A/N: This is very much from Marissa's perspective but RM are not forgotten. There are maybe one or maybe two more chapters of this to come, however, I can honestly give no guarantee on when I will post them. I'm sorry about that but bear with me please.
Also, warning for language in small parts.
Read and review as ever. Thank you!
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The ocean air was chillingly crisp, causing Marissa Cooper to shiver uncontrollably. Born and raised in California, the only weather she was accustomed to was the soothing warmth of the beating sun. And yet, she welcomed this new coldness. Despite the initial discomfort, there was something refreshing about the cold wind lapping against her skin. It was oddly cleansing.
She was still in a state of disbelief, unable to process that she was really here on her father's boat in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. She thought with a painful pang the people she had left behind. Her mom, Summer, Seth, even Kaitlin who she was only just getting to know again. Hell, she even missed Sandy and Kirsten; they were practically her second set of parents. And of course, there was him, Ryan. The most painful loss of them all. She was already longing to look into those deep soulful eyes of his, ones which always managed to lull her into a sense of security. She shook her head, willing herself to move away from such futile thoughts. This wasn't forever, she told herself; it was what she had also told him at the airport.
It took her a while but she got used to her new life. People always do.
She had never had to work so physically hard before. Her dad tried to go easy on her at first but even the smallest of tasks had felt so daunting. It was so different from anything she had ever been used to. Her dad was soft, always had been and especially when it came to her. But his leniency pissed her off even more. She was frustrated at herself for being so incompetent and his coddling made her feel more useless. She was tired of being that girl, daddy's little girl, incapable of taking care of herself. So she had snapped at him, told him to treat her like he did the rest of the staff. He had been shocked, Marissa barely ever shouted him (that honour had always been Julie's). After that, he tried to be more firm, as best as Jimmy Cooper could, and she forced herself to work harder. As more time passed, she found herself having to make less of a conscious effort.
The first month away was littered with phone calls home and a steady stream of emails. When she called home, she always spoke to Julie first. Her mother fussed over her and she acted like she didn't care for her concern but secretly enjoyed it. She wanted to sound adult and mature when she told her about everything she was learning, but her excited voice always gave it away. There was still the child in her, wanting to make her mother proud. Julie told her about all the Newpsie gossip, who was sleeping with whose husband, who was keeping illegal help at their homes, the usual Newport shenanigans. Before, when she was still back home, Marissa always rolled her eyes and ignored her mother's gossip. She still rolled her eyes but now when Julie spoke about it over the phone, she listened intently and sometimes offered her own opinions on what was permissible, what was outrageous or simply outright unacceptable. The conversations were so blissfully normal, she felt like she was still back home. Occasionally, Kaitlin spoke to her but it was rare. When they did speak, it always followed the lines of 'Hi, mom's making me talk to you. I hope you are still alive.' Marissa didn't mind, she knew her sister and knew she loved her in her own way. Occasionally, Kaitlin confided in her about the guy who had just asked her out or the one she had a crush on. Those conversation, were always her favourite; she felt like an elder sister.
Her conversations with Summer were always the longest. Summer detailed everything about her day. The cute shoes she had brought, the sales assistance who had been rude to her, all the Brown paperwork she had just received. Marissa interjected here and there with a passing comment and spoke of her own day. She always said less, there just wasn't that much about her day to tell about. If Seth was ever around, Summer passed him the phone and he filled her in all the new indie bands which were springing up. He never got further than giving her a few names because Summer always grabbed the phone back after two minutes. Marissa told him to email her the details and that's how she ended up talking to him. Their emails were surprisingly long. Seth gave her the list of all his current favourite bands and songs and added a detailed examination. She too told him about the new European music she was uncovering. Often, they talked about the books they were reading. She wrote once that sailing around the Mediterranean, she felt free and that this was how she had imagined Sal and Dean felt on the open road. She concluded that email by saying they really needed to do the pancake tour of North America some day. He concurred the motion wholeheartedly.
