Page 112 of Almost Not Quite Engaged

I blubber out, “I’m not normal.” She pats the back of my hand.

“Yeah. That’s not news to anyone.”

I collect myself and say, “It’s fine. I’m good.”

“Are you?”

A warmth, almost a glow, overtakes me from the top of my head spreading like warm syrup on pancakes down to my toes. “They say admitting it is the first step to solving a problem, right?”

“You cannot twelve-step being in love.”

“I can try.”

Chapter 55

Got It

ZANE

Marseille

Jean brings four bowls of bouillabaisse and joins the three of us. No one seems to mind that our waitress is taking her dinner break. The rest of the staff fills in at the other tables. She grew up in New Jersey but has lived here for six years. I enjoy our regional connection.

Kat is bitching about her mother’s email and Anna gives Jean a watered-down version of Brad. Jean listens and says, “Everyone loses their path sometimes.”

I watch Kat’s face when she hears that. Path. I can see her remembering that’s what she’s supposed to be doing.

“What did you do today that was good?” Jean asks. Kat shows her today’s photos. “There’s such joy in these, Kat.”

“Thanks. There’s no other story here. I don’t want to tell people how great it is here because then they’ll flock here and ruin it. I’d move here.”

“You should.” I say it, and I think she’s literal.

“Right? Ha Ha. It’s like when people are in the tropics and get drunk and decide they could open a beach bar.”

Jean stands up and clears the table behind us then turns back. “And if that doesn’t happen, then where do all the beach bars come from?” I take another sip of wine.

Anna tucks away the new planner she bought, couldn’t wait to start writing in it, did it during dinner. I ask, “How is it you were able to just up and move here?”

Jean answers very matter-of-factly. “I came here to mourn.”

“Oh.” Anna covers her mouth.

“I first came here on my honeymoon.” Anna rests her delicate hand on Jean’s forearm. Kat reaches for the same arm and her soup tumbles to the ground and splashes up onto her legs. Jean doesn’t hesitate cleaning it up. Kat tries to help. Anna rolls her eyes.

“Did you break up or—” Kat asks.

“He died.”

“Shit,” I say.

“I know.” She winks at me, letting me off the hook a little.

“And you came back here to be sad?” Anna asks in absolute befuddlement.

“Sad was all around me. I didn’t have to go looking for it,” she says as she carries the soup-filled rags to a bin. I put my hand over Anna’s because she is about to lose it completely, and I need her to hold on for Jean’s sake.

“How did he die?” I ask, she clearly wants to talk about it.