P.S. from Paris(44)
“I was listening,” Paul protested. “But my head was kind of spinning that night. Or must I do the unspeakable and remind you about the circumstances of our first encounter?”
“What’s really the matter, Paul?”
He took out a sheet of paper and handed it to her.
“I got this last night,” he mumbled.
Mia stood still and began reading.
Dear Paul,
I’m very glad you are coming to Seoul, even if we won’t have as much time to enjoy each other’s company as I would have liked. I have professional obligations at the Book Fair from which I cannot escape. I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the welcome you’ll receive from your readers, and I suspect you will be even busier than I am at the fair. You are famous here, and people are very excited about your arrival. Be prepared to devote a lot of your time and energy to your admirers for the duration of the visit. For my part, I will try to free myself as much as I can so that I can show you around my city . . . if your editor allows you enough time.
I would have loved for you to stay with me, but I’m afraid that is impossible. My family lives in the same apartment building, and my father is very strict. For a man to spend the night in his daughter’s apartment would be against all decorum, and it is something he would never allow. I can imagine your reaction to this news, and I share your disappointment, but you must understand that morals and customs are not the same here as they are in Paris.
I look forward to seeing you soon.
Have a good trip.
Your favorite translator,
Kyong
“Well, it is a little cold,” Mia admitted, handing back the sheet of paper.
“Just a little.”
“Don’t overreact. You have to be able to read between the lines. She seems to be a very reserved person.”
“Believe me, she’s not so reserved when she comes to Paris!”
“But Seoul is her home. It’s different.”
“Listen, you’re a woman. Work your magic and read between the lines for me. Tell me what I’m missing. Does she love me or not?”
“I’m sure she does.”
“Then why doesn’t she write it? Is it really such a hard thing to admit?”
“For someone so reserved . . . it might be.”
“When you’re in love with a man, don’t you tell him?”
“Not necessarily.”
“What exactly would be stopping you?”
“Fear,” Mia replied.
“Fear of what?”
“Of scaring him off.”
“Oh, God, it’s all so complicated! So what are you supposed to do, what should you say or not say when you’re in love with somebody?”
“Maybe it’s best to hold off, to wait awhile.”
“Wait for what? Until it’s too late?”
“Until it’s . . . not too early.”
“And just how do I figure that out? How do I know the time is right?”
“When you no longer feel any doubt, I suppose.”
“Has that ever happened to you? Being free of doubt?”
“Yes, on occasion.”
“And that’s when you told him that you loved him?”
“Yes.”
“And he said that he loved you?”
“Yes.”
Mia’s face darkened, and Paul noticed.
“I’m sorry! What a jackass. You’re fresh out of a relationship, and here I am prying open old wounds. That was a selfish thing to do.”
“Not really. It was quite touching, actually. If more men would find the courage to show their sensitive side, things could be so different.”
“You think I should reply to her?”
“I think you’re going to see her soon, and when she’s with you, she’ll fall under your spell once more.”
“If I’m being ridiculous, you can tell me.”
“Not at all. You’re being sincere. Whatever you do, don’t change that.”
Paul spotted a little refreshment stand just ahead of them.
“Hey. How would you like a waffle with Nutella?”
“Sure, why not,” Mia said with a sigh.
He led her over to the stand. He bought two waffles and handed the first one to Mia.
“If he came back hat in hand, begging your forgiveness, would you be willing to give him a second chance?” he asked with his mouth full of waffle.
“I really don’t know.”
“So he hasn’t called at all since—”
“No,” Mia cut in.
“Okay. What next? There’s a pond over there where kids play with sailboats, but that might be awkward without a kid. We have donkey rides over there . . . any of that sound appealing?”
“Not really, to be honest.”
“You know, I think I’ve seen enough donkeys as it is. Over there, we have some tennis courts, but we’re not playing tennis. And . . . that’s pretty much all we got. Let’s go—enough of this park and all these happy, smooching couples.”
Mia followed Paul out into Rue de Vaugirard. Together they walked down Rue Bonaparte, all the way down to the flea market at Place Saint-Sulpice.
They strolled up and down the aisles before stopping at one of the stalls.