Capturing You

Chapter 35: If This Was A Movie

A/N: Your girl is finally MARRIED!!! Can y'all believe this year has gone by so fast? I remember writing this story during March Madness, and all of a sudden, it's August. Well, I want to thank everyone for being so patient as I write the conclusion of this story that has got such a special place in my heart. Updates should be more frequent now - maybe not every day like they used to be - but definitely more frequent! Enjoy.

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The thing is, life wasn't like a movie. Even if I was in Paris.

It took me a whole day to hear back from Joe after I called him the night I had that talk with my dad. I hated that we were thousands of miles away; if I could get on a plane and jump into his arms back in Cincinnati accompanied by doves and majestic violinists in the background, I would. And that would be it – happily ever after. But the reality was, both he and I had jobs to do. Surely he was working out or doing some press or preparing for the next game, and I couldn't hold that against him. So I just had to stick it out.

After all, the revelation I'd had wasn't life or death. I felt confident enough that Joe would be waiting for me, just as happy to hear what I had decided if I ended up telling him a week from now versus today. The only clincher was that I wouldn't be home in time for Thanksgiving like I had imagined I would be; but I supposed it was better that way. I had a job here in Paris to do, and I owed it to Mr. DuPont – and the rest of my career – to stay until it was over.

It was Tuesday morning by the time Joe and I got in touch. I was on my daily walk to the office when he called.

"Hey, sorry I missed you," he told me.

"That's okay. Is everything okay?" I asked. Admittedly, I was a little worried. I had sent him a text that told him I needed to talk to him about something important, right away, and I wondered how he interpreted that.

"Yeah. But, listen. I'm gonna be a little busy for a while," he said. I tried to listen for something in the background to decipher where he was, then I stopped myself. It was an unhealthy habit I'd created – this nosiness of mine – ever since all of my relationships went completely virtual. Boundaries, Avery, I thought to myself.

I couldn't help but drop in my tone, though. I was excited to tell him about my decision, and now it suddenly didn't feel like the best time. "Oh? What's going on?" I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Just, uhhhh... Lots of press stuff. Photoshoots for the playoffs, that stuff," he said.

I furrowed my brows, feeling both suspicious and a bit hurt. Maybe I was overreacting, being too sensitive given everything that was going on. "Oh. Yeah," I said.

Joe was usually more specific than that, and a lot more talkative when we were on the phone, even when he was tired from a game. The adrenaline from a win would soar until it eventually, inevitably, landed, and he'd fall asleep on the phone with me. Despite our distance, the Joe I got was the Joe I had when we were together in person, with minimal differences. This shade of him was one I wasn't familiar with.

"But, what did you have to talk with me about?" he asked.

"Oh. Well," I said, clearing my throat. I stammered, about to spit it out, until– "I just can't decide what to get my dad for Christmas." It was a lie. A bold-faced lie. Would Joe call me out on it?

"Huh. Well, whatever you get him, I'm sure he'll love it," he said. We were talking to each other like strangers. My stomach twisted in a knot; I regretted not telling him the truth so that, perhaps, this tension between us would disappear.

"I'm thinking of just stealing something he already owns and wrapping it," I joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. We both chuckled awkwardly. Then, a moment of silence between us.

"Well, I should probably let you go," Joe said. "You're on your walk to work, right?"

"Yeah," Except I had stopped on the side of the road to focus on this conversation, even if it meant I would be a few minutes late for work. I tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled at a few strangers passing by me. At least, I thought, Joe remembered that detail about my routine here. "Alright. Talk soon. I love you."

"I love you."

Well, that was weird.

Maybe I was destined to stay in Paris until the end of the holidays, to miss my first time cutting up a turkey and opening up presents with Joe. Even if I had told him my decision, what would that immediately change? So, I walked on, thinking that perhaps it was better this way -- he needed to focus on football and I needed to focus on what was straight ahead of me.

-

Where can I spend Thanksgiving in Paris?

It was the last thing I googled before heading out for the night at work on Thursday. I hadn't told anyone that I wasn't planning on applying for the opening. Even though I had already decided it, it felt permanent to say it out loud -- and especially to Mr. DuPont. I was ransacked with guilt every time he looked at me, because it looked as if he had this hopeful glint in his eye that I was going to be the next big thing. And it made my stomach hurt when I thought about the idea that I may be giving that up for a relationship back home where the other person was completely checked out.

I never thought I would doubt Joe. Maybe "doubt" was the wrong word, but it was the most succinct way I could describe my feelings, and in a world full of uncertainties, I tried to be sure of as much as I could be. I loved Joe more than anything because he made me sure of everything, and nothing really made me feel that way until we met. But I wondered if he had grown tired of the long distance thing. If there was another girl back home. If our lifestyles just didn't clash.

On my way to have a nice dinner at some fancy hotel on the way back to my apartment, I reminded myself that no matter what was going on between Joe and I, I knew for sure that I didn't belong in Paris. I walked the streets of it and didn't see myself in a movie, didn't think of myself as a model. I only felt out of place.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle. Can I interest you in our specials for today? We have delectable American-inspired offerings for Thanksgiving holiday," the kind waiter told me once I sat down.

"Ah, oui, s'il vous plaît, merci," I said. I looked through the menu and saw the only thing that was reminiscent of a turkey dinner. "May I have the duck confit with, um, mashed potatoes and gravy?"

About ten minutes later, the waiter came back with the dish and I relished in taking bites of delicious food for once. Parisian food was a treat for me; I only really had time for meals of convenience. I savored the duck confit and let the mashed potatoes melt in my mouth, closing my eyes for just a second as I'd had the first bite, transporting myself to a Thanksgiving dinner with my family back in Louisiana. And then, in another bite, I pictured myself with Joe's family in Ohio. And then, in another bite, I was having Thanksgiving pizza at Funky Anchovy with Trish and Spencer.

Looking out of the big window I was sitting by, I watched as the street lights turned on, illuminating the cobblestone streets of the boulevard I was at. The night sky was tucking the sun into bed with sheets of indigo, magenta, and scarlet. I took a deep breath and took it all in. I told myself that this wouldn't be the last thing Paris would see of me, this indecisive girl with no real path forward. I would come back, and maybe I wouldn't have everything figured out, but I would be the girl who wandered, and did so happily.

It started to rain.