Gravity

When I arrived back in my own flat that night, I was greeted with quite the sight: Liam, who was Mason’s partner, was standing at the refrigerator, naked except a furry Russian hat atop his head. “Whoa,” I said in surprise, putting a hand up.

Liam didn’t seem uncomfortable at all, “Oh my God, where have you been?”

I took my jacket off and threw it onto the couch, “Um, with Jen,” I said keeping my eyes away from the general direction of him. “Did you know today was her birthday?”

“What?” he screeched, “Mase!”

I was relieved that Mason wasn’t naked too, but a little taken aback by the fact that he was wearing a purple cocktail dress. What the fuck had they been doing?

Mason also seemed completely comfortable, “Oh, hi, Brendon.” He turned to Liam, “Yes, dear?”

Liam shut the refrigerator and put his hands on his hips, “Today was Jen’s birthday,” he said pointedly. He sounded offended.

Mason nodded slowly as if something suddenly made sense, “That’s why you’re back so late,” he said to me. “I hope you were safe.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Liam stopped me. “I think we should do something tomorrow. Since she’s been working so hard, let’s take her somewhere. Ohh, how about Paris?”

I shook my head, “I’m not sure. Her boyfriend just broke up with her; I don’t know if a city like Paris is the best…”

“Please,” Mason said, waving the thought off. “Paris is great for a breakup—she and Cass can go to a spa, and we can stay out of their hair but still be there if they need something. It’s perfect.”

We did just that. The entire two and a half hour train ride, Jen was worrying: “We need to finish the record, we don’t need to celebrate my birthday!” but nobody would listen to her. The second we stepped out of the train station, I think she forgot about everything—we were in Paris after all. Both of us had only been to Paris for limited amounts of time to see a few monuments, do a show, and go to a new city. Everything in Paris was old and fashionable, with even those passing by dressed well.

After a few hours of sightseeing, Cassidy and Jen went off to go to their spa, leaving Mason, Liam and I alone. It didn’t bother me until they bombarded me with their thoughts: “You guys would be so cute together!”, “You’re totally doing it, right?”, “Oh my gosh, Brendon, why not?”

I had no idea what they were talking about; being the only person in the entire group who liked girls was starting to become an issue.

“Look,” Mason said, finally slowing things down to my pace. Of the two of them, he was slightly less flamboyant. “There’s all of this…tension, between you and Jen. You’re always staring at each other.”

“We just think it’s about time you make a move. You’re obviously crazy for each other,” Liam added.

I was appalled, “What? No, no, no, absolutely not. Her boyfriend of three years just left her—yesterday, as a matter of fact—and my fiancée left me about a month ago. We bonded over that, and that’s the extent of our relationship. We have nothing in common other than this band.”

I was starting to become angry—Jen and I weren’t even friends, let alone potential lovers. Their assumptions were so far off base it was like I was a different person. The only thing that they were right about was the fact I enjoyed looking at her—Jen was beautiful, you had to be blind to not see that—of course I did catch myself allowing my eyes to linger a little longer than necessary, but what did that mean? Even Liam and Mason would go straight for her.

To be honest, I wasn’t even over Sarah yet, and I knew Jen certainly wasn’t over Taylor. We truly thought that they were our soulmates and it was unfair of Liam and Mason to assume that we could just forget about them—I didn’t know how Jen felt, but Sarah was in my veins and I felt like I could never get her out.

“Hey, don’t get all pissed off,” Mason said. “We don’t mean you’re in love with her—you just met for chrissake. All we’re saying is that, in due time, you’ll learn to accept that you care for each other as more than colleagues.”

When we got back to the train station to head back, Cassidy and Jen both looked fresh and renewed—they were practically glowing, and it put a smile on everyone’s face to see them in such good moods. We waited in the grueling security line; it was getting late, and we were all tired from the day we’d spent in a foreign country.

In front of me, Jen pulled out her passport to show the security guard. He looked at it before eying her suspiciously and muttering something into his fellow-security guard’s ear. “Come with me,” he finally said. He didn’t sound French, or British even—he sounded like he was from Brooklyn.

Cassidy and Mason, who had been in front of her, looked nervous; Liam and I were wide-eyed. Without a word, Jen stepped out of line and waited off to the side while the security guard checked me. “You too, pretty boy,” he said. He moved onto Liam, obviously expecting him to have pulled the same stunt that Jen and I apparently had. But he let Liam through without a second thought and moved down the line as if he’d forgotten about me and Jen.

“You are going to ‘ave to come vit me,” another security guard said with a French accent this time.

We were escorted away, where the man who spoke English left us with French policemen who looked at us like we were carrying bombs.

A bald man stepped forward. “Vous êtes américain?” he asked.

To my great surprise, Jen spoke slowly, as if unsure, “Oui, nous sommes. Mais…je parle frençais très peu. Er, parlez-vous anglais?”

I stated at her incredulously: how many secret talents could Jennifer Addison possible have? She could cook and now she could speak French? She shrugged modestly. Noticing my confusion, she told me that she’d taken AP French as a senior in high school.

The officer was stone-faced for a moment before he burst into laughter. “You speak Frensh very well,” he said, “But, I em afraid zat I cannot let you back.”

