Page 20 of City of Love
I’dloveto hear that reason, because I’m pretty sure I will disagree.
But not right now. I’ll deal with his lies later. Right now my brain needs to turn off.
When I’m done explaining my disconcerting appearance, Mme Marchand leads me back to the bedroom I was in before, possibly thinking I need a refresher. Honestly, she might be right. I pull the rest of my bags along with me, and I realize as we walk that this flat is more expansive than I originally guessed. Do they have this whole floor to themselves?
“You and Noel will share a bathroom,” she says, pointing to the bathroom door as we pass it. “And he’ll be right across the hall if you have any questions. Or you can always come and find me if you need anything, of course,” she adds. She stops in front of the door to my room.
I turn the light on this time when I enter. The bedroom is cozy, with what looks like a curtained-off closet and a small window. The bed covers are a little rumpled from my nap, but other than that it’s tidily made. I leave my bags by the closet, sighing with relief to have all my things back together again.
“Thank you,” I say to Mme Marchand. “Seriously, thank you. I’m so sorry I’m so emotional.”
“I understand completely,” she says with a motherly smile. “You get some more sleep, all right? And remember the bathroom is right down the hall if you need it.”
The bathroom I’m sharing with Noel. Yeah, that little detail didn’t escape me. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. I just thank Mme Marchand again, changing into my pajamas as soon as she leaves. I send the world’s quickest email to my mom, telling her I’m safely settled in. Then I scramble under the covers and turn out the light on the nightstand. Despite my previous nap, my body is so exhausted that it feels like I actually melt into the mattress. It’s a glorious feeling, and I close my eyes, willing sleep to find me.
Chapter 8
Lydia
Sleep does find me, for a while. But not as long as I expected.
It’s mostly my fault; I’m awakened by the sound of a closing door somewhere outside my room, but only because in my exhaustion I forgot to turn on my white noise app. My phone probably would have died anyway; I didn’t bother to dig out my adaptor.
Waking up is disorienting. Though the room is dark, I can tell it’s not my room at home, and for a second I’m hit with the sensation of knowing something is different but not knowing what. When I finally remember where I am—and that my beloved pen pal is a guy—my mind jolts all the way awake.
Noel is a boy. Aman,really, as Jade would say. His age was less of a big deal when I thought he was female, but…this is a twenty-one-year-oldman. And it shows; his eyes look like they’ve seen more than a guy my age would have. It’s in the jaded way they assessed me, the way they missed nothing.
Yeah, he’s a man. A man with greenish-brown eyes and dark hair and a square jaw. It’s a nice jaw, as far as jaws go. I mean, if you like that sort of thing.
I’m neutral. Neutral on the issue of jaw shape.
Ugh. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I’m being ridiculous. I don’t need to be sitting here thinking about hisjaw. I need to be demanding an explanation.
I sit up in bed, running my fingers through my hair. Well,attemptingto run my fingers through my hair. It’s tangled and gross right now.
I need to shower.
But that will have to wait, I guess. Mme Marchand already probably thinks I’m a total basket case. I can’t imagine what she’d think if I up and took a shower in the middle of the night.
I feel around in the dark until I find the switch for the lamp on the table next to the bed, and when I flick it on, a comforting, muted, yellow light is thrown into the room. I sigh, settling into the pillows and looking vaguely around as my mind whirs. It circles and circles like a dog chasing its own tail, my thoughts on a continuous loop. I wouldn’t call myself a control freak, but the wrong-footedness I feel from being lied to all this time is giving way to a desperate need for order—a need to line things up neatly in my mind until I can sort them all out. For a second I even find myself reaching for my phone, ready to call Jade or Mina or even Cohen—
But I can’t. Because I’m in Paris and it’s the middle of the night.
I mean, I guess I technicallycould—I’ve got the international plan—but it just feels weird calling them when I’m half asleep and it’s dark outside, even though I know that’s not the case in Wyoming.
I take a deep breath—in through my nose, out through my mouth. Then I try to still my mind. What should I do?
I snort as I think of Jade. I know exactly what she would tell me to do if I called. I can almost hear her saying it. She would tell me to storm into his bedroomthis instantand give him a piece of my mind.
And she wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. I need to talk to Noel, obviously. I don’t want to waste my time here being angry. And I’m not the kind to hold an unwarranted grudge. As long as I can get a reasonable explanation for the deceit, we can move on, can’t we? Forget this ever happened and start over. That, more than anything, would help me feel better.
My mind made up, I get out of bed quietly, going to the bedroom door. I nearly trip over my backpack, which isn’t great, but it does remind me that I brought earrings for Noel. It won’t do him any good now—they’re as feminine as can be—but I grab them anyway. Maybe I’ll just chuck them at his face. I tuck the little box into the pocket of my pajama pants and then pull the door open.
I look to the door across the hall, and sure enough, there’s a sliver of light coming from underneath; he’s awake. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and clamping down on my nerves. Because even though we’ve been writing for years, it feels like I’m going to talk to a grumpy stranger. So when I finally force myself to cross the hallway, I stand in front of Noel’s door, just staring at it.
And then staring at it some more. It’s just a door, but it’s less scary than what could be waiting on the other side.
Maybe I don’t want to do this right now? Maybe I should wait?
