A Billion Reasons (Wish 8)

21 - France

Traveling through Southern France in winter was not as picturesque as it would have been in another season. Cycling in the fifty degree daytime temperatures was refreshing. Stopping at night, Monty fell in love with Daube de Boeuf Provençale, a thick beef stew. He instantly knew it would be the featured recipe.

Aside from another section researched for his book, during the time away he convinced himself to let Sloane free. It was over exceptional cuisine, when he finally told his best friend about the conversation outside his father's office. His counselor had said something eye opening when he met with him that day, slightly numbed by the scotch.

The expert he paid to listen said, "The burden you placed on her must have been huge. She was too young to be responsible to love you when the people who were supposed to love and nurture you hadn't, at least not well in the case of your mother. She was solely responsible to provide affection to you. Some might say if she really loved you she would have stood by you, but she was seventeen."

He had corrected him, because her birthday was in November, but it was a technicality. She had already turned eighteen, when his birthday wasn't until July. He was always the young one in their grade.

In all the years of feeling sorry for himself, he never thought of how he was a selfish boyfriend. He took from her emotionally more than he ever gave in return. So many years later, she still supported him. She went out of her way to speak to him anytime his father waylaid him at a social gathering. It was hard not to love her when her heart was so big.

Gray sat quietly one night as they discussed it. Finally he said, "I love you, my friend, but she deserves to love who she wants. What you need is to start fresh. Find a woman who loves you for the man you are, not the sad boy you were."

"According to Sofia, I'm still triste."

"You wouldn't be if you let her go. Be her friend but let the love go. It wasn't real love. It was your lifeline. You're your own lifeline now. When it has slack, I'm there to help you pull on it."

"You're a poet, but what do you know about love."

Gray stared at his plate, moving his food around. Finally, he looked up. "I was in love once."

Monty dropped his fork. The other diners look at them. He smiled apologetically.

"Pardon." He lowered his voice. "You never told me."

"Because I don't talk about her."

"Will you tell me?"

"Not here. Not where there's alcohol and you would get arrested trying to stop me from drinking."

"Okay."

He wouldn't argue with his logic. The rest of their meal was quiet. They walked back to the small inn where they shared a room. Each flopped on his own bed. Monty needed to pull out his laptop and read over Sofia's reports. She had been doing better than he had expected when he came up with the crazy idea. Every time they spoke, she said she loved it.

"Do you want to go for a run?"

Did he? He felt heavy from dinner, but unlike his seventeen-year-old self, he knew friendship was a two-way street.

Sitting up, he answered. "Yeah."

After they changed, they hit the quiet streets. It was almost ten in the country village. The rhythmic sound of their feet hitting the pavement was soothing. He let Gray set the pace, which was slower than his typical speed.

After about a half a mile, he said, "Her name was Beth. She served with me. They sent her home in a box."

"Fuck!" Monty stopped running and yelled at Gray. "What the hell is wrong with you? How could you put up with all my sniveling BS?" Gray stopped with his hands on his knees, hunched over. Monty walked to him. "You should hate me."

"Every time you saw kryptonite I thought how lucky you are, but then I realized to see her and not have her must be torture. I'll never see her again, but she can stay right here." He patted his heart. "Of course you're a crybaby, but I signed on knowing that. I love you, anyway."

"I'm so sorry, man."

The two men embraced on the dark street. "A trillion times, I wished it was me and not her, but I had to survive to save your ass."

They untangled and jogged silently at an even slower pace. Monty saw himself as a self-centered prick. He didn't want to be that guy. Sloane was alive and happy. He had to let her go. He had to do it for Gray.

As they neared the inn, he said, "I understand your dating cycles better. Do you think you'll ever love again?"

"I don't know about me, but you can. You deserve to find the real thing."

He wanted to argue, because the broken kid inside never thought he deserved anything.

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It was the end of February when they returned to Boston. Monty hadn't told anyone but Oliver where he went. The old man thought he was traipsing around America at his beck and call.

Monty met with his agent Austin to discuss the book. He always came to the condo, because they couldn't trust the staff at his office. Monty never even called his office line. Three people knew the identity of Trista Montgomery - Gray, Oliver, and Austin.

They spent an afternoon discussing final edits to the written Italy section, and the drafted Far East.

"What's next?" Austin asked.

Monty shrugged. "South America?"

"Yes, and somewhere Africa. What about the US?"

Monty frowned. "I thought it could be a future book. I can't get the recipes, because it would reveal my identity."

"Back roads of the US."

"I want to feature big cities. Maybe off the beaten path of five foodie cities. I need to get through this one. I was thinking Colombia, South Africa, or maybe somewhere else." He thought of finding out where his old friend Jon was working. "If we need another Australia."

Austin asked, "How long do you need?"

"Another six months to complete the travel, maybe less if we fly from Africa to Australia without coming home."

"I've been putting off domestic requests."

Monty reminded him. "I've been doing the companion restaurant reviews, like the Thai restaurant in Cambridge."

"Word is you can't get a table. Reporters keep trying to uncover your identity."

"We act like normal diners. No one would guess. We return more than once to try enough dishes."

"You aren't who they're looking for."

Monty nodded. "Do we have a plan?"

"I think so. If you can push the timeline."

"I'll try. I'll need a vacation from these vacations."

"Keep emailing me pages and pictures."

No one looked twice when he took pictures of the food. Everyone put their meals on social media.

When Sofia returned to town, she could join them at a French restaurant on Boylston Street. Monty suspected the Beef short rib Daube would not be like the stew he loved.