The Next Morning
The sun burned brightly in the clear blue sky, its powerful rays making the Seine River sparkle.
Mira leaned against the railing of Pont des Arts, the bridge across from the Louvre with spectacular views from all sides. Her current vantage point was the iconic one, with the Eiffel Tower showcased in the distance. She wasn't close enough to admire the famed structure's intricate wrought-iron composition, but it was the only clear look she'd gotten since arriving, and she wanted to make it last.
A long sigh escaped from Mira's lips. It was a moment loaded with the first real semblance of joy she'd felt since the business trip had begun, and with two full hours remaining, she hoped it wouldn't be the last. Her stomach grumbled with anticipation, fixated on the famous French toast that was to come.
Despite her stomach's soundtrack of calorie deprivation, she couldn't leave the bridge without capturing the postcard image. She snapped a photo and immediately examined it. "Why does it look so much smaller?" she groaned. She utilized the zoom feature and gave it a second try, but a frown was her only reward. "Why does it look so blurry?"
It was still quite early in the day for Paris, and Mira's current surroundings showed it, with minimal traffic out on the roads, and only a few locals and early-bird tourists making their way on foot.
Mira crossed the road with brisk steps, passing a café terrace serving coffee to the day's first tourists. Her path led her along
In a matter of minutes, Rue Saint-Honoré became Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and though the width of the street hadn't changed at all, there was a marked difference in the offerings. Quaint cafés and pâtisserie shops gave way to Gucci, Cartier, Hermès, and every other high-end boutique well beyond her financial reach.
Mira's footsteps slowed as she approached an alluring window showcasing all things Chanel. The latest iteration of the Chanel wool suit was prominently displayed behind the glass, an evergreen look, no matter the season. The summer beach collection was the other main draw, with a belted one-piece swimsuit featuring the brand's famous monogram.
But these weren't the pieces that caught Mira's eye. She found herself drawn to an item that could've easily been missed; a full flap leather wallet displayed on a silver table. It was nearly identical to the one Mira's future mother-in-law had given to her at her engagement ceremony.
Mira's understanding of engagement ceremonies held in Sikh temples in upstate New York was minimal at best, but she knew that after an hour of sitting cross-legged on an uncomfortable carpet, you could always count on a series of gifts and several wads of cash. After years of watching cousin after cousin collect their own engagement ceremony cash and prizes, Mira's turn had finally come on that cold November day. Her outfit had been pink with silver accents, dazzling by Western standards, but muted compared to the multiple lehenga outfit changes she'd be cycling through on her wedding day. The thing she remembered most about that day was her posed smile, and how strained it became with each additional photo. In the moment, she'd chalked it up to simple fatigue, but looking back, it was an early warning. And she'd missed it.
The past and the present seemed worlds apart, with only the full flap leather wallet tying them together. It was just another thing she would have to return, whereas every single memory stuck to her like glue.
Mira stepped away from the storefront window, eager to escape the somber mood by running from her problems—or in this case, power walking the last few blocks to the restaurant.
Before long, Mira's dark thoughts disappeared into the sights and sounds of a pleasing terrace—and the smell of the best French toast of all time.
Known as pain perdu or lost bread, it was a simple dish often made at home with the last stale pieces of baguette. Despite its humble nature, the version of the dish that landed at Mira's table had nothing to do with humility. What sat on Mira's plate was an updated French rendition, something that had gotten food bloggers talking. On the surface, the French toast resembled two fluffy cylinders of goodness. Each toast tower was yellow all around, lightly browned on top, and encircled with maple syrup and fresh blueberries. It was almost too good to eat. Almost.
When Mira used her gleaming fork to slice through the first tower, she could only gasp. Beyond the surface was the sort of light and airy sorcery she never could've conjured, not in her mind nor in her cramped Manhattan kitchen.
If the inaugural fork slice had been good, then the first official bite was an otherworldly joyfest. The delicate eggy flavor and syrupy sweetness surrounded Mira's taste buds in a warm embrace, which immediately validated putting modernized pain perdu on her bucket list.