She always called him once she has spoken to everybody else. It was like her special treat at the end of the day. There were two rings and then he picked up. His voice was that same deep, husky sound, strong and steady as ever. They always said 'hey', it had turned into their thing over the years. He never really said that much. He mentioned anything new that had happened or if Seth had done something really crazy but she never received the Summer-esque outline of his daily life. He wasn't a talker - they both knew that. She said the most to him, at least it was the most meaningful. She vented how difficult she found the work, confided in him about how things were working out with her dad after all this time. She told him those more private details because she knew he would want to listen and would understand in a way the others wouldn't. In that same excited voice she used with Julie, she talked about everything she had learned, a bunch of them just being basic skills. He laughed, mildly teasing but delighted and proud of how she was maturing. Their phone calls always finished by referencing the next time they would speak. They had to believe a next time would come.
Eventually as the months went by, everyone grew accustomed to the change in their lives and constant communication felt like less of a necessity. Summer went off to Brown and life became newly busy. The phone calls lessened and the length of their talks vastly reduced. It became hard to find the time to coordinate the calls. Summer opted for email more and more, out of practicality other than anything else. Marissa wasn't hurt exactly, she had anticipated this to a certain extent, but a part of her was scared of losing her best friend. Summer wrote about her growing interest in the environment and she felt faintly that her friend was changing. Then on the odd occasion they managed a phone call, and Summer squealed in her ear about how much she missed her friend and told her about the little black dress which had Marissa's name all over it, she knew she need not worry so much. They have been friends for practically their entire lives - they will get through this just fine.
The change with Ryan was more subtle, maybe because they never talked as much as she did with Summer, so the change was less noticeable. After he arrived at Berkeley, their phone calls still carried on largely as normal though a little less frequent. He spoke in excited tones about everything that was different at Berkeley. Vaguely and very briefly, she wished she was at Berkeley too but that desire was always short-lived. The thought of being at Berkeley still hadn't felt right. Just like with Summer, his schedule grew cramped and they had to settle for emails. She always felt the urge to ask if he was seeing anybody new. Part of her didn't want to know, ignorance was bliss as they said. She didn't have to ask in the end, he ended up telling her anyway, about the girl he had just met at a campus party. He said that they had been on three dates and that it could be turning into a relationship. In her reply she told him honestly that she was happy for him. He didn't mention her again in their next two exchanges and she found herself asking how things were going with the new girl. His reply had been short and simple: 'It was going well.'
Out of all her friends, she had always thought she and Seth would not maintain much of a correspondence but his emails did not wane in length, at least not for a long time. She suspected it had much to do with him being left alone at Newport, while his best friend and girlfriend pursue their new lives. His loneliness was one she could empathise with. They talked as always about music and books but soon he gave anecdotes about working at the comic book store, stories which he may once have told a bored Ryan. His descriptions were always filled with his uniquely Seth-like phrases and in that brief moment, she felt an old normalcy.
Much later, after Seth finally enrolled at Brown, their emails shortened and became less consistent. But by then, it didn't matter. Everyone had adapted to the changes in their lives.
She didn't come back home for Christmas. She had to attend an interview at Oxford. Her dad was surprised when he found out she had applied but that was as far as his reaction extended. She hadn't known what to expect when she told her mom; it was a pleasant surprise when Julie quickly supported her. Marissa explained that this didn't mean for definite she wouldn't be going to Berkeley next fall, she said she was trying to keep her options open. Her mother listened and at the end asked whether she had told Summer about this, and with a further pause, added Ryan. Marissa said no and asked her not to say anything to them. Her mother's response was wary and Marissa protested that this was for the best. There were still so many uncertainties at that point.
