"Bonjour, ready for your first night out in the city of lights?" Keomi beamed, wrapping her arms around me.
I wasn't sure if my eyes were puffy or if she could tell that just a few moments ago, I'd been in tears, but I didn't care, tonight I would have fun, and I wouldn't be sad, not anymore.
"Ready as I'll ever be," I replied with a cheeky wink.
Keomi decided to dress me up that night, and I felt like a mannequin in a beauty salon. She'd asked politely if she could straighten my hair, and I knew she didn't mean anything bad by it, so I allowed her to do so. When my hair was straight, it was at shoulder length, thick wavy and flowy. My mother never allowed me to straighten my hair. She always believed, like all African women, it was knotted with our struggles and represented how we still manage to overcome them. To many African women, our natural curls are a symbol of resilience and something to take pride in. But it was only one night, and there was nothing wrong with trying something new. Keomi had put two white hair clips on either side of my hair. I looked different, good different. She'd chosen a little black dress that I'd gotten from a little boutique by the beach one summer in Orlando.
"You look amazing, as always!" Keomi cheered, twirling me around like a little marionette doll.
"Thank you, and so do you, holy shit!" I complimented, and she did.
Keomi had tied her sleek black hair in a high ponytail and worn a fitting black jumpsuit. She looked fierce and ready to take on well, anything.
Keomi left with Fabian, Genevieve and Merilla soon after I left for Le Chat Curieux. River had texted me, saying to meet him there. The afternoon sky was fading away in preparation for the night sky. The streets of Paris were buzzing that Friday night, with saxophone players on almost every street corner and young couples on romantic nights out.
As I approached the quaint little bookstore, my eye caught River's. He wasn't hard to notice. He didn't quite look like anyone else. He was a black cat in a field of dandelions, a four-leaf clover— he simply just stood out from the crowd. I made my way over to him. Even in my heels, he was still almost half a foot taller than me. He wore a plain white sweater and black jeans with a single silver cross necklace, I didn't take him for the religious type.
"Hey," I greeted, looking up at him, suddenly feeling small and all too conscious of my every movement.
"You're so sad." River stated, lifting his hand and tilting up my chin,
"What do you mean?" I puzzled swallowing the anxiety building in my throat,
"You've been crying. Why?" He wondered, his brows furrowing in concern. How could he know? There's no way he could possibly know. Keomi didn’t even notice.
"Why do you care?" I anticipated, turning to look away from him in insecurity.
"Curiosity." He replied simply, "Let's go inside."
As he pushed open the door to Le Chat Curieux, the bell chimed, and the shopkeeper who'd been previously rude the first time we'd met sighed tiredly, not bothering to look up from her novel.
"Bonjour comment puis-je vous aider?" She asked bitterly.How many I help you.
"Hello, we'll be fine, thanks," I replied sheepishly, and she scoffed, still not looking up,
"Merde, another American." She cursed, and River leaned over the counter. She gazed up at him, her eyes glittering with desire, her cheeks flushed, and she cleared her throat.
"Est-ce que ce sera un problème?" River asked,will that be a problem?And her eyes flashed with evident embarrassment.
"No, my apologies." She replied in English this time, and I could tell that she regretted it.
"Good." He smiled, his unnaturally blue eyes gleaming. “Can we take some photographs of the store for a school project?”
“Yes, but you must declare the location and owner of the store, Gerard Aubert.” She informed us, and I nodded slightly.
“Oh, okay, thank you,” I responded. I pulled out my camera and began to look around for things to photograph. The newspaper-covered windows looked artsy enough, so I captured them.
"You never gave me an answer, good girl," River said, his voice calm and collected. I rolled my eyes at the nickname.
"I don't want to talk about it." I retorted, continuing to capture the scene, but River lowered the camera from my eyes, his fierce blues meeting mine.
"When I'm talking to you, you look at me." He instructed, and I didn't have the courage to deny him. "Okay?"
"Okay," I replied almost mechanically.
"If you don't talk to me, who the fuck are you going to talk to?" He mentioned sarcastically, yet his voice was laced with a cold hard truth. “I see a lot when I look at you.”
“Oh yeah like what hm?”
