Roxanne gives me a blank look.
“The school. Is it called Cheveluxe?”
“Oh.” She shakes her head. “I have no idea. Why? Do you know anyone who goes there?”
Iwanted to go there. I started looking up haircutting schools when I was fourteen, right after mymamanhelped me dye my hair for the first time, and Cheveluxe was always at the top of my list. I still look into the application process every fall, but I can never make myself do it.
Not without Clém around.
“I...I used to know someone there,” I lie.
It’s not totally untrue; I used to know the version ofmethat was going to end up at Cheveluxe one day.
Roxanne nods. “I’m sure you’ll love this girl. Her name’s Valérie. I already told her about you and what a great job you always do with my colour. I’m not totally sure, but I think her apartment is in the Mile End. I can give her your number if you want.”
“Superbe.”
I finish the last of my coffee. Roxanne always drinks really fancy stuff, and whatever this is, it feels like sipping liquid velvet. It also has enough caffeine that I want to start dancing on the tables.
Not that I’d ever say no to dancing on tables, whether I’ve had coffee or not.
“Roxy, are you trying to drug me? This stuff makes me feel like I have enough energy to go put all my furniture on my shoulders and carry it out of X’s apartment.”
I laugh, but Roxanne just looks worried.
“Do you need somewhere to put your stuff? Or stay? Our place is kind of full of things for the wedding, but you could—”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” I wave my hands around. “Easy breezy. X texted to say I could leave the big stuff until the start of next month. I guess he’s notalwaysan asshole. I don’t have a lot of furniture anyway. I’ll go over today and take a few boxes of what I really need.”
“And you can stay at your friend’s place until May?”
“I—”
The sound of someone calling Roxanne’s name cuts me off. A man comes out from a door beside the cafe counter and walks over to our table.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, speaking in French like the two of us have been and smiling at me before turning to Roxy. “I know you’re on break, but could I get you to sign off on some documents really fast? It will just be a minute. They’re already late, or else I would wait until you’re back.”
“Of course. I know it’s not actually lunch time.” Roxanne gets up and points a finger at me. “I’ll be back for you. Don’t steal my croissant.”
I only steal the corner.
Some weird trance music is pumping through the speakers. I bob my head to it as I pull my phone out and wait for Roxy to come back. I’m going through all the April Showers photos that got uploaded to the Taverne Toulouse Facebook page, trying to distract myself from the fact that I don’t have an answer to Roxanne’s question.
Her place isn’t an option; she was sweet to offer, but it’s not like I’m going to live on her couch while she gets ready for her own wedding in a few weeks. I don’t think I’d be able to afford a hotel or short term rental, not if I’ll have to pay first and last month’s rent on whatever I find for May.
I know where Iwantto go. I know where I want to be waking up, what kitchen I want to be making breakfast in, what voice I want to hear greeting me with a good morning every day.
I felt at homethe second I walked into Zach’s apartment. The half hour I spent sitting on his couch listening to music before he woke up was so peaceful, like the couch was a boat and his living room was a calm and sunny sea. All I wanted was to spend the day drifting away.
I wanted to drift away withhim, and I know what happens when I get carried away with a guy. It usually involves me needing a new apartment.
I keep scrolling through Facebook photos. There’s one of Zach and I standing behind the bar. I zoom in on our faces. They’re a little blurry, but I can still make out our expressions. I’m laughing so hard I have my eyes closed, and Zach is watching me with his face split into a huge grin.
Something in my stomach dips when I notice the look in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I’mspecial, like there’s nothing else in the whole room that could take his attention away from me. I wish the photo would come to life on my screen, that his little pixilated image would turn and tell me exactly what he was thinking in that moment. I need to know. I need to know whether I’m going crazy or not, whether the guy who’s beenjust a friendfor years has been thinking about kissing me as much as I’ve been thinking about kissing him.
I shake my head and scroll to the next photo. I make it all the way to the end of the album, searching for more shots of Zach and I, but I don’t find any. I’m about to write a comment making fun of how hammered Dylan looks when a text pops up on my screen.
My breath catches when I see it’s from Zach. I open up a meme he sent about tripping on air and then read the message.
