Paris Cravings: A Paris & Pastry Novel (15 page)

Now that the tears are under control, I’m starting to feel pissed. I find out about Mathew’s full-time job from his mother and now he’s auditioning for some role on the stage – and he never breathed a word to me.

Sera’s little sister has gone quiet. A prickling sensation runs along my neck. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Lainey says, but there’s an odd tone to her voice.

“Spit it out, Lainey. I know something’s going on.”

“I just—today—it’s probably nothing.” She pauses and I can practically hear her brain whirring across the Atlantic. “I don’t want to worry you.”

“Yeah, right. You’re so thoughtful that way.”

I should move away from the window, but I’m rooted to the glass with invisible Super Glue. Down below, Jean-Paul and Mireille have stopped at the corner. Elise’s bedroom overlooks a narrow street, almost like an alley. Pedestrian traffic has thinned and only an occasional bicyclist passes by.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Lainey begins. “But prepare yourself, okay. Your mom called yesterday to ask me to help her at the mall for her book signing. You know, because you weren’t going to be back from France yet.”

I nod even though Lainey can’t see me. Mireille leans in close to Jean-Paul and he bends his head as if to hear her better.

“The signing was nearly over,” Lainey continues. “And your mom sent me out to get us some lunch, you know, out in the food court.”

I feel like I’m watching a movie. Mireille and Jean-Paul have probably walked home like this a million times. How lucky are they? I mean—Paris! The city for lovers at Mireille’s doorstep. With no jetlag. While I live in noisy, smelly New York. There’s no comparison. Paris oozes romance and old style class. Okay, I love New York, don’t get me wrong. It’s my hometown. It’s got tons of great places to see and good Chinese take-out and lasagna to die for, and celebrity sightings and funky musicians on the street, but at the moment I’m in love with Paris.

My brain orders me to stop watching, to sit down, and shut the window, but I’m not very obedient.

“I mean, it was like three o’clock before we could take a break,” Lainey goes on. “Customers just kept coming and coming. And then there was this old lady at the very end of the line and your Mom looked like she was about to faint from lack of food so I had to go, right? I mean, you don’t blame me, Chloe, for going? To get lunch?”

Jean-Paul puts his arm around her, bringing her in close to his chest. I can only imagine what that feels like. His hands, the fabric of his shirt, the touch of his fingers brushing my cheek—I mean,
her
cheek.

“Chloe? Are you there?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

Now they’re talking in earnest, facing each other, and Jean-Paul is holding both of Mireille’s hands in his. It’s starting to look really intense.

“So, I came out of the shop and there’s—Mathew.”

“Uh, huh,” I say, to let Lainey know I’m listening.

I imagine the feel of Jean-Paul’s warm breath on Mireille’s face. Good Lord, this weird jealousy is making me ill. Any minute I’ll start swooning like one of Mom’s drippy romance heroines, and need smelling salts so I don’t hit the floor and get a concussion.

Get a grip! What do I have to be jealous about? Mireille has a hot boyfriend and so do I, but I’m so envious I feel green. Paris and Jean-Paul are making my head explode
. What is wrong with me?

“And Parvati.”

I barely hear Lainey. I’m in the middle of a daydream where Jean-Paul is looking into my eyes as if I’m Mireille, and he’s laughing at my silly jokes.

“I knew you’d be mad if I told you!” Lainey suddenly wails.

Her whiney voice wakes me up. I haven’t been paying attention, but Lainey’s words are beginning to register. “What are you talking about?”

“Mathew and Parvati! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying?”

“Of course! I’m listening.” And drooling. “Parvati and Mathew are friends. We’re all friends. They can talk to each other at the mall.” See how mature I am?

“I can’t be positive,” Lainey says hesitantly. “But it looked like they were together. As in
together
.”

“Yeah.” I say, totally agreeing. Those two down below in the alley are completely together. Jean-Paul and Mireille’s relationship is long-term. It’s obvious they’re serious. This is where my Paris depression goes full-blown.

I’m such an idiot. I have to stop these insane thoughts. I have to get out of here and go home, the faster the better. I wonder how much a taxi to the Loire Valley costs? Actually, it could cost fifty euros, but it doesn’t matter. I have no money for anything.

“Well, they were—I mean—” Lainey sounds like she’s in agony.

