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Bonjour Hope,
I know that it’s been a while but I am in Paris for the week. Will you meet me for dinner tonight?
Kelley.
--
Kelley,
Nothing would give me greater pleasure. Meet me under the Eiffel Tower at 8 PM.
Wear something nice.
Yours,
Hope
--
Yours. Kelley re-reads it a hundred times until it loses meaning. It’s been almost three years since she’s been able to call Hope hers and the thought of that is both humbling and also heart wrenching. To know that someone she once shared this unadulterated passion and incontestable love with still thinks of her in a way of belonging. Simply, that is just Hope – to possess the things (and people) that she loves in a way of overzealous displays of affection and tenderness – and that is why it was and still is so hard for Kelley to let go.
Kelley has purposely waited until the morning of to send the email. Short and to the point on purpose. The more time she has to build up this reverie, the more likely she is to get let down if it doesn’t meet her expectations. And spontaneity is a trait that Hope had well taught her – the thrill of not knowing or overthinking is an adrenaline rush. Some of the greatest moments they have ever shared were unplanned, like a month after Hope had moved to Paris, some six years ago, Kelley had bought a plane ticket and showed up on her door step without any warning. Or when one Christmas, Hope was to return to Richland, but instead changed her connecting flight in New York to go South, instead of West.
It’s now become second nature for Kelley to thrive in the moment.
The time is only 11 AM and Kelley’s stomach is already twisting and turning with anxiety. A lot can change in three years and when the phone calls and Skype dates dwindled from every day, to once a week, to once a month, to the odd Facebook message here and there, Kelley had figured Hope had moved on completely. That maybe she had met someone else. It’s a thought she hates to entertain, but getting over her one true love is something she’s yet to fully achieve.
Kelley digs around her suitcase for something nice to wear and pulls out a navy blue cotton dress. Thinly braided spaghetti straps, a slight cinch at the waist, and falls loosely just above the knee. She pairs it with a thick brown belt and white cardigan, and she’s thankful for her sister forcing her to bring a pair of wedge sandals with her. She sets it all aside for later.
In the meantime, Kelley goes out alone. She wanders the familiar streets of Paris that she knows so well from all the summers spent here with Hope. She’s never really been in the springtime before, but it’s just as beautiful and much cooler. Little flowers of all colours bloom in the flowerbeds along the Seine and the light breeze picks up the aromas that waft from cafes. The flower stand and the old man that Kelley had once bought Hope a bouquet of roses from still stands where she remembers, nestled on a quiet cobblestone street corner adjacent to a crepe cart.
The Locks of Love have multiplied exponentially. She finds herself at the exact bridge, the one that offers the perfect, unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower, that she stood with Hope during their final summer together and tries to look for the lock. But in the sea of copper and brass, it’s impossible. She gives light to fact that she knows its somewhere here.
By mid-afternoon, Kelley finds herself in the Latin Quarter with hunger beckoning. A croissant, blackcurrant maccarons, and a cappuccino were always her go-to and it’s exactly what she orders in the small café that feels nostalgic even if she isn’t sure if she’s been here before. Her table is outside and faces into the busy street. People-watching had been a favourite pastime. A simple activity they could partake in together, admiring the beautiful people and fashion of the city, or quietly snickering at confused tourists. Often times they would sit on the same side of the table and Hope would hold Kelley’s hand under it.
It’s one of those memories that has never lost its vividity.
She picks at her croissant, suddenly not so hungry. In a few short hours, she’ll be reunited with Hope again and the thought is nearly terrifying. The downside to thes spontaneity is that she hasn’t been able to piece together the gaps in between the years and she wonders if maybe reaching out to Hope was too haste and poorly thought out.
She eats half of the croissant, downs the cappuccino, and takes the maccarons to go.
--
The sun sets early in Paris and the moon is already making it presence by the time Kelley gets back to her hotel. She changes quickly, but stands in front of the mirror for thrice as long. Everything needs to be perfect from her hair, to her make up, to the jewelry. She opts to leave her hair down and wavy and wears the pearl earrings that Hope had given her for her birthday during their second summer together; the ones that she had bought while she was vacationing with her family in Greece. They’ve been Kelley’s favourite ever since then, but she only wears them for special occasions.
When her nerves have settled for just long enough, she scribbles out a note dictating her whereabouts and leaves it on the bed.
--
Kelley hails a taxi from the side of the road and rides it for ten minutes in silence until she reaches the Champ-de-Mars, the park beyond the Tower. Her heart is in her throat the entire time and had it not been for the maccaron she forced herself to eat before leaving, she might have already passed out.
“Merci,” she says, handing the taxi driver 15 Euros before stepping out. She’s uneasy on her feet at first until she decides in which direction to walk. The gravel pathway alongside the grass crunches beneath the cork of her sandals, and her purse that hangs across her body swishes against her hip.
She follows the pathway straight in the direction that leads toward the now illuminated Eiffel Tower. It’s just as magnificent as it always has been and she’s lost track of the number of times her and Hope had picnicked under it both in the daytime and nighttime.
