But being there in the café with him, it was like…well, it was like no time had gone by. Except, of course, a lot of time had gone by. Only in the best way, you know? Like, even though I might have sounded stupid on the tape (I just played it back. I sounded like a complete idiot), I didn’t feel stupid while I was saying it—not the way I used to when I was younger around Michael. I think it’s because…well, a lot of stuff has happened since I was last in Michael’s company, and I just feel more confident about things (okay, well…about men) than I used to. Recent hug-related freak-out aside.
For instance—now that I played the tape back, I realize Michael was kind of flirting with me! Just a little.
But that’s okay. It’s more than okay, actually.
Oh, no. Did I just write that?
Not that it matters, because I’m pretty sure he thinks the only reason I was there was because I’m doing an article for the Atom (although some reporter I am, since I didn’t even ask him all my questions, once I got so preoccupied wrestling him over his phone).
Wrestling! In a restaurant! Like a seven-year-old! Great. When am I ever going to learn to act like a grown-up? I really thought I’d reached the point of being able to maintain a somewhat dignified demeanor in a public place.
And then I wrestled my ex-boyfriend in a café over his iPhone! And spilled hot chocolate over him!
Then I smelled him.
I think I lost one of my chandelier earrings, too.
Thank God no paparazzi showed to get photos of that.
Which is kind of odd, if you think about it. That none of them was around, since they seem to show up everywhere else I go.
Whatever.
Anyway, I guess it was…sweet? Michael, I mean, and his reaction to my telling him I wrote a romance novel. Even though I completely regret sending it to him.
He said he’s going to read it! Tonight!
Of course, J.P. said the same thing. But J.P. also told me I shouldn’t sell myself short. Michael didn’t say anything like that.
Then again, Michael’s not my boyfriend. He doesn’t have my best interests at heart the way J.P. does.
It was just so adorable how he said I was the inspiration for his inventing the CardioArm, though. Even if that was ages ago, and before we broke up.
He also said it was nice of me to let bygones be bygones with Lilly. He obviously doesn’t know the truth. I mean that I’m not the one who’s been holding a grudge all this time, but—
Oh, no. Grandmère’s calling. I’m going to pick up, because I have a few things I want to say to her.
“Amelia?” Grandmère sounds like she’s in a tunnel. I hear blow-drying in the background, though, so I know it’s only because she’s getting her hair done. “Where are you? Why aren’t you answering any of my e-mails?”
“I have a better question for you, Grandmère. Why did you invite my ex-boyfriend and his family to my birthday party tomorrow night? And you better not say it’s to butter him up so I can ask him for a CardioArm, because—”
“Well, of course that’s why, Amelia,” Grandmère says. I hear a slapping noise, and then she says, “Stop that, Paolo. I said not so much hair spray.” To me she says, in a louder voice, “Amelia? Are you still there?”
Really, nothing she says or does should surprise me anymore. And yet, it does. Continuously.
“Grandmère,” I say. I’m mad. Really. This isn’t just any ex-boyfriend. It’s Michael. “You can’t do this. You can’t use people like this.”
“Amelia, don’t be stupid. You want your father to win the election, don’t you? We need one of those arm contraptions. As I think I told you. If you had done what I asked you and requested one from him, I wouldn’t have had to send him and that horrible sister of his an invitation, and you wouldn’t be placed in the awkward position of having to entertain your former paramour at your birthday soiree tomorrow night in front of your current paramour. Which I admit will be tricky…”
“Former—” I sputter. There’s a pack of pubescent boys skateboarding nearby. I watch as one of them wipes out on a cement mound placed in the park for this purpose. I know exactly how he feels. “Grandmère, Michael was not my paramour. That word suggests that we were lovers, and we were not—”
“Paolo, I told you, not so much hair spray. Are you trying to gas me? Just look at poor Rommel, he’s practically hyperventilating, his lung capacity isn’t the same as a human’s, you know!” Grandmère’s voice is fading in and out. “Now, Mia, about your gown for tomorrow night. Chanel will be delivering it in the morning. Kindly let your mother know someone needs to be at your flat to receive it. This means your mother will have to stay home from her little art studio for once. Do you think she can handle that, or is it too much responsibility? Never mind, I already know the answer to that question—”
My call-waiting is going off. It’s Tina!
“Grandmère. This isn’t over,” I inform her. “But I’m going now—”
“Don’t you dare disconnect me, young lady. We haven’t spoken about what we’re going to do if the Domina Rei make an offer of membership to you tomorrow, as you know they’re likely to. You—”