The truth was if she had wanted to go home that Christmas, she could have. Her interview was mid-December leaving her with enough time to make it home for the last weeks of the year. She did miss everyone, very much so, but she was scared that she would see their familiar faces, feel his security, and all the desire to carve an independent life for herself would sap away. When she calls everyone to inform them she isn't coming home, she hears their spirits drop. There was an hint of anger in Ryan's voice as he demanded an explanation. She stumbled weakly over her words and he knew she was hiding something, but he let it go.
So she spent her christmas in Oxford and fell in love with the grandeur of the colleges. The antiquity was enchanting and she felt a pull she hadn't with Berkeley. In January, she discovers she has got in. She thought with agony, what the fuck was she going to tell him?
The summer months rolled up and she left her dad's boat. Everyone expected she was going to go home, instead she rented out a tiny, rundown apartment in Paris, working the days at a museum and the nights as a waitress. She roamed the alleys, soaked up the busker's music and the scent of fresh bread flowing from the bakeries. It was close to perfect, she had thought, and then she imagined sharing those walks with him. His arm would rest low around her waist, pulling her close into him, and every now and again, he would turn his head to press his lips against her flowing hair. They would laugh and exchange meaningless comments. They might drink too much wine and he would lift her and spin her as she squealed amidst giggles. These thoughts scattered her mind, littering her day and she wondered whether he ever had these fantasies too. She couldn't explain it to him, that she was doing this not just for herself, but for him too. She was not abandoning him, she was going to come back but that now felt like an empty reassurance. When she had finally told she would not be coming to Berkeley in the fall or even coming back to California, he had been reticent. He had tried to understand, but he struggled, and ever since, their conversations had lessened tremendously.
In Paris, she met James. He came to the cafe she worked at every evening, always sipping coffee with his MacBook in front of him and some renowned philosophical text by its side. She noticed him watching her and by the third evening, she had his inquisitive green eyes, trimmed stumble and what was clearly an expensive haircut imprinted in her memory. On the fifth evening, when he approached her, she discovered she welcomed it. The next night, they talked and talked and she realised she really might like him and she didn't know why. He was English, his parents horrendously rich, and in so many ways, he was every inch like the entitled spoilt rich kids she had known so well at Newport. She was alone, lonely and hadn't lost her annoying habit of always seeing the best in people. Behind the exuberance and the controlled stylised demeanour, she saw what was an intelligent, nice guy. When he kissed her one night in the middle of a Parisian street, as they strolled along it late some night, somewhat drunk on wine, she didn't turn him away.
Seth and Summer came to visit her in Paris. They had the address of the cafe she worked at and bundled in one evening. They saw her immediately, hurrying around the counter and bringing out trays of food. Summer nearly yelled 'Coop' but Seth restrained her. Instead they waited and a minute later when Marissa finally turned their way and their eyes met, it was a calamity of 'oh my gods' and hugs and squealing. Marissa spoke to her manager and succeeded in getting off her shift for that night. The three friends sat on one of the outside tables, exchanging every detail from the last year spent apart. Seeing them in the flesh, Marissa realised just how much she had missed them (in the back of her mind, she thought about how much she missed him).
It was inevitable that they would all meet but she not expected it to be so soon. That same night, sometime around nine, James arrived ready to pick up Marissa for one of their late night dates.
"Hi," he greeted her casually, walking over and kissing her cheek.
"Hi," Marissa returned somewhat awkwardly, aware that Seth and Summer were surely watching closely. She heard Summer cough and knew she wanted an introduction. "Um, these are -"
"Old friends from home," James filled in with an easy smile.
"Yeah," Marissa said with an uneasy laugh.
"I heard you guys talking, the accents kind of gave it away."
"And you are…?" Summer said in an attempt to further prompt Marissa.
"James Carter." He said smoothly, extending his hand out for Seth to shake and leaning in to lightly kiss Summer's cheek. Then he paused hesitantly and glanced at Marissa. "I'm Marissa's, well, I suppose I'm her friend."
"Friend, huh?" Summer asked, her eyebrow raised, while Seth smirked next to her.