In a matter of minutes, the only thing left on Mira's plate was a single rogue blueberry she would save for the end of her meal. In the meantime, she sipped her coffee and watched as the
occasional chic Parisian woman passed by. Second by second, her petit dejeuner faded into her mind, replaced with the playback of Indian dress fittings, cake tastings, exorbitant expenses, the deepening dread with each turn of the calendar . . . it was all coming back to the surface. She wondered what it would take to stop being hit with these emotional waves. Would there be no relief until she faced her problems? If so, that was bullshit—especially because she'd already dealt with her biggest problem of all.
Only weeks ago, she'd helplessly watched as her entire future hurdled toward a marriage with a good-on-paper guy whom she wasn't truly in love with. But then, she'd stopped it, like a driver slamming the brakes mere seconds before a head-on collision.
Most people in Mira's situation would've simply kept on hurdling, opting for a comfortable risk-averse future—before eventually convincing themselves it was everything they'd wanted all along. A part of Mira liked the sound of a risk-averse future, but ultimately, she'd been incapable of taking that path. She wanted something more, even if she didn't quite know what that something was. And now, after having blown up her entire life, she was perfectly free to go find it.
The only flaw in the plan was that so far, freedom felt like shit. She'd risked everything, but inner peace eluded her. She'd shown courage, but there didn't seem to be a reward. It didn't help that courage wasn't a word ever used in conversations with her Indian family. Even as a child while watching Wizard of Oz with her parents, they'd never understood what the Cowardly Lion was missing. No heart, no brain, now these were life-altering problems. But no courage? That didn't seem like a problem at all.
So here was Mira, with a pocketful of courage that was not only irrelevant to her family, but worse than that, was viewed as selfishness. She was selfish because her parents had already sent out the invitations, she was selfish for putting them through the nightmare of all this stress, and she was selfish for not letting them marry off their daughter within the prespinster timeline laid out by the Indian community.
Mira popped the last blueberry into her mouth, watching as a mother pushing a bassinet stroller passed by. "Could've been me by next year," she whispered, before glancing at her unadorned ring finger. "Back to square one."
Whether or not Mira's choices were selfish, she'd truly done her best to call off the wedding within a reasonable time frame. In fact, she'd given nearly two months' notice to everyone involved, in a sequence of awkward and hellish conversations she hoped to never live through again. Through it all, she hadn't even missed a single day of work. It should've been a badge of honor, but she was learning the hard way that meeting every deadline and kicking ass in branding wasn't quite the tonic for filling the void.
The one thing Mira could count on, was that she'd officially survived the worst experience of her life. It was a small comfort, but it was something. On a less comforting note, another truth emerged as she sat under the warmth of the summer sun: it would take a lot more than one fabulous meal to feel happy again.
With full awareness of the rough road ahead, Mira opted for a few more minutes of people-watching, which if nothing else was a distracting bit of fun.
After paying for her meal, she strolled back along the designer brick road, armed with some courage and a deep-down hope that time would heal all things.
*
Before long, Mira had returned to the hotel lobby, right on schedule to collect her belongings and make her way to the airport. She wasn't looking forward to going back home and facing the rubble of her blown-up life, but she'd always have Paris—a morning's worth, anyway.
Mira thanked the concierge as he brought out her carry-on.
"Au revoir, bonne journée," he said, gesturing to the revolving doors.
That was strange. "And the car?"
His stare was long and his eyes devoid of emotion. "Car?"
"My itinerary says our company hired cars to take us to the airport."
"Ah yes," he said, finally understanding. "There were three cars, and they were occupied by your colleagues for the earlier departure."
She gasped. "They didn't save me a car?" She racked her brain for who could be responsible for this terrible mistake. Frank? Shirley?
Someone will die for this.
