After the first glass of wine, the mood at our table lightened up a bit, and by the bottom of the bottle we were both slouching in our chairs. My stomach bulged beneath my sweater, and my cheeks ached with smiles, because Cosima was telling the story of her night in the JFK airport, her hands flying wildly over the table.
"So I was lying down with my head on my bag, and this guy sits right next me, and he puts his feet right next to my head," she said, attacking her own face with her hand.
"Okay," I said.
"I was like, 'Oh, great!' but I just rolled over and away from his feet. But then, he kicks off his shoes and gets real comfortable. 'Fine,' I thought. 'I mean, we are all in this together, right? We are all stuck in this airport. He has the right to be comfortable. We all do. Fine.'"
"Uh-huh," I said, knowing this wasn't the end of the story.
"But at some point, I must turn over, because his feet are right in my face, and his socks are so dirty, Delphine!" she said, smacking the table and cringing.
"Oh no!" I said.
"I kid you not, they were black, and there was a hole in the big toe, and all I could see was this guy's hairy big toe, right in my face," she continued.
"Disgusting," I said.
"And that's not the worst of it!" she exclaimed, waving her hand across the entire expanse of the table, knocking the nearly empty wine bottle onto the floor.
It shattered and a woman behind me screamed.
Cosima hunched over on herself, her shoulders pulled in tight and her hand clamped over her mouth. At first, she looked horrified, and then a giggle snuck its way up from her belly to her lips, escaping her mouth in an adorable puff-puff-puff.
I laughed with her, and at her.
The waitress, though, when she approached the table, did not laugh.
"Uh, I'm so sorry," I said. "We were just leaving."
"It's no problem," the waitress said, but her tone said we had just ruined her entire night.
I payed the check as fast as I could, leaving the money on the table and not waiting for change. Then we scurried out of the restaurant, we could barely contain our laughter before bursting out into the street.
"Did you see the look on her face?" Cosima said. "She hates me."
"So what?" I said, reaching for my pack of cigarettes. "I told you they were grumpy."
"Yeah, but, now I'm that spazzy American girl," Cosima said.
I opened the pack of cigarettes, and I was surprised to find only one left. I stopped in the middle of the street, cupping my hands around the lighter's weak flame, and Cosima kept walking, seemingly unaware that I had stopped.
I watched her strut down the street, her hands in the pockets of her red coat, which hung loosely from her petite shoulders. She walked so lightly, crossing one foot in front of the other as she went, that her boots barely made a sound against the cobblestones. She tilted her head to the side, her hair tied up in a bun, and the ends of her dreads dangled like ornaments.
And from all of that, even without seeing her face, I could tell she was smiling.
"So what's the worst part?" I said, slipping my lighter back into my pocket.
"What?" she said, turning around.
"What's the worst part about the hairy-toed-man?" I said.
"Oh, well!" she said, launching back into the story. "His feet reeked! Like, I'm guessing he hadn't washed those socks in weeks!"
"Ew!" I said, catching up with her and taking her arm. "So what did you do?"
"What could I do?" she said. "I just got up and moved to a different spot, a sock-free zone."
"And did you manage to sleep?" I said.
"Yeah, but it gets worse," she said.
"Wait, I thought that was the worst part."
"No," she said. "When I finally got on the plane the next morning, guess who I had the pleasure of sitting next to?"
"Non, non, non!" I said.
"Yes, yes, yes!" she said. "Seven hours and forty seven minutes of Mr. Sewage Socks!"
"That's horrible," I said. "I can't believe you survived it."
"You have no idea," she said, stopping to look up at me.
"Well, I, for one, appreciate your sacrifice," I said, recognizing the look in her eyes.
She watched my mouth as I took a drag of my cigarette, then she licked her own lips.
"God, I would kill for a blunt right now," she said.
"And here I thought you wanted to kiss me," I said.
"Well, I want that, too," she said, stepping closer to me and slipping her hands into my coat and around my waist.
"My breath probably smells like onions and cigarettes," I said, pulling away as she leaned up.
She grabbed my waist and held me still.
"I've smelled worse," she said, moving her hands up, clenching the collar of my coat. "And lived to tell about it."
I leaned over to kiss her, but then, someone called my name. It was Laurent.
"Bon soir, Delphine!" he said. "Bon soir, Cosima!"
Cosima and I jumped in unison, and without thinking, I took a step away from her. Her hands, after falling away from my coat, she tucked back into her own pockets.
"Hello, Laurent," she said before I did.
He had spotted us from across the street and had jogged over to meet us.
"Laurent," I said, clinging to the cigarette in my hand. "I barely recognized you!"
And it was true. He wore the same knit cap and pea coat, but his face was clean shaven and his wild mane of hair had been trimmed down close to the ears.
"Yeah, I took a trip to the barber's today," he said. "What do you think?"
"You look fine," I said, still feeling a little shaken up, still reminding myself that, yes, I was in Paris now, not San Francisco, and, yes, there are people here who recognize me.