Marissa looked sheepishly at James. She was about to speak up, when James corrected, "Ok, I suppose we aren't simply friends. Let's say something more than friends, how about that?"
"I think that suffices," Marissa chimed in, desperate to bring the questioning to an end.
James chuckled faintly and said, "I better leave you guys, you are probably desperate to catch up without me interfering." Marissa smiled gratefully at him and he smiled subtly back.
He got up to leave when Summer stopped him. "But hey, we should all meet for lunch sometime, get to know each other. How about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow's great with me. What do you think Marissa?" He observed Marissa with intrigue, curious to see her response.
Inwardly, Marissa groaned. Putting on her most perfect smile, she replied, "That's fantastic." James stifled a laugh and said goodbye. Immediately as he was out of earshot, Marissa glared at Summer and demanded, "Did you have to do that?"
"Coop, c'mon, you can't hide away your superhot English boyfriend." Summer complained.
"He's not my boyfriend," Marissa mumbled.
"Ah, I see Europe has severely liberalised Marissa Cooper," Seth quipped, earning him a glare too.
Ignoring him, Summer continued, "Look, Coop, I haven't seen you for a whole year. You've been living this exciting new life over here and, I don't know, it feels so separate from our old life. I don't know anything about it, I just want to be a part of it."
Marissa's expression softened and she replied, "And you want to do that by interrogating James, huh?"
Summer raised her hands in defence. "Who said anything about interrogation? Just a few casual questions."
"To be fair Summer, you are pretty darn aggressive when you question. I can see how it might be mistaken for an interrogation," Seth commented from the side.
"Shut up, Cohen," Summer said, lightly slapping his arm. "Coop, I just want to get to know this new friend, boyfriend, whatever. And as your best friend, it's frankly my duty to know. He could turn out to be your future husband and imagine if I hadn't confirmed if he was good enough for you."
Summer flashed her best friend her favourite pout and when Marissa laughed lightly, she knew she had one the battle.
"Fine, but please," Marissa gave them both a serious look, "play nice."
The next day, Marissa sat uncomfortably with Seth and Summer, waiting for James to arrive. She still wasn't sure about them all getting acquainted, and it was precisely the same reason why Summer had insisted on it. The minute, her two lives, the old and new, came together, her relationship with James would adopt a new degree of realness.
"Hello, everyone," she heard James's silky voice boom as he sauntered over.
Seth and Summer greeted him warmly and Marissa complied with a kiss on his cheek. Summer introduced herself and Seth, and immediately launched in with her first question, "So how did you two meet?"
James smiled and turned to Marissa. "Do you want to tell the story or shall I?"
"It's not really much of a story," Marissa said.
"Oh anything can be a story if you make it one," he teased.
Marissa rolled her eyes and addressed her friends, "You see, he's a writer and so he is overly romantic about everything."
"A writer?" Seth said curiously.
"Well, an aspiring one but that's another story. Now about how, Marissa and I met," James began, "I had a friend who recommended the cafe Marissa worked at. I was in the area one evening and thought I would check it out. So, I went in, sat down, perused my copy of Kafka, waiting for a waitress to come take my order. Unfortunately, when a waitress did come, it wasn't dear Marissa, but," he paused dramatically, "as she came and took my order, I put down Kafka and took a minute to just observe the scene and the rest, as they say, is history." He smiled at Marissa and it was so charming that in spite of herself, Marissa smiled back. "Naturally, as I am sure we can all agree, Marissa's pretty damn hard to not notice." He grinned as he saw Marissa blush uncontrollably. Before she could protest, he continued, "So, I was really quite captivated, as I'm sure most people are. I kept coming to the cafe, mainly out of naive hope and because the food wasn't half bad, and it turned out, she thought I was sufficiently interesting too."
"He was always reading Kafka or Sartre or Beckett - I was curious." Marissa said nonchalantly, with a shrug of her shoulder, but there was a faint glimmer in her eye which betrayed her seriousness. Seth had to restrain himself from making a snide remark over their supposed 'friendship'.
