The Pairing

by Casey McQuiston

So, I prop open the window of my single room in Paris, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. Notes: dark roast coffee, fresh bread from the café down the street, garden aromas of foxglove and elderberry, sulfur from the igneous rock in the cobblestones, car exhaust and ivy and cigarette smoke.

I’m here. I’m unbothered. I’m peacefully coexisting. I look great, I smell nice, and I’m going to eat my weight in chou à la crème.

“Everywhere we go, I want to experience it entirely. All the way out to its edges. I want to touch it, taste it, drink it, eat it, climb it, swim in it. You can hear a place by walking down the street or sitting next to the ocean or opening a window, but I think if you want to listen to it, it’s in here.

The truth is, I never stopped loving that person. I only stopped believing he existed.

Instead, I lean close to his ear and whisper, “This is just like Ratatouille.” “Good fucking God, Theo.”

And after that, I think I got scared, and so I started putting a little bit of myself into a lot of things instead of all of myself into one thing. Like if I’m always just starting something, I can always be in that beginning stage when it’s shiny and new and full of possibility, and if I never try to finish, I never get to the part where I fuck it up.”

As if romance should mean giving up everything and disappearing into someone else.

“Crois-moi,” she says, “ça ne veut rien dire, si cela ne te rend pas heureux.” That doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t make you happy.

“It was not for me to protect her from my heart. It was only for me to let her see it and decide if she will keep it.”

Love took root in me before I learned its name, and I’ve sat in its shade for so long now without eating its fruit. This feels as if I’ve finally taken a piece into my hands and split it open. It’s so sweet inside. Sour too, slightly underripe—but so, so sweet.

If I can give my whole heart to love without fearing the cost, I will regret nothing. Love, your sister Vi