Again, But Better(85)
“I always picture that image from the Princess and the Pea story. Like that one seed of distrust I planted years ago is buried under all these years we’ve spent together, all these memories, but we still feel it.” He pauses as we cross to the next block.
Pilot shrugs, emotion bleeding into his voice. “I think, maybe, the best thing Amy and I can do is let each other go.”
I blink at the ground, sadness welling in my chest.
“I’m sorry, Pilot. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t be.” He sighs. “I was trying really hard to do what I thought was the right thing for so long, and turns out maybe the right thing was the wrong thing.… It’s hard to come to terms with that. And it’s crossed my mind so many times before.… Confrontation is just so fucking hard.”
I stay quiet. Beirut Express comes into view a little way down the sidewalk.
“I’m gonna do it tomorrow,” Pilot adds carefully.
I swallow, letting the words sink in as we approach the restaurant.
A couple minutes later, when we’re right in front of the door, I open my mouth to speak again: “I’m sending Melvin a preemptive breakup letter, just to cover my ground, even though we haven’t technically met.”
A laugh blows out of Pilot.
I nudge him gently. “Shall we shawarma our troubles away?”
* * *
I’m high on hope and shawarma as we mosey back to the Karlston.
“So, Pies, while we’re here, what’s the plan to jumpstart your music career? Can we get you on YouTube? I’m gonna really push for this ‘Wrecking Ball’ cover.”
He grins and shakes his head—default humble, cool guy response.
“I just want to sing ‘Wrecking Ball’ and claim we wrote it first. Just one time!”
He laughs now. “You’re ridiculous.”
“This is a great idea! I have a camera. Why not?”
“You have a video camera?” He perks up curiously.
“Uh, duh, my Casio has a video setting. I myself thought about starting a YouTube channel about writing and such many a time circa 2010, 2011.”
“French Watermelon Nineteen: the YouTube channel?”
“But of course.”
“How ’bout French Writer-melon?”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I reply melodramatically.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t make any sense?” he protests.
“The internet knows me as French Watermelon. I don’t want to tarnish the good French Watermelon Nineteen name.”
He smirks at me, eyes gleaming. “Ridiculous.”
“You say ridiculous, I say tech savvy. Tomato-tomahto.”
We cross another intersection.
“What country do we want to hit next?”
“I’m pretty sure Babe’s gonna pull me aside tomorrow and convince me to go on a trip to Paris with you and that pain-in-the-ass Chad.”
“Oh jeez, how could I forget Chad? You up for Paris again?”
“Am I up for Paris again?” I say in a mocking tone. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
He snorts.
11. Come Together
I can’t eat breakfast. I’m too worked up thinking about Pilot and Amy; my stomach is in knots. Will he do it? I get down on the floor and flow through some yoga before leaving for class. Babe asks if she can join me. I welcome the distraction and quietly walk her through it. She giggles as we struggle through poses in our jeans. Sahra snorts when she wakes up to find us both in downward dog. As I heave my backpack onto my shoulder to take off, Babe asks if I want to get lunch together. I stop at the post office on the way to class and send off my letter to a clueless past Melvin.
At noon, I meet Babe outside of Byron’s. We grab a booth, and Babe proceeds to pitch Paris for Chad’s birthday. I do my best to drag Chad, but past Babe won’t be swayed by Shane-she-just-recently-met-who-has-never-even-met-Chad. I find myself studying her face, marking the differences between her and the Babe I talk to weekly in 2017. Future Babe’s hair is different; she has voluminous curls instead of the polished upturned ends she has now. And future Babe has switched to a slightly darker red shade of lipstick.
She comes to a close with her double-date question as the waiter arrives to take our orders. It’s not my spirit guide. I’ve had my eyes peeled since I walked in, but there’s no sign of her.
“So, what’s going on with you and Pilot? Are you up for this? Will you come?” She shoots the questions one after the other, without giving me a second to respond.
I vacuum in a breath. “Okay, so let’s just keep this between us, right?”
“Of course.”
“Pilot’s supposedly breaking up with Amy today,” I tell her quietly.
“What?” Her hands fly up.
“I know.”
“What— Are you two going to be a thing?”
“I don’t want to jinx anything,” I say hesitantly.
“So, you’ll come this weekend!” she says abruptly, her eyes lighting up.
I nod, a smile breaking across my face. “I’m so excited to go again!”
“You’ve been to Paris before?”