Gravity

After the New Year, we were officially aloud to reenter the United Kingdom, but only to pack our things and finish any other business then fly back to America. We booked a flight from London to Phoenix, where Jen would get off and return to her friends house; from Phoenix, I would fly to Los Angeles and resume living in my empty apartment.

Hastily, we finished the record from our personal computers, choosing to only speak for business and over meals. By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, however, we had mutually decided to go down and watch the festivities at the Eiffel Tower and maybe have a drink or two—it would be the first mind-altering substance that either of us had consumed since the ecstasy.

The start of a new year meant a clean slate—I was a single man in his mid-twenties with a promising career and an appetite for romance: I had friends in all the right places, and a breakup wasn’t going to get in my way. I would show Sarah what she was missing.

“Hi!” Jen suddenly exclaimed, causing me to jump in my chair. She was out in the main room and I had been in my room all morning; who she was talking to would have been a surprise to me.

I heard another female voice who sounded just as excited, “Hi, Jenny! Oh my God, so I flew to LA to go get your car and your other stuff, and I went into your house and it was really depressing.” It had to be her best friend, the one she was staying with.

I could feel Jen’s frown, “Was he there?”

The other voice sounded annoyed, “No. I was fully prepared to kick him in the balls.”

Jen’s laugh sounded. I opened my door a crack and poked my head out. She must’ve seen me from the webcam because she turned around and waved me over, “C’mere, I want you to meet my best friend,” she told me.

I hesitantly walked over to her and waved at the person on the other side of the computer’s screen. She was a blonde beauty, but nothing in comparison to Jen. “Lily, this is Brendon; we’re stuck in Paris together.”

Lily smiled, “Ah, bonjour,” she joked. She eyed me carefully and I noticed that she looked rather smug; she must’ve known about what happened between Jen and I.

“Bonjour,” I replied lightly. Jen patted my leg, clearly ecstatic about seeing her friend again, seeing as she couldn’t keep her eyes from the screen.

I waved goodbye to Lily and returned to my own bedroom, but still heard her speak, “That’s him? …Wow, he is handsome. What a way to bounce back—hey, you should bring him to Natalie’s wedding.”

Jen laughed once, “Ha, I don’t think so: we don’t really get along, and Natalie only likes me ‘cause I’m famous anyway.”

Apparently Lily could read Jen like a book and nothing could get passed her, “You mean you won’t let him get along with you. I’m guessing he has nothing to do with it. Ah, ah, ah. Don’t even start with me: I know you, Jennifer Addison, and I know that work consumes you. God forbid that he wants to become friends with the only person he knows in Paris. And you slept with—” she suddenly cut herself off with a gasp, “You’re afraid of your feelings for him! Jennifer Madeline! You can’t keep your feelings bottled up.”

Jen scoffed, “No. We came to the mutual decision to only be colleagues—”

“You mean you did,” Lily argued. I kind of liked this Lily; she was good for Jen. “You like him and you’re afraid that he’ll forget about you after Paris—that’s why you’re running back to Phoenix: you think he’s like Taylor. Not all guys are like that, you know.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Jen said absently.

“I’m gonna go have vicious sex in your car,” Lily threatened.

“Goodbye, Lily.”

“You know I’m right!” Lily rushed.

“Goodbye, Lily.”

When we made it down to the Eiffel Tower, it was already crowded with people. We found a spot to stand and bought two glasses of champagne to toast with at midnight, but found ourselves having to buy a few more each as the night progressed. As we stood there, I turned Lily’s words over and over in my mind: did Jen really have feelings for me?

Liam and Mason had lectured me time and time again that we were “crazy” for each other. After a long week of stomaching the fact that we had sex and she didn’t want to admit it, things started to make sense: my fiancée left me and her boyfriend left her. There was a lot of leaving in our lives and I could understand why she was scared—she didn’t want to have to deal with that again.

After a few glasses of champagne, I finally worked up the nerve to tell Jen how I felt. I was going to tell her at last that I cared for her, and that I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs that I’d slept with her because I was so happy about it. She made me forget about Sarah and realize that there were other people out there, but the best one had been by my side the whole time. As we stood awkwardly waiting for the countdown, I ran a speech over in my head.

At 11:58 I couldn’t take it anymore. The speech I’d been planning for her suddenly escaped my mind and I spilled my guts out to her. “Jen, I really care about you,” I said quickly, “And not in the way you want.” She stated at me, but I continued, “You’re beautiful and incredibly talented and sleeping with you was the smartest thing I’ve done in a long time, even if you are a pain in the ass sometimes. I want to be with you, Jen; I want to take things slow with you and allow our relationship to grow from broken hearts to euphoria. I want to see you again after we leave, maybe go on a proper date or something. I won’t leave you like Taylor did—”

“Brendon, that’s just the champagne talking—” she interjected, looking around to see if anyway was watching. She was embarrassed, but it wasn’t like they could understand.

“No,” I protested, “You’re being so stubborn, you know that? Not everything is about work. Your friend was right—I do want to be friends. Actually, I want to be more than friends. But you won’t let that happen!”

“Have you ever stopped and wondered how I felt about this whole situation?” she demanded.

The crowd around us began to chant, “Dix, neuf, huit, sept…”

“I liked you too—romantically, I mean—and I thought you liked me enough actually to do something about it,” she said. “Mason and Liam all the time were telling me how cute we would be and what to do to get you to notice me. I mean, you lead me on at the bakery and at the first hotel—you tell me all the time how amazing and beautiful I am, but here I am looking like a jackass and waiting for you to sweep me off my feet. You didn’t seem to want me, so I forced myself to stop wanting you.” She was getting so passionate about the conversation that she actually became misty-eyed. “I don’t want you anymore, Brendon. I’m tired of waiting around like I’m in high school.”

“Quatre, trois, deux, un...bonne année!”

I cut her off with my lips. I didn’t care what she had to say anymore. As the fireworks exploded around us I deepened our kiss. All that I could think about was that, at some point, she cared about me too, and that was enough for me.

But as I thought more, I realized that in the last six weeks, Jennifer Addison was all that I had come to think about. I no longer cared about Sarah or the fact that Jen and I were relocating to different states. All I wanted was for Jen to know that, while she may have had a bad 2011, 2012 was a whole new year. And that year was officially dedicated to her.