Cosima looked from me to Laurent and then stretched her smile even wider across her face.
"You look very handsome," she said.
"Thanks so much for saying so," he said. "Where are you guys headed to anyway?"
"I don't know," Cosima said, turning her body toward me. "Where are we headed?"
"I don't know," I said. "I guess we hadn't really decided yet."
"Well," Laurent said, looking at his watch. "It's a bit late to be heading into the city. Why don't I pick up a few things in l'epicerie and we can hang out at the flat? I think I owe you at least a bottle of wine."
"Oh," I said, looking at Cosima. "I'm not sure. It's Cosima's first night in Paris."
"No, no," Cosima said, shrugging her shoulders. "That's fine with me. I'm down for whatever."
"See," Laurent said, "She's down for whatever!"
"Are you sure?" I said.
"Yeah, definitely," she said.
"Great!" Laurent said. "Super! I will just step in here for a minute and pick up some things."
He pointed at the corner store over my shoulder. He stepped around me faster than I could resist. The bell on the door rang as he pushed inside. I looked at Cosima.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"It's fine," she said. "I don't mind staying in."
Just then Laurent popped his head back out of the store.
"Do you prefer red wine or white?" he shouted from the door.
"Red!" Cosima shouted back. "And cigarettes!"
"Yes, Ma'am," he said and he was gone again.
I looked at Cosima and smiled. "Cigarettes?"
"What?" she said. "They're not for me."
Laurent came out of the shop carrying two heavy bags.
"What on earth did you buy in there?" I said.
"Just some presents," he said. "If I'm going to keep you cooped up in the apartment, then I'd better treat you right."
"This is starting to sound more interesting," Cosima said.
/
On the way home, Laurent began reminiscing about the old days, when our family lived in a flat similar to the one I was in now, on a street only a few blocks away.
"God, it didn't seem small at the time," he said, "but how did all four of us survive in there?"
"We shared a bedroom, that's how," I said, more than a little bitter. "Until you were too old and you kicked me out."
"Oh come on, you didn't mind," he said. "You loved that sofa couch."
"Loved it?" I said. "I had a sore neck for most of fifth grade."
"Well, it didn't last long, did it? I got out of everyone's hair soon after that," he said.
Cosima listened to our conversation, walking close to my side, not reaching for my hand, but intentionally bumping my elbow every few steps.
"How old were you when you moved out?" she asked.
"I was eighteen," he said, then he looked up and smiled. "It was right after I got out of this place!"
He stopped walking right in front of an iron gate. Laurent, his arms loaded with groceries, stepped up to the gate and looked in. I knew exactly where we were, but Cosima looked confused.
"It's our old high school," I said.
"This one? This exact one?" she said, looking pleasantly surprised.
She also took a step toward the gate. She reached for the iron bars and squinted to see into the dark yard.
"Wow," she said. "It's a beautiful building!"
"It's old and decrepit," I said. "It was old and decrepit when we attended here fifteen years ago."
"I had a lot of good times here," Laurent said with a sigh. "Ah, the good old days."
"You were hardly ever here," I said. "You cut class every other day."
"That was the best part," he said. "So many good times."
"You never cut class?" Cosima asked me.
"I don't think so," I said.
"Not even to smoke a cigarette?" she asked.
"No," I said. "I didn't cut class to do that. But I did sneak over to the primary school on breaks. It's just over there, can you see it?"
Cosima leaned as close to the gate as she could without pressing her face against the cold metal. As she leaned the gate shifted, the chain rattled, and the bottom latch scraped loudly against the ground. Cosima jumped. But when she stepped back, a space had opened up between the two sides of the gate - a space just big enough for a person to pass through.
Cosima looked at me with raised eyebrows.
"Do you have my cigarettes?" I asked Laurent.
He handed them over. His eyes were full of mischief and envy.
"Have fun," he said. "I'll go on ahead and prepare you presents."
"Fine!" I said.
When I turned around, Cosima was already on the other side of the gate. I slipped through behind her, giggling.
"Oh, hey!" Laurent said, hurrying back toward us. "I need the key!"
"Of course," I said.
I reached through the gate and slipped the key into his coat pocket.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said with a wink and then he was gone.
I was so excited, I nearly skipped to where Cosima was waiting for me in the dark yard. I grabbed her hand and led her, both giggling and shushing us, as we made our way toward the playground in the primary school yard.
This is not where I expected to be tonight, I thought.
My heart was racing.
I watched Cosima climb the wooden ladder that led to the small covered landing, which in turn led to a wooden bridge on one side, and to a metal slide on the other. She sat down in that little area, and I knew why. It was the same place I had smoked my first cigarette all those years ago. She sat on that landing because its roof and walls offered a little bit of privacy.
"Come on," Cosima said, her voice sounding incredibly loud in the quiet yard.
My heart fluttered and bounced, as if it was only tied to my chest by a string. As I scaled the ladder, she reached out her hand and giggled. I felt so light that I might float away.
No, this is not what I expected, I thought. This is much, much better.
