Missing In Paris

Chapter 18

After a twenty-minute car ride, Neela stepped out into a totally different area of Paris.

The hustle and bustle of the South Asian quarter seemed a world away, in this peaceful corner of the sixth arrondissement of Paris. Neela's location was only steps away from Café Flore, where the likes of Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald had spent many a lively evening talking writing and having debates.

Neela turned onto a side street that took her away from the historical café scene. This quieter area was both serene and posh, with leafy trees lining cobblestoned streets where designer shops and chocolatiers lived in harmony.

Neela hurried around the corner and spotted the famous wine bar, her own historical setting where she'd once had a fabulous makeout.

But today this setting had nothing to do with nostalgia of French boys past.

At least not for her.

She spotted Dante sitting on the curb. He was definitely alive, but he looked to be frozen in suspended animation.

As she got closer, she could see that his eyes were completely zoned out.

She approached with caution.

"Heyyyy buddy..." she said gently.

He remained in frozen form.

"I got your text," she added. "You didn't sound so good."

"Sorry about that," he said mechanically, his voice devoid of its usual vim and vigour. "I knew you were at your important lunch, but Tiff went to London for work so...I guess I just thought you should know."

Neela studied him with genuine concern. He was a ravaged husk of a man. Even his usually volumized hair looked flat and greasy and sad.

"You did the right thing," she finally said. "No lunch or other event is more important than me being here right now; okay?"

He didn't answer, so she sat down beside him on the curb.

"I'm guessing it didn't go very well," she said gently. "The lunch with Maxime, I mean."

Today had of course been Dante's big day too. The day when he would finally nab the guy who is heart simply couldn't shake.

Dante let out a bitter laugh "Let's see, how did it go...well I don't usually sob outside of wine bars when things are going good, so yeah, you could definitely say it didn't go very well."

Neela studied his reddened eyes and the dried flecks of snot around his nostrils. It was obvious that he'd been crying all alone out in the street. She'd never seen him so hurt before and it really broke her heart to see it. Sure, he'd made his share of ridiculous remarks about her life, but he remained one of the kindest, most generous and loving people she knew.

"I'm sorry you're feeling this way," she said softly.

"It's my own fault, right? Tiff specifically told me not to go through with it. She knew it would always be a dead end."

"Oh fuck her!" she cried, before darting her eyes around and adding: "Just kidding!" She elbowed Dante. "I feel like she can always hear us, you know?" She waited for him to notice her teasing smile. When he finally noticed, he didn't smile back.

It was clear this was a dire heartbreak situation, but what could she even do to help him through this wretched feeling?

It wasn't that she didn't know the feeling; no, that definitely wasn't the problem. She'd had more than her share of heartbreak back in Toronto; those awful days when tears would overrule the body's reminders to eat food and drink plenty of fluids—and the inevitable dehydration headaches that would follow. Yeah, she remembered.