“Why?” Jen and I asked together.

“You vant to stay seex vweeks, non? Your passports says deefarent,” he told us. He showed us our passports, and there it was, written in each in black ink: Leave to enter for/until: SIX MONTHS. Six months, and a new black mark signifying our rejection, “You cannot go back to Eengland because by ‘seex months’ you meant seex vweeks.”

“Why didn’t they write six weeks then?” I asked, annoyed.

He shrugged, “Je ne sais pas,” he said simply. “But, those Briteesh, zey are not so cool like ze Frensh. We vwill escort you to ze Americain Embassy.”

The American Embassy, however, took us to the British consulate where a woman suggested that we book a return flight from the United Kingdom back to America and then try reentry again. However, we ran into yet another problem: “Unfortunately, we are nearing our closing time and will need you to come back tomorrow,” she said. “I will call book a hotel for you and call a taxicab service to pick you up. Tomorrow you will have a meeting with Mr. Smith about your reentry.”

It took her over an hour to book a hotel—who knew every hotel in France would be booked two days before Christmas? Once the cab arrived, we clambered in, too upset to speak. Jen leaned against me, using my shoulder as a pillow as she stared blankly out the window at sleepy Paris. We had not overstayed our six week welcome in London, so the British government could get over it and let us back to produce our album.

Our hotel was a tall brick building hidden in the depths of alleyways and tenements. The inside was moldy and dank, with signs of vermin and poor lighting. We sighed when we walked inside, but figured that it was just one night and all we’d do was shower and sleep.

Since we didn’t have any bags to check, we received a room key and went straight up to the third floor. The room was almost worse than the lobby, with stains on all of the upholstery, flickering lights, peeling wallpaper, and an avocado green couch with a spring sticking up from one of the cushions. Jen groaned when she saw it, but trudged in anyway. Apparently we’d received one of the “nice” rooms, because it was complete with a living room area and two separate rooms for two separate beds.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, walking into the bathroom. I didn’t even want to imagine what it looked like compared to the rest of the room.

“Alright,” I said, “Hey, I’m gonna run downstairs and see where I can pick up a couple of toothbrushes and stuff, since we don’t have any. Do you need anything in particular?”

“No, but thank you,” she called as the water turned on.

After picking up a few necessities, the shower was off when I returned to our disgusting room. I paused in front of the door, not wanting to catch her when she was indecent—but only because I knew she’d be upset. Deciding it was safe—and worth it—I pushed the cracked door open, revealing Jen, who looked better than I’d ever seen her look before.

Her leg was propped up on the high counter as her arms and hands slowly worked lotion into her smooth and soft-looking skin. Her wet hair was sitting atop her head in a bun and small beads of water were collected around the straps of her tank top—I almost walked over to her and licked them off, that’s how compulsive she made me feel in that moment. My eyes traveled to her slightly-revealed stomach before she looked at me in slow motion; it was like that part in movies when the love interest is shown for the first time and always manages to be doing something incredibly sexy. Whoever said that girls had to be fully clothed when they slept had obviously never seen Jennifer Addison in her underwear.

She gave me a small smile, putting her leg down, much to my dismay, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said, continuing to gape at her. I shook myself back into reality, but still couldn’t help but gaze at her, “Oh, um, here’s everything; help yourself.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking a toothbrush box and the toothpaste out of the paper sack. She shifted uncomfortably, “If this is making you uncomfortable, I can put my slip on—”

“No!” I said immediately. Her eyebrows shot up and I sighed, “Look, Jen, don’t take this the wrong way, but… You are the most breathtakingly beautiful woman I have ever seen, and Taylor must have been seriously disturbed to not see that.”

She tucked imaginary pieces of hair behind her ear, looking down and blushing.

An ear piercing scream filled my mind, causing me to shoot up, completely alert despite the fact that I’d been sleeping just seconds before. “Jen?” I called out, pulling my legs over the side of the bed.

The light to my room switched on and Jen stood in the doorway, looking white as a ghost. “There was a rat in my bed.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but there’s really nothing I can do about that…”

She took a few small steps in, obviously shaken up, “Can I sleep with you?”

I contemplated this opportunity, “You know, I’m really not in the mood. Had you asked me a couple hours ago—”

“Not fuck,” she snapped, “Sleep.”

I smiled, getting out of the bed for her to get in, “Sure.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, alerted as I walked out of the room.

“To get your blankets?” I said uncertainly. It was common courtesy to let her have the bed while I slept on the floor. Considering it was the dead of winter, I didn’t want to freeze.

“Why?”

“To sleep on the ground,” I said. I was suddenly overcome with exhaustion and didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Wait, no—” she said before I was out of earshot. She timidly lifted the blanket as if asking me to slide in next to her, “I don’t want you to sleep down there… and I really need someone to, well… hold me; I’m actually terrified of rodents.”

I smiled softly at her, cutting the lights before climbing into the bed. She scooted over to me, where I proceeded to wrap my arms around her warm body, nuzzling my face into her hair. “Goodnight, Jen,” I mumbled.

“Goodnight,” she replied. “Oh, and Brendon?”

“Hmm?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed.

She turned around, putting her head into my chest, “Thank you, for everything.”