“Nah. I know you. You could be dog tired, but you’ll still get pudding face at the thought of a random alley you’ve never ventured down. You’re always game for travel. Besides, you don’t look tired. You look sad.”
Iwassad. “Hormones?”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were pining.”
I scoffed. “Why would I be pining? I’m going to see Bas when I get home. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Her brows knit together. “Why wouldn’t you see him? Did you have a falling out? Did I miss something?”
“I just have this creeping suspicion that he’s going to get to that restaurant and fall in love.” My voice cracked. “It has to beat his job in Charlottesville.” It had to beat me. “And why would he come home for some girl he met three months ago?”
“I thought you two were just friends now.”
“We are, but…” I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh my God. Are you in love with him?”
Was I? I had no experience with romantic love. I loved Elizabeth. And I’d grown attached to Bas, but love? What defined love?
I waved for the bill. “Screw the itinerary. Let’s just wander around the rest of the day.”
The next morning, after an amazing Parisian breakfast of café au lait and baguettes, we boarded the TGV—otherwise known as the bullet train—bound for Saint-Raphaël. While Elizabeth kept her nose in a book, I watched the countryside pass by and eventually nodded off. She shook me when we arrived, and we dragged our suitcases to the nearby pier, where we caught the last boat taxi to Saint-Tropez.
The trip had looked easy—on paper. As had the weather.
Fortunately, the ferry was enclosed, as the rain began to pelt us as soon as we left the shore. “Maybe we should’ve gone to Jamaica after all,” I said.
“We’ll have fun.”
I knew we would. Hitting a resort town in January meant we might not get a tan, but we got a great deal on a rental. The views would be just as spectacular regardless of the temperatures, and I was content to soak up the charm of the quaint town.
Elizabeth could read a book anywhere.
“Maybe I’ll take a day trip to Nice.” I could rent a car and drive farther east to explore the Italian coast if I wanted to get out of my own head.
Like she was reading my mind, she said, “You’d drive to Monte Carlo and want to keep going.”
As it turned out, there was plenty to occupy our time for a few days. We climbed up to the citadel and explored. Though many shops and bars were closed for the off-season, it wasn’t a complete ghost town. We mingled with locals who told us how smart we were to avoid the summer crowds. They advised us to visit the gorgeous village of Grimaud, which was so incredibly French, I felt like I might be in a movie. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m moving here.”
The best part was getting to spend so much uninterrupted timewith my best friend.
On one of our last days, Elizabeth grabbed a couple of towels and said, “Let’s just relax at the beach today.”
The beaches in Saint-Tropez, while a bit chilly, weren’t inhospitable, so I didn’t mind hanging out doing nothing but talking or reading or sleeping. We plopped down, and I looked out at the beautiful azure sea with boats on the horizon.
I should have been in heaven, but it was a tactical error taking a break from all our activity. Despite everything and even with Elizabeth beside me, the sadness rolled back in. I felt lonelier than I ever had, and I couldn’t shake this yearning for something more.
Maybe it was the idea of being orphaned catching up with me.
Maybe it was justmecatching up with me.
Elizabeth liked to say:Wherever you go, there you are.I wondered if that was a Greek proverb. Bas would’ve known, but he wasn’t here.
That thought alone made the longing so acute, I began to realize I was homesick. But what do you call it when the place you want to go to is a person?
Elizabeth said, “Hey, wasn’tTender is the Nightset in Saint-Tropez?”
I shrugged. If she didn’t already know that, I wasn’t sure why she was asking me.
