Sleeping With Paris (36 page)

But, there were no missed calls. No texts. No word from the man I loved.

***

As we stepped into the Perrache train station in Lyon, a comforting twinge of familiarity masked my broken heart. It had been years since I’d been back, but nothing had changed. I took a deep breath and realized I was in a place that was mine. A place that had nothing to do with Jeff or Luc. A place that I had loved long before I knew either of them. And even though I so wanted to continue wallowing in sorrow and self-pity (on the inside anyway), a peculiar feeling crept up inside me—excitement.

“The metro here is so much cleaner than in Paris. I like this city already,” Fiona said.

“This is only the beginning,” I told her. “You’ll see. Lyon is a gorgeous city.” I was suddenly extremely grateful that I’d booked this trip with my girlfriends. If I had stayed alone in Paris, I would’ve been dangerously close to starting up an alcohol addiction while drowning in a pool of my own wretched despair.

Katie’s eyes lit up. “We had so much fun when I visited you in college. Remember that crazy bar, Ayer’s Rock? We
have
to take Fiona there.”

“Oh my gosh. That place was insane. I don’t know if they’d let me back in after all the trouble I got myself into there.”

“What’s Ayer’s Rock?” Fiona asked.

“It’s this Australian bar that Charlotte and her friends went to
all
the time—like almost every night of the week.” Katie shot me a sly grin. “A lot of table dancing and man grinding went down in that joint.”

“Oh God, table dancing. So much table dancing.” I shook my head. “I don’t know if I’m up for all of that this time around.”

“We at least have to go once, for old time’s sake,” Katie said as she nudged my side. “I barely get to go out with girlfriends anymore since Joe and I started dating, and you said this trip was all about us, so you have no choice.”

“Alright, whatever you say. But let it be known that I am
not
going there to pick up random guys. I’m done playing that game. I’m twenty-five years old and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

“About to be twenty-six,” Katie said in a sing-songy voice.

I sat up in my metro seat and thought for a minute. Amidst all the drama, I had completely forgotten that my 26
^th
birthday was coming up the following week. “I guess I forgot.”

“Well, we’re going to make this a big one, lady.” Katie said as she winked at me.

Once we arrived at our metro stop,
Bellecour
, Katie and I dragged our oversized suitcases up the stairs while Fiona effortlessly carried her mini suitcase with one hand. Katie and I always over-packed.

Huffing and puffing up the stairs, Katie yelled up at Fiona who was already waiting for us at the top. “How did you pack so light? We’re here for two weeks!”

“I only brought the essentials, really.” She shrugged and smiled.

I looked over at Katie as we neared the top of the never-ending staircase. “Fiona’s way more organized than we’ll ever be. Must be a British thing.”

As we emerged from the metro, the bright sun shone down on the red, sandy courtyard, which by midday, was bustling with people. I gazed up into the deep blue sky to find that the luminous white basilica, Fourvière, stood majestically up on the hill just as it always had. The tension I’d been holding in my shoulders relaxed and the knots that had taken up residence in my stomach dissipated as I breathed in the warm breeze and felt like I was home.

I had booked us an adorable hotel room right off the courtyard, on rue Victor Hugo. The room was as French as it could be with a charming balcony overlooking all of the trendy shops and open-air markets that lined the cobblestone street below. After we unpacked and hung up some of our clothes in the miniscule closet, we headed out for our first afternoon of city exploration.

During our first week in Lyon, I successfully kept the three of us occupied every moment of the day so that I didn’t have time to think about Luc, Jeff, my lack of future employment, or anything in between. Instead, I focused on my friends. We ate out, shopped, strolled along the rivers, rode bicycles through the city, and visited pubs and cafés in the evenings.

The only times I felt myself sinking back into self-pity mode were late at night after the two of them had fallen asleep and in the mornings before they woke up. I lay in bed tossing and turning and replaying the wedding events over and over again in my mind. Incessantly asking myself the same tiresome questions as if maybe all of the questioning would somehow change the outcome.

Why couldn’t I have resisted Jeff? Why did I let him kiss me in the elevator? Did I really think I still loved him? Or was I just acting out in revenge against Brooke? I mean, no matter how nice of a person I thought I was, I certainly didn’t mind hurting her in that whole process seeing as how badly she and Jeff had hurt me. Despite my ill feelings toward Jeff and Brooke though, my thoughts kept coming back to Luc.

Luc was the one person I didn’t want to hurt. What had he ever done to me? Only wonderful things like take me to the ballet and feed me chocolate in bed after giving me multiple orgasms. Jeff didn’t even hold a candle to Luc. What was I thinking? I mean seriously,
what in the hell
was I thinking
?

As these self-destructive thoughts auto-played through my mind every night, I was desperate for Luc’s touch. Desperate to run my hands through his hair again. Desperate to go back and change the way it had all played out. And unbearably desperate for him to call me and accept my apology (and it wouldn’t hurt if he’d also say that he was madly in love with me and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me—but I guess I couldn’t expect all of that just yet). 

So, every night, I slept with my phone by my side. It was my only possible attachment to Luc. In the miraculous event that he decided he needed to get in touch with me after reading my letter, God forbid I wasn’t there to pick up the phone the second he called. I hid my obsessive phone checking from Katie and Fiona because even though they said they understood what I was going through, they didn’t. Neither of them had ever ruined their love lives like I had just done. Sure, they had both been burned before, but they didn’t know what it felt like to be the one who had done the burning. And to regret it so badly that you would do anything—absolutely anything—to fix it.

