And I laughed and said, “Of course.”
And I hugged him back.
And I accidentally smelled him.
And it all came rushing back. How safe and warm I’d always felt in his arms, and how every time he’d held me like that, I’d never wanted him to let go. I didn’t want him to let go of me there, right in the middle of Caffe Dante, where I was just interviewing him for the Atom, not on a date or anything. It was so stupid. It was so awful. I mean, I had to practically force myself to let go of him, to stop breathing in his Michael-y smell, which I hadn’t smelled in so long.
What is wrong with me?
And now I can’t go home, because I don’t think I can deal with running into any of my various family members from Indiana (or Genovia) who might be there. I just have to sit out here in the park and try to forget what a complete idiot I was back there (while Lars stands guard to protect me from the drug dealers who keep asking me to “Smoke? Smoke?” and the homeless people who want to know if I can give them “a five dollars” and the packs of touring NYU kids with their parents, who keep going, “Oh my God, is that—It is! It’s Princess Mia of Genovia!”) and hope eventually I’ll go back to normal and my fingers will stop shaking and my heart will stop beating Mi-chael, Michael, Mi-chael like I’m back in freaking ninth grade again.
I really hope that hot chocolate washes out of his jeans.
Also, I would just like to ask the gods or anyone else who might be listening…why can’t I conduct myself in a grown-up fashion around guys I used to date and with whom I broke up and whom I should be completely and one hundred percent OVER?
It was just so…weird sitting so close to him again. Even before I could smell him. And I get that we’re just friends now—and, of course, I know I have a boyfriend, and Michael’s got a girlfriend (probably—I never did get a straight answer about this).
But he’s just so…I don’t know! I can’t explain it! He sort of emanates this…touchable quality.
And, of course, I knew I couldn’t touch him (before I did touch him…which he ASKED me to do. He couldn’t have known what that hug would do to me. Did he know? No, he couldn’t have. He isn’t a sadist. Not like his sister).
But being there in the café with him, it was like…well, it was like no time had gone by. Except, of course, a lot of time had gone by. Only in the best way, you know? Like, even though I might have sounded stupid on the tape (I just played it back. I sounded like a complete idiot), I didn’t feel stupid while I was saying it—not the way I used to when I was younger around Michael. I think it’s because…well, a lot of stuff has happened since I was last in Michael’s company, and I just feel more confident about things (okay, well…about men) than I used to. Recent hug-related freak-out aside.
For instance—now that I played the tape back, I realize Michael was kind of flirting with me! Just a little.
But that’s okay. It’s more than okay, actually.
Oh, no. Did I just write that?
Not that it matters, because I’m pretty sure he thinks the only reason I was there was because I’m doing an article for the Atom (although some reporter I am, since I didn’t even ask him all my questions, once I got so preoccupied wrestling him over his phone).
Wrestling! In a restaurant! Like a seven-year-old! Great. When am I ever going to learn to act like a grown-up? I really thought I’d reached the point of being able to maintain a somewhat dignified demeanor in a public place.
And then I wrestled my ex-boyfriend in a café over his iPhone! And spilled hot chocolate over him!
Then I smelled him.
I think I lost one of my chandelier earrings, too.
Thank God no paparazzi showed to get photos of that.
Which is kind of odd, if you think about it. That none of them was around, since they seem to show up everywhere else I go.
Whatever.
Anyway, I guess it was…sweet? Michael, I mean, and his reaction to my telling him I wrote a romance novel. Even though I completely regret sending it to him.
He said he’s going to read it! Tonight!
Of course, J.P. said the same thing. But J.P. also told me I shouldn’t sell myself short. Michael didn’t say anything like that.
Then again, Michael’s not my boyfriend. He doesn’t have my best interests at heart the way J.P. does.
It was just so adorable how he said I was the inspiration for his inventing the CardioArm, though. Even if that was ages ago, and before we broke up.
He also said it was nice of me to let bygones be bygones with Lilly. He obviously doesn’t know the truth. I mean that I’m not the one who’s been holding a grudge all this time, but—
Oh, no. Grandmère’s calling. I’m going to pick up, because I have a few things I want to say to her.
“Amelia?” Grandmère sounds like she’s in a tunnel. I hear blow-drying in the background, though, so I know it’s only because she’s getting her hair done. “Where are you? Why aren’t you answering any of my e-mails?”
“I have a better question for you, Grandmère. Why did you invite my ex-boyfriend and his family to my birthday party tomorrow night? And you better not say it’s to butter him up so I can ask him for a CardioArm, because—”
“Well, of course that’s why, Amelia,” Grandmère says. I hear a slapping noise, and then she says, “Stop that, Paolo. I said not so much hair spray.” To me she says, in a louder voice, “Amelia? Are you still there?”