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What if the real question is not whether to be, but how to be?
“Veronica texted that she’s running late,” Melanie says. “She says to meet her by the WHSmith. Whatever that is.” “It’s a bookstore,” Willem says, pointing across the interior of the station.
“You have to fall in love to be in love, but falling in love isn’t the same as being in love.”
“Do you have any idea where we are?” I ask Willem. “I am as lost as you are.” “Oh, we are so screwed.” But I laugh. It feels kind of nice to be lost, together.
A thin sliver of moon is dodging in and out of the clouds. It looks so fundamentally Parisian hanging over the slanting rooftops that it’s hard to believe this is the same moon that will shine in my bedroom window back home tonight.
IT TAKES APPROXIMATELY thirteen hours and six time zones for me to freak out.
A year is a long time. A lot can change!
He showed me how to get lost, and then I showed myself how to get found. Maybe accident isn’t the right word after all. Maybe miracle is.
