Better Left Unsaid

 

“Where are you going?” François asked and looked at the two small suitcases in the apartment hallway.

“You can’t come in,” I said and stopped him.

“Why not?” he asked. “I haven’t heard from you in days.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been busy. It’s been a year and James had already left. We’re going back home.”

Which was true, sort of. But James had been gone for about a month. I was just staying here until I worked up the nerve to leave François. To leave Paris, to leave it all behind. And I was leaving because I was scared. I knew how much I loved him and that scared me. I knew how much he loved me and that scared me even more. Why I was just coming to this conclusion was anyone’s guess. I didn’t know why love scared me like that. I guess I’d just never felt the intensity of it before. I didn’t want to be consumed by it. And it was time to go home.

But the real reason? I was afraid our relationship might become too comfortable, too nice. I didn’t want him to be so familiar that the sight of toothpaste in the sink in the morning would piss me off, the way it used to when my ex-husband did that. What we had was a dream and I didn’t want to lose that feeling of passion. I knew I was just panicking. That’s all. It’s like I thought I had to run. And so, I followed that instinct though it was leading me to a great big nowhere.

“Where are you going?” he asked again.

“Home.”

“Why?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said. “Besides, I told you that I had to leave.”

“No, you didn’t.”

It was true. I hadn’t. I thought once that I should, but I didn’t want to spoil the mood. I didn’t want to hurt him, either.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “It’s just time I left.”

“Why are you leaving?” he asked. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“Tell me why.”

“It’s better left unsaid, François,” I said and wished he wouldn’t have come here. This was too hard. I had just wanted to run away without seeing him ever again. I had to go home. It was time. Besides, what else could I have done? Rented an apartment? Then I’d have to get a job… It was too much to think about. It would have complicated things for me. But I knew what he wanted and what he wanted was not what I wanted.

“Please tell me,” he said. “Do you not love me anymore?”

I stared at him and lied, “No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t!” I cried. “Leave me alone! I have to go home now! The car is waiting on me outside and I have a plane ticket.”

“Please,” he said and grabbed for my hand.

I tried to fend him off but he still got a hold of it. Once he did, he muttered, “Merci.”

I stared at him, remembering the first time he’d said that to me, the way it had made me feel, as if he were thanking me for something I hadn’t done yet but eventually would. Now I understood it completely. I realized what he meant. It was like he knew it was over and he was telling me thanks. And the day we met? He realized it was going to be nice, great but that it might eventually end, so he was telling me thanks in advance for allowing him the opportunity. He was appreciative of our time together. And that made my heart break in two.

“I…can’t,” I said and felt the tears roll down my cheeks. The car was waiting, my old life was calling. I was stuck. I couldn’t move one inch in either direction.

“I love you, Nina,” he murmured in my ear. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” I muttered. “I have to go.”

I finally broke free of him and ran out the door. I ran so fast it’s a wonder I didn’t trip. I ran all the way to the car, to the cab which was waiting on me. I stopped and realized what I was running away from and it was from all this intense love and sex. It was too much for me and I was being a coward. But I couldn’t help myself.

“Mademoiselle?” the cab driver asked in French. “Are you ready to go?”

I stared at him and then felt something shift in my heart, in my mind. What did this mean? What was I doing? Make a decision! But I couldn’t. I was stuck, literally, stuck.

“Mademoiselle?” the cab driver called.

I shook my head and looked over my shoulder. When I saw him approaching, I began to cry, to hyperventilate, to thank God I’d waited long enough. I covered my face with my hands and then I felt him near me. I could smell his cologne. Then he was beside me and then I was back in his arms and then… Then everything was just fine.

“You will stay here with me,” he whispered softly. “We will be together, you and I.”

I closed my eyes and nodded. We would be. The panic was over and my new life was about to begin. And he was going to be right in the center of it for a long time. Maybe forever.

I pulled back and stared into his eyes, feeling the love I felt for him until it made me smile and this made him smile. I had been a fool and I was so lucky he’d brought me back to my senses.

I had to say, “Merci, François.”

“Merci,” he murmured in my ear and kissed my cheek. “Merci beaucoup, Nina.”