As Seth and Summer persisted with their questions, they came to discover that he had been living in Paris ever since graduating from Cambridge the previous year. He sheepishly admitted that he would have loved to have dropped out earlier, "the environment had been so intellectually and creatively stifling", but he was too afraid of losing access to the family bank account, which lets him live in Paris with expenses paid.
"He's the most privileged poet ever, don't you think?" Marissa commented wryly, to which James smirked.
"Don't your parents care?" Summer asked.
"Oh of course they do," he answered immediately. "Dad's an absolute arse about the whole thing but mum usually manages to convince him not to cut me off. I tell them, I'm taking this time to find myself, mum kind of buys it, even if a little reluctantly. My plan is that hopefully I'll have written the next bestseller before they decide to cut me off and then it won't matter."
"Oh who knows when that will be…" Marissa taunted as she reached for her glass of wine. A look passed between them that had passed many times before. Marissa thought he took things for granted, he was too privileged and a coward for succumbing so readily to his parent's help. He always looked back at her, a teasing smile on his face, eyes glowing with a quiet respect. His voice, distinctly accented, reverbed in her mind, telling her, we can't all be as brave as you, darling.
"Alright, so I've talked a lot about me. I think it is only fair that I get to find out a little about what Marissa Cooper used to be like." James enquired.
"Oh, we have many a tale to tell." Seth replied gleefully and meanwhile, Marissa immediately stiffened. "The most exciting one being Marissa's lesbian dalliance."
"Seth!" Summer and Marissa shouted at once.
James laughed, "That I would not have anticipated."
"I was 16 and it was one brief relationship," Marissa elaborated.
"Well, what about boyfriends? What was her taste in men like?" James ventured. He had expected it to be a lighthearted question and less awkward for Marissa than the previous revelation, however, all three of them immediately hushed into silence as they thought of Ryan.
"Well, there's Luke." Seth offered causing Marissa to snort. "He was your stereotypical jock, only he played water polo and shaved his chest."
"So, they were like your perfect All American couple, I imagine?" James commented in an amused tone.
"Something like that," Marissa said dryly. "Until he cheated on me, that is."
"How cliched," James mused, but still offered Marissa a consoling smile.
"And get this, he also-" At this point Seth abruptly stopped, as Summer pinched him so hard, he yelped. "Ow, woman, what was that for?" He caught the crazed look in Summer's eyes and understood that this was the moment to shut up about Luke's exploits with a certain Julie Cooper. "Erm, he also shaved his chest, did I mention that?"
"Yeah, you did," James replied with a laugh. "So that's Marissa's dating history? A lesbian and a guy who shaves his chest?"
Seth and Summer averted his prying gaze and instead looked tentatively at Marissa. Marissa inhaled deeply and then answered, "There was Ryan. We dated for about two years years, on and off."
There was a finality in her tone which prevented James from asking any further questions on the subject. But, he caught something else in her voice, that betrayed the seriousness of their relationship.
Marissa leant against the window frame and looked on to the empty street. She heard Seth walk up behind her; Summer was already fast asleep on her couch.
"So Oliver was right about one thing, the Rodin and Musée Picasso are pretty impressive," Seth commented lightly.
"Please don't," Marissa grimaced at the mention of Oliver and Seth chuckled. Standing next to her, he too observed Paris at night.
"I get the attraction, you know," Seth said softly. "Being out here, living your own life."
Marissa smiled at him, pleasantly surprised by his seriousness. "It's a beautiful city, isn't it?" she replied and then sighed. "But, I guess I don't have many days left here now."
"Right, Oxford," Seth reminded himself. "Are you scared?"
"Terrified."
"But better than Newport huh?"
Marissa laughed wryly but it quickly subsided. She inhaled deeply and asked quietly, "How is he?"
Seth looked at her, studied her and settled on, "He's ok." Marissa bit her lip, feeling guilty. "He misses you," Seth added after some deliberation.