The closer and closer she gets to the iron structure, the more her thoughts become awash. Her knees begin to shake and if she doesn’t sit soon, she might fall over. She locates a bench occupied by only one other older gentleman, and smiles as she takes a seat. He watches the way Kelley fiddles with the ring on the middle finger of her right hand.
“Ne soyez pas si nerveux,” he says, puffing out a cloud of cigarette smoke. Kelley simply smiles and nods because the only word she can make out is “nervous.”
If only he knew.
--
The connection and draw that Kelley and Hope had always had while they were together and even while they were apart was undeniable. They were always in-tune with one another, but always one step ahead of each other. It made for a healthy competitive relationship. Through the hustle and bustle of the people walking and chattering about, Kelley’s heart misses a beat and that’s when she feels her.
She rises to her feet and turns around. There is Hope, some thirty feet away and slowly strutting closer. Kelley mouth dries and her palms begin to sweat.
Hope is a vision in her black skin-tight dress. It only reaches halfway down her thighs and her white blazer is equally as short down her back that it lets the dress accentuate everything, leaving not much to the imagination (although Kelley has already seen it all). Her hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders and it’s a lot longer than she remembers. As if Hope wasn’t already tall enough, her nude high heels add an extra mile to her muscular and tanned legs.
Damn those legs are nice.
Kelley has to consciously will herself to not let her jaw drop. Hope’s gaze smolders and it pierces into her the way it always used to; so unrelenting, so tantalizing.
Maybe things haven’t changed.
--
“Kelley,” Hope croons when they’re finally within earshot, her voice so velvety it makes Kelley swoon. It’s the only thing Kelley hears amidst all the noise pollution and it's as if her legs have a mind of their own because they're walking at full speed towards Hope before she even realizes what's happening; and then her arms are wrapping around her. Gently at first, like they're strangers, and then fully encompassing like she might never see her again, because she might not.
Hope smells the same and it’s a scent that makes Kelley heartsick when she smells it on someone else. But this, this is where it belongs. And Hope seems taller. It isn’t the heels because Kelley is wearing heels too, but maybe it’s just been so long she’s starting to forget. A saddening thought. It doesn’t matter though because she still fits as comfortably into Hope’s arms and the crook between her neck and shoulder is the perfect resting place for Kelley’s chin.
For a moment, they just hug, quietly taking in each other.
“Vous regardez belle,” Kelley whispers, and somewhere in between their bodies pressed together, Hope’s heart beats so compellingly fast that Kelley thinks it’s her own.
“You’ve been practicing your French, I see.”
Kelley practically hears the smile. The way Hope’s lips press into the side of head after so long is dizzying.
“Let me look at you,” Hope says, reluctantly releasing her. Her eyes trail up and down Kelley and it’s so intimate in somewhere so public that Kelley cheek’s colour red and she has to look away. "You kept the earrings." Hope grins and when Kelley is finally able to meet her gaze again, Hope’s eyes dazzle with that same look she used to get when she was up to something.
It’s one of Kelley’s favourite looks.
“Shall we?” Hope extends her hand for Kelley and their fingers lace so committedly and naturally like no time has passed at all.
--
Hope takes Kelley to a familiar restaurant and the moment she steps inside, she knows she’s been here. The walls a deep red, the lights are dim, and softly throughout, a Parisian melody plays.
Now she remembers. Their first French date.
It’s so romantic.
--
It almost feels like a dream when Hope reaches across the table and places her hand on Kelley’s. The way she strokes her knuckles and looks right in the eye when she speaks; it electrifies Kelley.
She misses this. She misses it so badly; the dinner dates, the midnight walks through the city, the overindulgence on crepes and wine. She misses the way Hope would find her knee under the table and tease her, she misses the way Hope would squirm when her hand would travel just a little too high up her thigh.
She misses all of it and would do anything to have it all back. What they had was perfect and if it were up to her, they'd be living in a small house in the Alsatian countryside with just the necessities. All they really need is each other.
And all that Kelley had ever wanted was to be simple, and that’s exactly what Hope gave her. Simplicity in the way they walked, the way they talked, and just the way they were. Nothing else mattered when they were together and Hope has the kind of eyes that made it so easy for Kelley to fall in love with her and now she’s beginning to feel that familiar pull again.
“I have something for you.” Hope places her clutch on the table and opens it. She watches Kelley’s expression for a second before pulling out a small bag neatly held together with a yellow ribbon filled with three maccarons.
Blackcurrant.
“You remembered,” Kelley smiles, picking up and inspecting the treats. Her heart sings at such a simple gesture.
“I’ve never forgotten.”
--
Hope remembers everything. She remembers Kelley’s favourite wine, the Pinot Gris from the Albert Seltz winery they visited on an overly pretentious wine tour; she remembers Kelley’s favourite dish, the one she ordered the first time they came here – the duck with cranberry sauce and chocolate trifle for desert; but mostly, she remembers Kelley and all the different ways she loved her.
--
“Do you want to come over?” Hope pours the remaining wine into their glasses as the waiter clears away their empty dishes. She says it casually, but just by the tone, Kelley knows that Hope already knows the answer.