I watch Mireille throw her arms around Jean-Paul’s neck. And then they’re kissing—full lips, full body contact. Full everything.

“You know—Mathew and Parvati—they were hugging and—stuff.” She can hardly say the last word.

I have to sit down, my legs are shaking. Instead, I lose my balance, trying to keep from putting weight on my sore ankle and use my rear end as cushion. My phone skids across the floor like a skater. I’m going to have bruises on both hips.

“I’m sorry!” Lainey wails again, and I can hear her even though the phone is two feet away.

I crawl across the floor, and grab my cell phone which managed to fling itself under the bed. Lainey’s words are beginning to sink into my brain, but I’m having a hard time getting the image of Jean-Paul and Mireille, in their locked embrace, lip-to-lip under the streetlight, out of my mind.

Rubbing my sore hip, I say, “Are you sure you saw Mathew and Parvati? Maybe she was with some other guy who just looks like Mathew. You know how guys are around her. She attracts them like moths to a flame.”

I’m trying to talk Lainey out of her story. I really don’t want this to be happening right now. I’m not sure I can handle it. The two hottest guys I’ve ever known kissing other girls.
Not
kissing me. I don’t want to hear this. Not after what happened two weeks ago. Not after Mathew’s promise not to see Parvati until I got home and we had The Talk.

“I didn’t want to tell you, Chloe, but I knew nobody else would.”

“You’re a real friend,” I say, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I’ll bet Lainey enjoyed every moment of the mall scene and being able to personally give me the scoop. She’s probably high-fiving herself right this minute. With a bunch of her dopey friends giggling in the background.

“What are you going to do?” Lainey asks a little too eagerly.

I have no idea. The news feels unreal and I don’t know how to process it. Mathew and Parvati feel so far away, like a very bad dream. A nightmare.

“Okay, start at the top again, Lainey,” I tell her, forcing myself to concentrate as I dump myself back on the window seat. This time I ignore the window and stare at Elise’s name on the wall.

“I was at the mall,” she repeats like I’m five years old. “And I got lunch for your mom and me.”

“I got that part.”

“Across from The Gap, I saw them. She was hanging on his arm. And then she pulls his head down and kisses him. On. The. Lips.”

A sudden sharp pain jabs at my chest. I want to scream and cry and throw something. Parvati kissing my boyfriend—and I’m almost four thousand miles away and unable to do a single thing about it. Even though I’ve been working on being more mature about my life, what I really want to do is pull her hair out. Why, I want to cry to Mathew? How can you love me for so long and then let Parvati come between us? Just tell me why!

I take a breath, trying not to start screaming or throwing things. “Okay, don’t jump to conclusions or go into hysterics,” I tell Lainey. She gives a snort of laughter. “Are you sure? I mean, didn’t you just get new contacts or glasses recently?”

Lainey gives a dramatic sigh. “I saw their faces. And I think Mathew sort of saw me, too.”

Just then my phone beeps. Call Waiting. My chest lurches and the last éclair I ate rises in my throat. Mathew’s number lights up the screen. He’s doing damage control. I know I can’t talk to him right now, I have to think about this first, figure out what I’m going to say to him.

My instinct is to yell a few good cuss words. Give him ultimatums, all that stuff high school girls are good at. But I’m about to start college. I need to stay cool, calm, and collected and learn the whole truth. There could be a simple reason for what Lainey saw. Once I know the facts—the real facts—I can figure out how to deal with it.

Even if the story is horrible, especially after The Worst Night of My Life, I’m still thousands of miles away which means I shouldn’t do anything rash or stupid, like suddenly break up with Mathew and go home to no boyfriend at all. I’d kick myself my entire freshman year. Everybody knows college can be miserably lonely without a boyfriend. Not having dates for Saturday night could be catastrophic, especially if my friends or roommates are bringing guys home for the night. Watching
Saturday Night Live
with a lap full of Twizzlers and caramel popcorn while there’s headboard banging going on just across the hall would make me want to slit my wrists.

I determine to call Mathew back and act like nothing is wrong. Let him explain things first. I’ll be the perfect understanding girlfriend.

“You know, Lainey,” I say. “You might have totally misinterpreted the whole thing.”