"He hates me."
"Marissa, that's the dumbest thing I have ever had, even by your standards."
"He's upset with me, I know he is," Marissa insisted. "It's why he isn't here."
"He was busy," Seth tried.
"C'mon Seth, we both know better than that. He isn't here because he doesn't want to be."
Seth turned to staring outside of the window again. "It's hard for him," he confessed.
"I know," Marissa admitted softly. "I'm not leaving him, I don't want him to think I'm another person who is abandoning him."
"Why aren't you coming home?" He looked at her intently. He understood wanting to spend the year away from Newport because God knows Marissa needed some peace and quiet. He understood the needing time and space, but he didn't really understand the insistence on three more years away. Maybe she really loved Oxford a goddamn lot, but he was sure as hell that she loved Ryan more.
"I need a fresh start," Marissa answered slowly. "Ryan needs a fresh start. If I go back to him now, we are just going to crash and burn all over again. There's going to come a point when he isn't going to want to try again. And I'm tired too, everytime we break up, it hurts more and more. Ryan knows it, and I know he knows it because he let me get on that boat, we need the time."
"When will it be the right time?" Seth challenged. Things had been going fine, everybody had been happy and then Marissa dropped the news one day that she would going to Oxford in October. Every since Ryan found out Marissa wasn't coming to Berkeley in the fall, he had been brooding and honestly, Seth was tired of seeing his best friend hurting. "What are you expecting? That one day all your problems will magically disappear and then it will be 'time'?"
"I know, Seth, I know we need to talk. I'm not that naive," Marissa asserted, surprised by his sudden attack. "It's just, it's complicated. I know that sounds pathetic, it is pathetic, but things were pretty fucked up between us. We were both fucked up by last summer."
They were both silent for a while. Marissa considered his accusation nervously, what if the 'right time' never did come?
"Look, I'm sorry about my outburst." Seth apologised finally, feeling out of line. "It hasn't exactly been easy," he explained cautiously. "Summer and Ryan were very torn up about you not coming back, are very torn up about it, but, I guess this isn't easy for you either."
"No," Marissa whispered.
"I shouldn't have attacked you like that, it's none of my business anyway." Seth attempted again.
"It's alright, Seth, I'm not angry. I know you're just looking out for the people you love." Marissa smiled sadly and became somewhat teary. "But I love them too, and it hurts me to do this as well. I miss them all the time, but I need this. I need a brand new beginning."
Seth considered her statement and nodded briefly. Then a slow, devilish grin spread across his face. "Well, our budding Shakespeare is certainly new for you." Seth teased, referring to James. Marissa shook her head and laughed lightly.
"Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are about that."
"It's the accent, isn't it? It always is." Seth mused, while Marissa rolled her eyes. His voice slightly graver, he addressed Marissa once more. "You should talk to Ryan, tell him what you told me tonight. It might save you both some heartache."
Marissa nodded and mumbled an agreement. Seth may be right but she doubted that now of all times, with the Atlantic Ocean between, they would begin to refine their skills of communication.
Seth and Summer left two weeks after they came. The goodbye was tear-stained and filled with promises of phone calls and emails.
When Seth and Marissa came to hug, she told him quietly, "Let him know I haven't left him, okay? I'm still here."
Seth pulled back and replied, not unkindly, "You should tell him yourself." Marissa smiled sadly at him because they both knew it was indefinite when that would be. They boarded the plane and the loneliness hit her afresh. Her phone rang, it was James calling about dinner plans, and in that moment, she was grateful to have met him.
Her life returned, somewhat, to its previous normalcy but Oxford was approaching, and that filled her days with anticipation. She remembered a family vacation to London when she was six and the only memory which had stuck in her mind, was looking on to the Tower Bridge, against a backdrop of grey skies and drizzling rain; Kaitlin was crying and her mother was complaining next to her about the rain ruining her hair. She asked James question after question about England, about his days at Cambridge, and he always replied readily, delighted to have her attention.