Before Mira could plot out her first-ever murder, Jake lumbered out of the elevator and headed her way. She'd almost forgotten he was part of this equation, and truthfully, had kind of hoped she wouldn't see him at all. Especially now, the way he looked so sweaty and worse for wear. He resembled a man who'd spent the night playing the sponge to every drop of booze in the vicinity.
Jake glanced from the concierge to Mira. "Car ready?"
"They only budgeted three cars," she said, "and our colleagues already used them."
Not having the time to wait for his reaction, Mira pulled out her phone and opened the ride share app. Her eyes bulged when she took in the details. "A hundred and twenty euros just to go to the airport?" She looked to the concierge for answers. "Doesn't that seem ridiculous?"
The concierge shrugged. "Surge pricing is common on the weekends; you know . . . everyone off to the airport for their little holidays in Lisbon or Biarritz." The last part of his sentence was coated in a palpable contempt.
"But it's Friday morning; don't people have to work?"
The concierge chuckled but said nothing.
"Let's just take it and expense it," Jake suggested.
She snorted. "You think Shirley will ever let that expense form make it to Frank's desk?" It was well known among Bloom employees that Shirley the overlord/office manager ate power trips for breakfast, up to and including vetoing expenses that would be standard practice in any other company. As VP of Marketing and Sales, Frank always managed to avoid getting involved, which made Mira all but certain there was blackmail in the mix.
Regardless of Frank and Shirley's weird dynamic, surge pricing wasn't the answer to Mira's problems. She turned and made her way to the revolving doors.
"Where are you going?" Jake asked.
She turned back. "I'm taking the R-E-R train."
Jake looked confused.
"It's a train that goes to the airport. Some of them are even express." Her schedule now faced the slight delay of getting to the airport by public transit, but she wasn't going to let it stress her out. She noticed that Jake hadn't moved. "Good luck with the surge pricing."
"I'll come with you!"
"Why?"
He headed for the doors. "I don't trust Shirley either."
*
The métro station was busy, a fact that instantly stressed Mira out. As she and Jake squeezed their way onto the train, she reminded herself it was only a one-stop subway ride of less than one minute, after which they would arrive at Châtelet, the station that not only connected to multiple métro lines, but to trains that traveled out of Paris. The RER B train passed through the station frequently, and it would get them to Charles de Gaulle Airport in plenty of time. She clutched the nearest metal pole and nodded to herself in affirmation.
"Why are you nodding to yourself?" Jake asked.
"I wasn't."
"You definitely were. That must've been some conversation you were having in your head."
"You're not as tall when your hair is messy," she said, while secretly deciding his bedhead looked good.
Mira's comment threw him off, just as she'd intended. He ran his fingers through the mess atop his head. "It's not that bad."
The train braked suddenly, propelling Jake's body toward Mira. The last time she'd been that close to a man was two weeks earlier, when a rollerblader in Riverside Park had stumbled over a rock and crashed into her. In this case, Jake's hovering presence made her heart rate immediately quicken.
"Sorry," he said, backing up, but studying her face like he was looking for an opening to flirt.
Unfortunately for Jake, flirting was not on Mira's agenda. It was getting to the airport that mattered. "I guess you didn't have time to shower this morning, huh?"
He flushed. "I mean . . . you know how it is."
"How what is?"
The train resumed its rumbling journey, and in those few seconds, his embarrassment gave way to his usual smarmy vibe. "I didn't make it back to the hotel until morning, if you know what I mean."
"Yes, I'm familiar with the construct of time."
He seemed annoyed that she wasn't dishing out high fives for his conquest with the waitress, but was he really surprised? Mira was hardly one of his pals. "It's good that you're wearing cologne," she added. "It pairs well with the vodka sweat seeping out of your pores."
Before he could register the weight of her insult, the train screeched into the station.
As they exited, Mira switched gears to navigation mode, carefully reading every overhead sign so she wouldn't make a wrong turn. Jake followed with a level of commitment on par with a boy who was afraid of losing his mother in the mall. She wondered if he was always like this, or if it was simply a result of being in a foreign city. Either way, she didn't mind, as having control of a situation was something she needed in her life.
