We stop walking then, standing directly in front of Liam’s building. It suddenly looks dark and sinister, probably because it’s set to be the backdrop of our ending.
This is it. I’m leaving now. I won’t see Liam tomorrow. Or the next day. Or maybe ever again. I look up at him and he looks at me, registering my emotions and starting to pull me closer. I keep my feet planted.
“I should go,” I tell him.
“You don’t have to. We can talk a little longer.”
“I need to get back to Ollie and figure everything out with my flight.”
“You can do that here. Go get Ollie and come back. I can help you figure things out.”
It’s so tempting—so tempting that it physically hurts. My throat feels impossibly tight, and I just want to hug him and feel his arms wrap around me. It’s beyond cruel that I know stepping forward and falling into him would wash all my pain away. I’d feel safe and looked after. I could just let go and not think, but that’s what I want. It’s not what I need.
“I have to do this on my own,” I tell him. “And so do you.”
I move back again, but Liam doesn’t let go of my hand. I see a drop of desperation flash through his eyes, and in that moment, I know he’s hurting as much as I am.
“Okay, here’s a crazy thought. Come to Paris with me.”
And just like that, all the air temporarily leaves my lungs. “What?” I ask quietly.
“I know that it’s nuts, but it could also be a little bit genius. You can come to Paris with me. You and Ollie both. I’ll fulfill my contract, you can write, Ollie can wear a beret, and the three us can all sit and eat croissants under the Eiffel Tower.”
I smile and shake my head in dissent even as my heart positively basks in the daydream. “You know we can’t do that,” I tell him.
“Why not?” he asks longingly.
“Because we need to get our lives together. I’m almost thirty and I have nothing to show for myself. Even on this trip, I threw away a huge goal I was working towards because deep down, I was afraid of failing again.”
“But you always wrote when you came over to my place.”
“I know that, but I shouldn’t need you coercing me to do what I’m supposed to be passionate about by tempting me with your company and snacks. I should be writing because I love it—because I’m driven and because I know it’s what I’m meant to do.”
“This is just a side note,” Liam says, “but it made me really happy that you ranked my company ahead of snacks on the temptation list. Do continue.”
I sniffle a bit, feeling the tears in my eyes even as I grin back at him. “You need to figure out what you want to do with your future, too. I know you had fun spending time with me, but you were also looking for a reason to put off your work, and I enabled you to do that. And I realize that you’re doing better, maybe even better than you should, but you’re clearly still not fully over your divorce. If we started something up, I’m sure it would help you feel good, less lonely for sure, but it wouldn’t fix anything, not long-term, anyways.” Liam eventually nods, and I take strength from his reluctant acceptance.
“Plus, I never told you, but I’m up for an amazing job back in New York, and if they offer it to me, I’m going to take it. It’s a managing artistic director position and I’d get to work hands-on in the theater every single day.”
Liam’s eyes light up a bit and, to be honest, it means the world. Even through his disappointment, he’s still so happy for me.
“That’s fantastic,” he says. “I knew you were going to do incredible things, and hopefully now you know it, too.”
I do hug him then. Not because I’m giving in and not because I’m weak, but because every single ounce of me wants to, and more than that, I need to. I need to more than anything.
He squeezes me back with complete abandon, and even as I take in each second of our embrace, I still do my best to lighten the mood. “So,” I say mirthlessly, “I guess we won’t always have Paris.”
I drink in and lock away Liam’s light laugh as we step back from each other, our eyes never leaving each other’s.
“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he asks.
“My cynical sense of humor balances my dreamer soul.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” He reaches forward and runs his fingers through a lock of my hair, holding it for a second before dropping his hand back to his side.
“So, this is it, then? You’ll leave tomorrow, and you and I will just go on as if the last few weeks never happened? Is that truly what you want?”
“Of course it’s not what I want,” I admit. “I want milkshakes and Barry Manilow. I want to fall asleep next to you, but not touching you, and I want to run off with you to Paris, but if I do that, I’ll never focus on doing what I need to do to be happy within myself, and neither will you.”