Oxford also meant their separation and she was curious, almost, to see how she would react. They were lying on his bed one Saturday, the sun was streaming through the window and blazing upon them, and she was reading his latest short story. He was looking at her nervously, he always did, whenever it came to showing her any of his work. She found it endearing, because he was so rarely nervous. When the mask of confidence fell, she thought, she saw the real James. A boy who was actually quite shy, insecure about himself, and at unease with the world. But he did such a good pretence, she never knew. When he first told her, he had a few friends at school and to date had only been with two other women, she had been surprised. She recalled how he had sauntered up to her and introduced himself. He had appeared self-assured, certain of his charm, but she wondered now if the goofy hesitance she had perceived at the time as self-conscious façade, had in fact been genuine.
She finished reading his story, a simple love story between two teenages who meet once as they are travelling around the world on their gap year. They think they will never see each other again, but three years later, they end up at the same university for postgrad.
"It's good," she told him.
"But," he added, knowing it was inevitable.
Marissa deliberated, opened her mouth, then shut it, and spoke at last. "Their love doesn't quite feel fully real."
"What do you mean?" he asked in confusion.
"I'm not sure how to explain. I suppose, I don't know, maybe it's just that, it's feel just a little bit idealistic." He frowned at her. "Look, James, don't worry about it. It's good story, well structured, nicely written," she attempted to assure him.
"But you're not emotionally invested in their love," he offered, lying down on the bed in resignation.
"Yeah, that's kind of it." They said nothing for a while. She leant to kiss him and laid next to him, their hands entwined.
"Have you been in love?" he asked suddenly, his voice soft and unsure. It took her by surprise and she found herself replying honestly.
"Yes."
"With Ryan?"
"Um, yeah. How did you…?"
"I guessed," he said with a knowing smiling. He turned and propped himself up on his elbows and observed her.
"You never mentioned him before, until that day with Summer and Seth."
"I didn't see what the point would be," she answered with a shrug. His eyes narrowed, cutting through her feigned nonchalance.
"When did you guys break up?"
"Last year, around February," Marissa obliged. She wondered about his sudden interest, she had hoped he had forgotten about Ryan altogether.
"Have you kept in touch?" Marissa was surprised by the question, if she hadn't known better, she might have thought he was jealous, but James was not the jealous type.
"Not recently, no, but we were in touch for a long while after I left. Our families are kind of close, and he's Seth's adopted brother and best friend, so we were friends when I left." She paused for a second, hesitated and then added, "I'm not sure what we are anymore."
A lull settled in and just as Marissa thought the conversation was over, he asked, "What's it like?" His eyes darted towards hers and she saw the blistering romanticism in them as he clarified, "To be in love."
Marissa avoided his gaze; it made her feel uncomfortable. It felt like she was about to hand over something precious to be devoured and glorified. She was angry at him for asking.
"It's complicated," she answered and brought the discussion to a close.
He didn't bring up Ryan again for the rest of her days in Paris. Those final days became heightened, everything turned turned to a novelty. On her last night, James ensured it was the most extravagant night. An exclusive boat ride on the Seine, a private chef, the most expensive champagne and somehow, there were even fireworks. He probably thought he was creating an unforgettable night and ergo, would himself be unforgettable. That night, lying in bed with him, Marissa felt a subtle pang of loss. She would miss him she realised, yet, it would not be for all the wildly romantic nights. Instead, it would be for all the dinners where he forgot about the romance and fumbled in the kitchen, and they got too drunk to care about the food.
He came with her to the station, stood by her until she boarded the train. He looked at her sadly, intently, lovingly.
"Good luck," he told her and kissed her forehead.
"You too," she said, feeling oddly tearful. She almost didn't want to leave him. But then he let go of her hand and she got on to the train. As the train started, she watched him pass and the sadness left, and she looked on with excitement to the promise of a new land.