He laughs. “Well done. Blimey, well done.”
“Not sure blimey fits, but hey. You must be knackered at the end of the day,” I say, keeping up the volley.
His smile spreads across his wrinkled face. “You are a top translator. The best. Go take yourself out to dinner on me.”
He hands me a gift card. I stare at it in disbelief for a moment, then I thank him. When I leave, I breathe a sigh of relief.
As I head down the stairs and into the Paris twilight, I can’t help but feel I got away with something. Instead of a reprimand, I have fifty euros on a gift card to spend at a restaurant.
And as I walk down the street toward the river, I grin.
And I laugh.
Maybe I did get away with something. Maybe I’ll keep getting away with it. I’ll certainly try my hardest.
“One egg crepe with cheese.”
Christian places the order at the crepe stand near Deux Magots, then turns to me as he waits for his favorite crepe-maker in the city to make a savory dish. “Here’s the thing. You know the risks. I’m not telling you something you don’t know. The question becomes what happens when you leave for the other side of the world?”
“When I leave, I leave,” I say coolly, because what else is there to say? There’s a real expiration date to me, and I can’t pretend it won’t come. I’ve no clue when I’m returning, especially since I should be able to pick up written translation work remotely, feeding my bank account as I travel.
“Ah, so she’s cool with it?”
I scratch my jaw, and glance down the street, trying to remember how Joy has reacted to the prospect of me leaving. “Pretty sure.”
Christian arches a skeptical brow. “Pretty sure?”
“She knows I’m going to Indonesia.”
“Right. But does she know you’re staying there?”
I sigh. “I don’t even know if I’m staying. I’ll probably wind up someplace else.”
He draws air quotes as he repeats, “Someplace else.” He shakes his head. “For a man who makes a living translating words precisely, you’re being awfully imprecise on this matter.”
“You didn’t even think I should get involved with her,” I fire back.
“And you didn’t follow that advice, did you?” he says, laughing.
“Not really.”
“My point is this: now that you’re involved, don’t you think you ought to at least let her know this can only be a short-term thing? Be direct with her.”
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I have to imagine she knows.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t imagine. Just be clear, like you should have been from the start.”
“It’s never been pertinent before.”
“I’d say it’s pertinent now.” He claps me on the back. “I think you have your work cut out for you, mate. Good luck with that one. I wouldn’t want to be you telling a woman you’re hot for that you need to clock out in a month.”
As I flash back to the day I ran into Joy when she was still Judy to me, I’m reminded that she wasn’t looking for anything. That hasn’t changed. She’s still not looking for anything, and neither am I. We’re Archie and Judy, and they were fine with a whole lot of “not looking for anything” together as they explored.
“It’s all going to be fine. Neither one of us wants anything more.”
Christian laughs as he takes the crepe and bites into it. “Right.”
As I walk along the river, I run my thumb over the list of ten. I’ve completed three, I’m working on a fourth by teaching Joy French, I do the postscript on an ongoing basis by keeping in close touch with my parents, and I’m about to check off one more item.
Item number nine.
Take a chance on something that terrifies you.
The funny thing is, going for it with Joy doesn’t scare me at all. It excites me. It enlivens me. Maybe this means it doesn’t quite fit the bill, but I don’t care.
I’m going to cross it off anyway.
9. Take a chance on something that terrifies you.
Griffin: The night is young. Do you want to pick up where we left off? Because it’s literally all I want to do. And I know you like it when literally means literally.
21
Joy
I’ve swallowed a nest full of butterflies.
Wait. Butterflies don’t live in nests.
They live in a swarm.
Actually, that’s not right, either.
It’s called an army. I remember from one of my science classes.
I set a hand on my belly, trying to quell the army inside it.
What is wrong with me? I’m thirty. I shouldn’t be this nervous. But it’s not nerves. It’s excitement. It’s the thrill. It’s the wild, fantastical feeling when you fly upside down on a roller coaster.
But with an army?
I scratch my head as I wait.
Screw it. I need to know what it’s called. As I pace across the iron footbridge in Canal St-Martin’s, the emerald leaves of the trees glistening from the earlier showers, I unlock my phone. “Google, what is a group of butterflies called?”
She answers in her pleasing robotic voice. “A group of butterflies is called—”
Fingers brush across the back of my neck. “A kaleidoscope.”
I don’t just shiver. I shudder. My bones melt. Heat swirls through me. That voice. That accent. This man. I turn around. Soft moonlight frames his face. “How did you know that?”
He shrugs, a grin lighting up his handsome features. I want to run my fingers along his jawline. But I don’t yet have the permission to touch him freely whenever I want. “Marine biology,” he answers.
“Butterflies aren’t marine life.”
“True,” he says, then takes a liberty I haven’t. He runs the back of his fingers across my cheek. I gasp, and then it turns into the start of a moan. “I don’t know, then. I suppose I picked it up somewhere along the way. Maybe because it sounds prettier than a swarm.” He takes a beat then says it again, “Kaleidoscope.”
It’s both beautiful