I look out the window again. Where are Jean-Paul and Mireille? I can’t see them any longer. Is he walking her home? Oh, Lord they don’t sleep together, do they? I’m suddenly not sure I can bear that—but how insane have I become? I hardly know him, and he certainly doesn’t belong to me.

I just think that Jean-Paul should, you know, wait until he’s sure he has the perfect girl. Like when he gets married. Many years from now. How does he know Mireille is
the one
?

I pick at the dried cream on my jacket piping with my fingernail, wishing I could change into comfy pajamas and curl into a ball on the bed. I just think everybody should wait and make your husband or wife your one-and-only. Think of the hundreds of problems it would eliminate. Thinking about sex messes up my head. You could hook up with a guy just because you can’t keep your hands off each other, and then find out later you’re totally wrong for each other. And then you have all those awful memories stuck in your head forever.

When I’m making out with Mathew, I can’t think straight. At that moment the physical stuff is all I want, but when I pull away and stop and we go
do
something else, it’s as if my brain reattaches to my neck again.

“I know what I saw,” Lainey says slowly, but there is now uncertainty in her voice.

“Maybe Parvati saw you across the mall and took the opportunity to make me crazy. She knew you’d run home and call me.”

“That’s true,” Lainey admits. I picture her biting at her braces, trying to think of some way to convince me I should get angry with Mathew. The strange thing is, that would have been my normal reaction. But at the moment I feel calm, as if Paris has put a spell on me. Everything will work out; I have to trust Mathew and Mathew has to trust me. That’s one of the biggest issues we need to talk about when I get home. But first, I have to start with myself.

Mathew could be angry with
me
for all the thoughts I’ve been having about Jean-Paul.

“I can’t start accusing Mathew of cheating,” I say, even though my voice quivers. “Not until I know the facts. Lots of situations can look really bad until you know the truth. Maybe he won that stage role he was trying out for and she was just congratulating him. Excitement can do things to people.”

Yeah, and maybe I can win the 800 in a concrete suit.

“If I see anything else suspicious, Chloe, I’ll report to you.”

“Um, thanks, Lainey. That’s what best friend’s little sisters are for.” Forcing myself to quit worrying, I say, “Hey, I got to learn how to make tarts and
beignets
today.”

“That’s nice,” Lainey says, lukewarm now.

She has no idea how fascinating pastries are. The nuances of the cream, the curlicues of icing done just so with a little flick of your wrist. A girl has to experience it first hand. You just don’t
know
until you’ve personally mixed and rolled and baked and decorated.

I say goodbye and wrack my brain to come up with a good way to start a conversation with Mathew when I call him back. It’s a talk I didn’t want to have right now. We’d agreed we’d figure things out when I got home.

A door closes, and I hear Jean-Paul’s voice in the hallway.

I latch the bedroom window, close the curtains, and drop onto the comforter of the bed. He’s home! He isn’t out with Mireille any longer. He isn’t in a back seat, or making out in the park, or at her house in her bedroom. He isn’t touching her. He isn’t kissing her. He’s here, on the other side of the bedroom wall.

I grab Elise’s pillow and wrap it around my head, hoping I can erase the picture of Jean-Paul and Mireille from my memory. Before I left on this trip I’d decided that I loved Mathew and wanted to stay his girlfriend when I got back home. That we’d talk it all out and work on getting back to where we used to be. Parvati was just so pretty and talented and we’d all gotten to be such good friends, that that night was just a one-time thing, a bad mistake, but not permanent.

I shake my head, knowing deep in my heart that all of my noble intentions had been decided before Mathew and I ever had a chance to have a true, heart-to-heart talk about our relationship. Before I met Jean-Paul. I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if I’m falling for this French guy with the chocolate eyes. He’s like a force field and I’m the magnet. When he looks at me I get positively breathless, but I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way. It’s not like Jean-Paul is even available! He’s off limits. Completely.

Do these feelings mean I’m not ready to go back to the way things were with Mathew? When Parvati started hanging out with us, everything changed. I felt it, Mathew felt it, and we all pretended it wasn’t there. I’m trying to hold onto all the old feelings, but I’ve changed after all these months. Mathew’s changed. I’ve changed just after being on this trip. Is it even possible to go back to the way we were? I’m not sure. I thought so before I left for Paris. Now . . . perhaps I need to have my head examined. I’m flip-flopping every other minute. Maybe I’m developing a split personality.