Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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Ben turns and leads me into the park. We start down the trail. Neither of us speaks. Colorful leaves are everywhere around us. Fall is making its entrance: the greens are disappearing as golds and reds show up. How long has it been since I was out in a park? People around us are walking, biking, and running. I'm not a fan of outdoors. I'd much rather curl up by myself with a good book or a movie. That's how I recharge. Yet, with the mild autumn sun on my face, the other visitors of the park disappear, the outside world slips away, and I relax.
We move deeper into the park, Ben's walking down the middle of the path, and I'm on his right. He moves behind me every time a bicycle bell signals an approach, and I'm careful not to step onto the misty grass beyond the sloping curve of the trail. How long have we been at it? I sneak a peek at my watch and, no surprise, we've been walking for over a quarter of an hour. Without a piece of paper with a recipe to break the ice someone needs to start the conversation.
"Will we spend the whole walk like this?" I venture.
"Like what?"
"In silence. Or is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
"What are we allowed to talk about?"
Allowed? That's a weird way to put it.
"Well, about movies, books, work, family, friends. You pick one, and then I'll pick a different one. Sounds good?" I pull up a polite, encouraging smile and cross my fingers, hoping to move past the stilted exchange.
"What movies do you like?" Ben goes for the very first topic I've suggested. I guess we must start somewhere.
"I love foreign movies, especially old ones. My mom is French, and my dad is of Italian descent. My grandad Luca D'Amico was the one to immigrate to the US. I was indoctrinated into French and Italian movies early on."
"Are you studying film?"
"No," I reply. "I'm studying social sciences at UChicago, and I hope to graduate in December with my Master's of Arts."
"And then?"
Good question. The last interview is next week and the one with Burgundy this Thursday went reasonably well. No banter with that panel but I didn't fumble, and they haven't sent me a rejection letter, like Dijon did. Telling Ben about my desire to move to France has no risk to anything, but it's hard to admit outloud, to say I'm doing this thing. This scary thing I might fail at or, if I succeed, it might lead to lots of other scary things I might fail at. Why does this feel like a confession?
"A Ph.D. in Social Thought"—I'm glad my fingers are already crossed—"I want to move to France and do it there."
"France? Why France?"
I'm revealing too much. Is there any danger in telling him? There isn't, right? I throw caution to the wind.
"I've spent a lot of time in France as a child. My mom lives there."