I also thought a lot about Lexi. Brad sent me regular text updates to keep me in the know. He’d taken her back to New York City, where they were staying with their aunt and uncle for a little while. Lexi was seeing a good doctor, and as Brad had said, she was starting to come back to life. What I’d seen that night at the hospital had scared me though. I wanted to talk with Fiona and Katie about it, but Lexi had emailed me and asked that I keep her situation private. So, I did my best to keep my fears about Lexi and losing Luc to myself, and instead arranged a smile on my face and stayed happy for my friends . . . even if, on the inside, I wasn’t always feeling it.

One early morning, as we kicked off our second week in Lyon, Katie and Fiona sat on opposite sides of the tiny hotel room, ears glued to their cell phones, making their daily love-bird calls to their significant others.

“I miss you so much, Joe,” Katie said.

“I know, love. Only two more weeks and I’ll be in London,” Fiona said.

I was happy for them. I really was. But as I stared at my silent phone, I realized I was only human. And if I had to listen to any more dying couple talk before I’d even had a chance to drink a cup of espresso, I would vomit. So, instead of listening to another I love you being spoken over every phone in the hotel room except mine, I decided to head to my old favorite park, Le Parc de la Tête d’Or, for a morning jog.

Le Parc de la Tête d’Or is in the 6th arrondissement of Lyon, an upscale neighborhood lined with fancy apartment buildings, clean streets and corner
boulangeries
. I’d had the privilege of living in this quiet, peaceful area of Lyon with my host family, and I’d gone running at the park regularly by myself while studying abroad.

It was my first time back in over five years, and as I walked underneath the massive green and gold-plated gate that protected the park, a sense of relief swept over me. I’d loved this place so much, and it felt so comforting to be back.

  Two curly-haired little French girls romped with a floppy brown puppy as their mother lounged in the grassy field facing the lake, smiling to herself as the girls’ laughter filled up the open space. Three lean male runners whizzed past me, their pale, thin legs stretching out in full strides as their tiny shorts just barely covered their butts.

I grinned as I broke into a jog behind them, and soon my jog morphed into a full-out sprint. All of the toxic emotions I’d been bottling up over the current state of my life seeped out of my pores as my feet pounded into the pavement.

As I rounded the first corner, something Katie had said to me the night of the wedding shot through my head.

What was it about Jeff that made you go so nuts?

Katie had a point. What was it about Jeff, about my attachment to him, that had made me even consider being with him again? After the online dating debacle, I should’ve had nothing left but disdain for that man.

But as a slight breeze whistled through the trees lining the running path, I finally had time to think. To recognize, for the first time all year, what was at the heart of all of this madness.

Cliché though it was, I had Dad issues.

Major
Dad issues.

Ever since I’d discovered my dad cheating on my mom at the age of thirteen, I’d gone stark-raving boy crazy. All through high school and college, I hadn’t spent so much as a day without a boyfriend. And if there was even a small gap in between long-term relationships, I’d filled it with dates, hook-ups, one-night stands, you name it.

I couldn’t be alone. And as I thought about all of those years after my dad’s indiscretion, after the love had evaporated from our home, I realized that all I’d ever wanted was to have my family back.

And my never-ending quest for a man was just that—a search for family. For the kind of unconditional love my family had shared
before
my dad had cheated. I knew now that I saw his cheating as not only a betrayal to my mother, but also a betrayal to me.

If he had really loved me enough, wouldn’t he have had the foresight to see what he was doing to me? That he was sweeping the stability right out from under his young daughter, taking away the comfort I’d grown to depend on as a child, and leaving me searching, frantically for someone who would bring that love back to my life.

My dad had broken up our family, and in Jeff, I’d seen an opportunity to get it back.

With this monumental realization, my pace slowed, my heart still pounding inside my chest. Jeff was seven years older than me, a grown man with a solid career. He was charismatic, unbelievably handsome, and an amazing lover. I fell for him hard and fast, but now, looking back, I realized that I also fell for the
idea
of him. Jeff’s extreme physical passion for me in the early days of our relationship had led me to believe that he would
never
tire of me. That he would never stray, as my dad had done. And when I thought back to the night he’d proposed at the Georgetown waterfront, I remembered clearly the feeling that had coursed through me at the sight of him down on one knee.

The love I felt for him was real, yes. But it wasn’t only love I felt that night.

It was
relief
.

Relief that someone loved me enough to stay with me. To commit to me for a lifetime.

Because even though my parents had stayed together after my dad’s infidelity, I knew that in his heart, my dad was somewhere else, and that in choosing another woman over my mom, he’d left our small little family. Then, when every single boyfriend I’d dated continued on that same cheating streak, the message my dad had sent repeated relentlessly in my head.

You’re not good enough. Every man you love will leave you for someone else.

With Jeff’s proposal, I’d wholeheartedly believed that the streak was over. That I’d finally found the man who would love me forever. Who would make me feel whole again. Who I could create a life, a home, a family with.

And when Jeff had betrayed that trust, I snapped. Hence, the man-hating blog. My unwillingness to commit to Luc or to let him in. My inability to support my friends in their happy relationships. And my choice to take Jeff into my hotel room that night.

Because that night, he’d chosen
me
over Brooke. And somewhere in the back of my messed-up head, his desire for me was the validation I needed to believe that I was worthy of a man’s love.

About two-thirds of the way around the wide path that encircled the park, I slowed to a stop. I plopped down in the grass and lay on my back as I stared up at the fluffy white clouds floating overhead.

And as I listened to my heavy breath, in and out, my chest rising and falling, I knew what I had to do.

I had to let it all go.

My dad’s betrayal. All of the broken hearts I’d suffered since.

Jeff’s online dating profile, and my streak of bad decisions this past year.