“Yes.”
--
Hope’s heels click and clack through the streets. She walks with poise and purpose and maneuvers through the cobblestone with ease, like she’s been doing for years, which she has. Kelley on the other hand wobbles and sways. She had never gotten the hang of walking through Paris in anything other than a flat shoe. Hope keeps her close, an arm around her waist resting softly and possessively on her hip. Kelley leans in closely, savouring everything.
Everything just seems to fall into place and it feels exactly like it did three years ago. The conversation flows, the laughter bellows, and all the looks and touches are enough to make up for all the lost time, as if they had never been apart.
The Metro is also just as Kelley remembers it; crowded, dirty, and riddled with the scent of garbage and urine. The opposite of romantic. But she knows that it’s only three stops to Hope’s apartment. She stays close again, leaning into Hope who is pressed up into the corner of the door. She buries her nose into Kelley’s hair so she doesn’t have to smell the unpleasantness.
--
“It’s looks…the same.” Kelley slips out of her sandals and she looks endearingly small standing in the doorframe of the partial darkness. All the memories come surging back to instantly overwhelm her. The painting of the Seattle skyline that she had bought for Hope still hangs from the wall in the exact spot she had hung it and she would bet a million dollars that Hope still keeps her grandmother’s ring in a shot glass on top of her bookcase in her bedroom.
“I never saw the point in redecorating,” Hopes answers from around corner, turning on the lights. It’s an unwelcomed thought, but Kelley wonders how many people Hope has taken home and lead into her bedroom. None, she hopes, but can’t bear to ask or know.
Kelley pads throughout the apartment, it isn’t gigantic or anything, but a lot bigger than hers back home. The balcony is the much the same as well. A rusty patio furniture set, though the flowers that grow from the planters that hang over the edge are alive with vibrancy.
When she turns around, Hope is standing but a few feet away. She’s taken off her blazer, which now exposes the top of the strapless dress. Kelley’s eyes are everywhere and the blood rushes to her head. It’s a sight for sore eyes that she’s missed so achingly. Not Hope in minimal clothing, but just Hope.
“I missed you a lot,” Hope saunters towards Kelley, her gaze is insistent and her words are so tender that they resonate soundly in Kelley's chest. Kelley’s face has been flushed and hot all night, but now, under the scrutiny of her former lover, it burns and the space around them shrinks. The fire that had never really been put out reignites even bigger and brighter.
“I had a lot of sleepless nights because of you,” Kelley retorts, but there’s no bite to it, she’s just simply stating a fact. Hope takes another step closer, this time close enough that Kelley can see the way her pupils dilate when she runs her fingertips from her elbows down into her hands.
Kelley has been a single heartbeat away from kissing Hope all night and it’s not until the way she sees Hope eyes flicker down to her lips for just a fraction of a second that she throws all caution out into the wind presses her mouth into hers.
Fireworks. It starts in her chest and fills her entire body. Everything buzzes.
Hope sighs and Kelley immediately melts into it. Everything about this moment screams of familiarity and muscle memory. The way that Kelley easily finds the spot on Hope’s left side, just above her hip that makes her squirm when squeezed, or the way that Hope does that thing with her tongue that threatens for Kelley’s knees to give out.
Three years of pent up desire, passion, longing, that Kelley has tried to displace elsewhere, but always knew that no one else could be another Hope, exudes from every pore on her body.
It’s in every touch. Every breath.
Kelley becomes weaker and Hope becomes more fervent. Slowly they stumble back into the bedroom and Kelley completely loses her breath when she sees the framed photo of them still on Hope’s dresser. She stares at it and then at Hope. Her heart is on the floor at this point.
“There was never anyone else.” Hope breathes, cradling Kelley’s face, rubbing her thumbs along her cheeks. Kelley looks like she might cry and she reaches around Hope like wants to hug her, but instead unzips her dress until it falls to her feet.
“I never stopped loving you,” Kelley whispers and Hope gives her a look as if to say, I know, me too. Silently, Kelley curses the distance that forced a wedge in them, but she's looking at Hope with all this damn love in her eyes that if she can't find away to shower her in it, she might explode.
Hope takes her time with Kelley, gingerly sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders. As she reaches around to unzip her, she places a kiss on her neck, in the exact spot that she knows will earn her a soft moan. Kelley presence today is unexpected, but completely welcomed and the look on Hope's face tells Kelley that she is going to make sure she knows it.
--
Maybe they’ll do this again tomorrow. Dear god, Kelley hopes they do. Or maybe they’ll go to the Louvre, or walk the Champs-Elysees, or maybe they’ll finally have dinner atop the Eiffel Tower. It doesn’t really matter what they do. But the worst, most gut wrenching feeling is knowing that in a week, this will be over for an indeterminate amount of time.
It could be months or even a year. Kelley refuses to entertain the idea of never because a love like this is something that will never die.
So as Hope is carrying her back to the bed, her final thought before all coherency will be far gone is that perhaps for now she’ll have to settle for the ocean that separates them. It isn’t the worst possible outcome and she knows that in their souls they are infinitely connected.