After purchasing tickets and following the signs for the escalator, Mira noticed how packed it was. There was no choice but to merge into the crush of bodies, and right away Mira lost her bearings. Luckily, Jake stepped in and switched from follower to leader, using his stature and long arms to clear a small path for Mira. He even glanced back every few seconds to make sure he hadn't lost track of her. It was a small gesture, but a thoughtful one.
They boarded the escalator without any trouble, but once they got to the platform, everything changed for the worse.
The concierge had mentioned how Friday was busy for holiday goers, but in all the blogs she'd read about planning for a trip to Paris, she'd missed the advice on the best way to handle the hordes of frustrated people in her midst. Sweaty foreheads, aggressive elbows, bad breath . . . they were everywhere, and it felt like there was no escape.
Trying to keep her wits about her, Mira glanced up at the digital information board. The next train would be arriving in four minutes, and the following one eleven minutes after that.
"Okay," she said, her body now sandwiched between two
middle-aged women. "That seems normal."
A second later she heard a collective groan.
"Why are they doing that?" Jake asked, standing a few feet away, and somehow unfazed by the elderly man leaning into his body for support.
It took a few seconds for Mira to find the source of everyone's frustration; the next train would now be arriving in seventeen goddamn minutes.
"No!" she cried.
Second by second, the crowd started thinning out.
"Let's take a car," Jake suggested.
"But the surge pricing."
"We'll split it." His voice was a sea of calm in the increasingly stressful situation.
The information board soon provided another update; the next train would now be arriving in a mere eight minutes.
"Look," she said, "it'll be here soon. Let's just wait."
"Are you sure?"
The platform filled back up again, the presence of fellow travelers giving Mira comfort. "I'm sure; this many people can't be wrong, right?"
Eight minutes later, there was no train in sight, and the board now offered an entirely different update:
Annulé
The collective groan was even louder than the previous one, and even though Mira wasn't an expert in French, she could translate the word that spelled the kiss of death.
"How could they just cancel it?" She inadvertently locked eyes with a balding man in glasses. "Do you know why they would cancel it?"
"It's a strike," he explained, in a nonchalant tone that was deeply disturbing.
She scoffed. "You can't just go on strike without telling anyone."
The bespectacled man considered her argument. "There was some discussion on the news last week; we were wondering if it might happen soon."
"Some? Might?" Mira crossed her arms. "That's not how it works. You need to officially announce that there will be a strike, and then you need to schedule it for one minute after midnight."
"This is France," he said simply, before leaving her there in a stunned silence.
Jake came forward and steered her away from the platform. "My internet isn't good here; we need to get back upstairs to call the car."
Mira glanced at the clock on the train board. With a quick calculation, the panic set in. "Oh my God, we could actually miss this flight."
*
As the traffic crawled to a stop for the fifth time on Jake and Mira's way out of Paris, she felt the cold grip of reality.
If Mira missed her flight, she would need to book another one for later in the day at a price that was sure to be unsettling. She also knew that despite the strike being out of her control, there was every chance Shirley would reject the surge pricing if she felt like being evil, which, she usually did. Whether or not she'd support the overpriced flight cost was a whole other matter.
Normally, Mira wouldn't have been too stressed by unexpected costs, but after losing the deposit amounts on the banquet hall, the decor, and the catering after canceling the wedding, she wasn't exactly in a good financial situation.
"We're going to make it," Jake said, as if he'd somehow managed to read all her worried thoughts.
She gave him a long look. "Time is not a flat circle; you know that, right?"
His smile exuded a level of confidence that was somehow compelling. "We've got this."
*
When Mira and Jake finally arrived at the airport, she headed for the self-serve check-in kiosks, her mind flashing back to the night before when the online process hadn't worked. But the kiosks weren't working either.
"Goddammit."
Somehow, though, that wasn't even the worst of it.
"The check-in counter's closed," Jake said, all that earlier confidence now drained from his voice.
They were up
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