Part II

Paris.

Aemilia felt her nose pressed to some proverbial glass. She was the outsider looking in. This was her routine. Every Friday evening, the close collective would gather inside the neighborhood pub and occupy a corner booth. Bodies spilled out from the vinyl seat covers and filled loose chairs. A smoke screen quickly built up from cheap cigarettes with their quick burning paper and ash spittle.

“She’s apolitical,” Claude said with a hand pointing to her. “I don’t know how you can be with someone so indifferent. No offense, Aemilia.”

“None taken. And it’s complacent. I’m complacent,” she said through a thin grin. It was the worst response that she could have given. Adam’s arm was oppressive in its pull across her shoulders.

“Don’t listen to him. He wants to fight. Always with the fighting,” Adam snorted with a shake of his head. He said nothing about his girlfriend’s lack of ambition. It was better not thought of. His drive was to create. The sight of her kneading bread and sweating over the large industrial oven was enough to reassure him that maybe, in her own way, there was a form of the same want within her.

Claude was not so easily convinced. He could see past the flour in her hair and burns over her forearms to know where she came from. Aemilia was little Marie Antoinette. Fragile. Decorative. Slouching back in the booth, he sucked hard on the filter. “Maybe,” he said in a rush of gray smoke. “Maybe I just look at people like your girlfriend in wonder and think: You! How can it be that it is you who is on my back every day? Helpless as a baby. Complacent.”

“No one is on your back,” Adam groaned. He leaned in close and buried his nose against Aemilia’s ear. Arms wrapped her up and he felt her rigidity. It was his defense that seemed to string her tight. He watched the transformation in the glass that stood across from them. “Should we go? Let’s go.”

“I’m leaving. Next week. I’m going to visit my parents.”

Adam’s features creased with surprise. It was news to him. He stared at her and made no attempt to feign indifference or knowing. Aemilia took his pause to slide out of the booth and step over the tangle of bodies. He followed quickly after with coltish legs and jerky movements. He tripped over a bag, but caught up with her at the door. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I’m leaving Tuesday?”

“And it’s Friday! Do you have your plane tickets?” He opened the door for her and watched her slip out. Her head nodded. Yes, of course she had her tickets. “I’ll drive you.”

“Louis said he would.”

“Why are you doing this? Are you leaving because of me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aemilia said. Her tone was measured and decided. It was enough to make even him convince himself that every word she ever said was true.