard you. Wow, I uh … I didn’t realise. I feel really stupid.”
What? No!
“You’re not, Alex. I should have said something before I came away. I’m so sorry. That’s my fault.”
“God, I am a right idiot.” I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or thinking aloud. Either way, the call was going horribly.
“No, Alex. This is all on me.” Great, I had resorted to, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“All good, Cat. Not to worry. I’ll, um, I’ll see you when you get back, I s’pose. Bye.”
He hung up and I found myself, phone to my ear, frowning at a giant slab of marble. I tucked the phone into my bag and turned to look for Lou. She was standing at the ropes surrounding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, staring down at it.
I joined her, the conversation with Alex pressing on me. “Hey.”
“Hey. How’d it go?”
“Not well.”
“You were clear, though?”
“Yes, crystal.”
“But?”
“He called himself a ‘right idiot’.”
“Ouch.”
“Yes.”
“Poor guy,” she added.
“Mmm.”
“Doesn’t this make you sad?” For half a second I didn’t realise we were talking about something else. I looked down at the flickering flame.
“It does, yes.” It also put things into perspective. So, things with my flatmate were a little awkward. So what? There were far worse problems in the world.
***
The small group of fellow tour-trippers soon turned into a larger group, and at 4:50pm Dani and Jaelee showed up, each laden with shopping bags.
“Hey, girls!” chirped Jaelee. She dumped her treasures at our feet with a loud, “Phew! What a day!”
Dani was close behind her, but less ebullient. She dropped her shopping bags and joined me and Lou on the edge of the fountain. I noticed red marks on her wrists from where the bags had hung.
“Did you have a good day, Dani?” I didn’t know her particularly well—was the look on her face fatigue or something else? Apparently, it was something else, because my question triggered a barrage of tears, the kind accompanied by boo-hoos. Even Jaelee seemed shocked, and they’d spent the day together.
Jaelee sat next to her and patted her on the shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Dani snuffled and wiped her nose with her hand. “I’ve tried to hold it together, but it’s today—Nathalie’s wedding day.” Oh, right. I’d completely forgotten—what an insensitive cow.
Dani took the tissues Lou offered her and blew her nose. “My best friend is getting married today and I’m not there.” She dissolved into tears again. The three of us shared helpless looks. I tried to think of anything I could say to make it all right and I guessed the others were doing the same.
I was not fond of this Nathalie person. How could she elope without her best friend? If Sarah went off and got married without me there, I’d bloody kill her!