Only it wasn’t a crush. He had loved me.
And I had loved him. It was there on the page.
Cosy in my hotel bed, I was awash with fondness for nineteen-year-old Cat—Catey. She was funny and self-deprecating, hopeful and loving. She wasn’t yet broken. I refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope, then got out of bed and tucked it safely into my messenger bag.
As we drove out of the charming German burg an hour later, I was a little regretful that my entire experience of Germany had boiled down to lots of wine and a decent bed. And yes, the landscape was nice, but after Switzerland, I wondered if any other scenery could ever elicit more than a shoulder shrug, perhaps another way I was ruined for life.
Germany
It was a straight shot between Koblenz and Amsterdam, and a relatively short drive, compared to others we’d had. And at least Amsterdam gave me something to look forward to.
I’d seen enough photos to know it would be picturesque and I knew it had incredible galleries. I really wanted to go to the Van Gogh museum. My sister was obsessed with him, especially Sunflowers, and her obsession had rubbed off on me a bit. It would be nice to go, so I could tell her about it. Apparently, they had built a whole new wing since she’d last been.
And, of course, the further we travelled north-west, the more distance there was between me and Jean-Luc.
***
Hours later, after we’d crossed another border and the landscape flattened, I poked around in my heart to see if I still felt anything for Scott, the ghost of boyfriend past.
After conjuring his face, or at least a blurry facsimile, after dipping into a catalogue of Kodak moments and epic fights, and dredging through the minutiae of our five-year relationship, I realised I felt nothing. Finally.
He’d been an insecure kid when we’d had that massive fight about Jean-Luc. How could I be angry at him? He was doing what he thought he should to show how much he loved me, that I belonged to him.
What we think love is when we’re young, I mused.
It could be sweet and honest and real, or completely screwed up and possessive, like with Scott. Possession wasn’t love. And making one person the centre of your entire world, forcing them to leave everyone else behind and be everything to you, that wasn’t love either.
For years, I thought I had loved Scott and that he had loved me, but in that moment, I knew I’d been wrong. Scott and I had been two drowning people clinging to each other. It was not love.
Love lifted you up. Love made you hopeful of the future, and brave enough to face whatever life threw at you. It made you laugh and feel and want and be—be yourself. I had a lot of love in my life—Sarah, my parents, my new friends, Mich. I wasn’t afraid of those relationships, of being vulnerable, of being myself. I’d jumped right in with the girls. In less than two weeks they’d seen me at my worst many times over. And it was fine. I loved them and they loved me.
So why was I walking away from something with Jean-Luc? What the hell was wrong with me? And then it hit me.
I was walking away because I was a stupid bloody idiot.
“Lou.” She had nodded off and I shook her awake.
She woke with a start. “Mmm. What, sorry.” She blinked a few times. “What’s up?”
“I have to go to Paris.”
“I’m not following, sorry.”
“I … I’m stupid and I need to go to Paris.”
She shook her head, like someone in a cartoon would. “Okay. You are not stupid—”
“Don’t counsel me right now. I have been inordinately stupid. I mean, Lou, seriously, Jean-Luc. Did you see him?”
She laughed. “Yeah, I saw him. He’s, uh, very, uh …”
“Exactly, and him being super hot is the worst thing about him. I mean, he’s kind and he’s thoughtful, and he’s so smart, Lou—even when we were kids—and he’s …” Tears prickled my eyes.
“He’s such a good man, and I am such a stupid idiot.” The tears turned to sobs and Lou patted my knee, a concerned look on her face. “I need to go to Paris,” I managed to say through the tears. “I have to tell him.”
“Okay, okay, just shush.” I sniffed loudly and fished in my bag for a tissue. Lou tapped on the seat in front of her and Dani poked her face between the two seats.
“Hey, what’s up?” She took headphones out of her ears.
“Is Jaelee awake?” asked Lou.
“She’s sleeping.”
“Wake her, then come back here.”
I was trying to get my sobs under control and failing miserably. I am not usually much of a crier—I was unpractised, which may have been why I’d gone from zero to sixty in three-point-two seconds.
It only took a couple of moments before Dani and Jaelee were crouched down in the aisle next to Lou. “Cat, are you okay?” Dani’s concern set me off again. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Lou adopted her calm, soothing tone. “Cat has realised that she needs to go to Paris.”
“For Jean-Luc?” Even through my tears I thought it was a dumb question.
“Of course for him,” said Jae, rolling her eyes.
Dani did her delighted little clap and grinned at me, then frowned when she saw my expression.
“So, why the tears?” asked Dani.
“Yeah, shouldn’t you be happy?” added Jae.
I nodded. “Yes, but I am so stupid. How could I have been so stupid all these years?” I hiccupped a little and Lou tipped me gently forward and started rubbing my back, all while cooing that I wasn’t stupid. It didn’t help.
“Okay, so what?” said Jae. “We’ve all done it—all of us have done stupid things when it comes to love. I mean, look at me. At least you know he wants you. He’s not with anyone else. He wants you. Okay?”
I nodded, then snuffled up some snot. Dani’s nose crinkled in disgust. “Sorry.” I wiped my nose roughly with a sodden wad of tissue.
Right as I was starting to calm down and breathe normally, a hideous thought popped in my head. I looked at my friends, stricken. “But what if I completely cocked it up? What if I hurt him too much—again—and he doesn’t want me anymore?” The sobs started again.
Dani looked on helpless. Lou intensified the back rubbing and I had to shrug her off. Jaelee spoke, her firm voice cutting through my mini meltdown. “Stop that.” I took a sharp intake of breath. “Stop with the wallowing. You do not want to show up in Paris all tear-stained and puffy.”
Those were the magic words. The sobs stopped, and I stared at her wide-eyed, waiting for the next instruction. This must have been what it felt like for toddlers after the trance of a tantrum.
Jae stood up. “Can’t crouch down anymore. Right, so it’s Friday. You have to be back at work on Monday, I assume?” I nodded. Lou handed me some fresh tissues and I wiped tears and snot from my face, all while transfixed on Jaelee in “fix-it” mode. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Dani and I will look for flights to get you from Amsterdam to Paris. Give me your credit card.”
I rummaged in my bag, then handed it to her. “When we get to the hotel in Amsterdam, you’ll go tell Georgina that you’re leaving the tour, then fix yourself up. You are a hot mess right now.” I wasn’t even offended. “Then we’ll get you to the airport—Uber or a train or something. Okay?”