Then Gavin blurts, “Can I talk to you?” He pulls out an inhaler and takes a couple of puffs.
“You okay?” I say, not wanting to answer his question.
“Yeah,” he says. Putting the inhaler in his pocket, he looks at me with a tiny smile. “Can we walk for a while?” I’m not about to give in, but at that moment I happen to look farther down the street. The unmistakable figures of Mom and Zander exit their bright red rental car in front of Sylvie’s building.
“Come on,” I say, taking Gavin’s arm and pulling him with me in the opposite direction. I’m not ready to give up my last moments of freedom. Not yet.
We pass shops opening up for the morning, men and women in business suits, hurrying down the sidewalk, a bald man sweeping his steps, a cigarette that’s mostly ashes dangling from his mouth. A stray cat darts in front of us with a mouse dangling from its jaws.
“Hey, can I buy you breakfast?” Gavin blurts. I look up from the cat and dead mouse in surprise and laugh. Just a little.
“Sorry, I guess my timing was off,” Gavin says with a wry grin. “But let’s find someplace where we can eat.” I shrug and Gavin takes it as a “yes,” so we keep going, continuing to walk in what might almost be a companionable silence, except for the fact that I still don’t want to say anything. I hate letting anyone hear how I talk. Lost in thought, streets blur by, but suddenly Gavin stops.
“What about this place?” he asks.
My eyes dart up and for the first time I realize where I am. A vivid yellow banana-shaped sign screams its presence to the world. We’ve arrived at the one place I never planned to return to. And Gavin is already opening the door for me, waiting.
Inside it’s cool and smells like fried food. As my eyes adjust to the dim light after being outside in the morning sun, I pray, Please, please, please, don’t let him be here. I blink and look at the counter.
Of course, he’s here. Andreas of the Gorgeous Eyes. The guy who ignored me and let me stand for an eternal fifteen minutes, pushed aside by the crowd, is standing behind the counter. No one else is around. It’s our turn.
“Order something for me, okay?” Gavin says. I glance back at him. Order for him? Is he serious? He’s taunting me. He’s making fun of me, looking for any chance he can get to make me talk, because he knows I’ll sound stupid. But then I notice the red streaks creeping up his pale cheeks, and I see the sheepish look in his eyes.
“You know I can’t speak French,” Gavin says.
The guy behind the counter clears his throat. I glance into his face. A flash of recognition glints in his eyes. He remembers me. I take a step back. I feel myself withering, shrinking, wanting to run. It’s what I always do. But some day, I have to find my feet, and I have to make them stop walking away.
My mouth feels like it’s filled with sand, like it always is when I have to speak to strangers. But I force myself to open my mouth and speak. The guy waits. I look at a spot above his face, try not to think about how cute he is, and say the words.
“Deux croque-chocolate bananes.” Then, I wilt inside. My words came out about as mushy as cooked bananas.
The young man says, “I’m sorry, mademoiselle, what did you say?” I look into his face. His forehead, like before, is crinkled. I can clearly read the look of annoyance in his eyes.
A tall blonde girl sidles up to the counter and smiles at Andreas and he grins back and moves away from me to stand in front of her. And like always, Rosemary turns into wallpaper.
A few more customers squeeze through tables and chairs and head up to the counter, and I find myself being pushed even farther aside. With a burning face I pull out my borrowed cell phone and type, 2 croque chocolat-bananes. Then I shout, “Pardon!”
Heads swivel in my direction. I elbow my way back to the counter, in front of the cute guy. I look up into the amber eyes and shove the cell phone at his face, a little too close. He jerks his head back, but I stay where I am, holding the phone in front of his wide eyes. Finally, he looks at the screen, glances up at me, then back down at the screen. His lips move as he reads. Then, he smiles. His front teeth are large, and stick out a tiny bit. It takes the edge off the gorgeous factor for me.
Andreas reminds me of a ferret. I start to giggle.
The boy turns to make the sandwiches and I keep giggling. Everyone stares. Some eyes are friendly, some, including the blonde girl’s, are not. What, she has a problem with me? Like mush-mouthed Rosemary is some kind of competition? I laugh harder and a couple of tears run down my face. Gavin gives my back a couple of weak pats, but soon drops his hand. I’m sure he thinks I’ve lost it.