The Reeducation of Savannah McGuire - Page 22

“I love you, Savannah, so much. It’s so hard not to and, believe me, I tried.”

We hold each other and spend most of our time kissing until it’s time for her to go. I hold her hand as we walk through the airport, dragging her suitcase behind us. It’s only when she has her ticket in hand that I feel my throat closing up. I can’t cry in front of her. I just can’t.

Savannah falls into my arms when we reach security. Her body shakes with sobs. I hold her to me, trying to take away he

r pain but my own is just as present. I can’t help but wonder if she’d be like this at the end of the summer or if we’d be okay with saying goodbye. Something tells me things would be worse.

Savannah pulls me down for a kiss, this time her hands cupping my face. She peppers me with kisses, telling me that she loves me once again. Before I can reply, she’s running up to the TSA agent and checking in. All I can do is stand there and watch her disappear from me.

I move to the side where I can have a better view of her and wait for her to turn around. I tell myself if she does I’m going to ask her, no beg her, to stay… to stay and be with me.

Except she doesn’t turn around and I can no longer see her.

She’s gone.

Savannah

The lights, sounds and people are why I’m here. Seeing the pictures and videos from my mother’s trips over the past few years has been what’s encouraged my yearning to spend time in Paris. My mom has been able to travel since she took the job in New York and I’ve always wanted the same experience. The difference with me is I want to do mine before starting college or settling down. It’s important for me to be different from my mother and not follow her path in life. At times while growing up, I’ve felt she resents my dad for dying so young and leaving her as a single mom working her way through college. Now I’m just in her way. Instead of demanding I go to college and work toward a sustainable career, like a levelheaded parent would, she sends me away.

It’s been a month since I’ve left Tyler, the ranch and my aunt and uncle behind. Regret and longing weigh heavily on my mind, but I’m torn. I’m where I want to be, where I dreamed of being for so long, yet Paris doesn’t seem to fit me the way I thought it would. The shopping, the cafés, and the museums are everything I wanted, but I can’t help but feel that something’s missing. I don’t know if it’s Tyler, Aunt Sue, the ranch or even Jeremiah that’s missing. It may even be that I don’t fit anywhere, and this is my mind’s way of telling me to keep searching.

I miss Tyler, more than I thought I would. I constantly wonder what he’s doing and if he’s met someone. It’s not fair of me to hope that he hasn’t, but I’d like to think that he’s waiting. We haven’t spoken much. There have been a few emails here and there, but no declarations of undying love, except for the occasional ‘I love you’. I’m okay with that though because I’m here and he’s there… we’re on different paths, I guess you’d say. Mine is one of self-discovery of whom or what I’m supposed to be and his is taking over my uncle’s farm and hanging out with Jeremiah at Red’s. I can’t really fault him, there have been a few times since being here I dreamt of being back on the ranch, hearing Jeremiah tease me, or having one of my aunt’s freshly baked pies.

It’s the little things in life that you take for granted. Like the smell of clean linen when it’s hung on the line to dry, freshly cut grass, a horse giving you a kiss because you’ve cleaned his stall. I didn’t realize how much those simple acts meant to me until I returned to the bustling city.

Now my days are spent walking around and exploring. It was my mother’s grand idea to have me live with a colleague of hers, saying that it’s better than living in a hostel. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to be free and live sparingly. My new babysitter is Alexis. She’s single, has never been married and has no children. She’s a replica of my mother, working long hours and never home. On my first weekend here, she showed me around. We drove to the countryside, hit the high fashion boutiques, ate lunch on the Seine and I naively thought things would be different here. I had visions of us doing something together every weekend, even meeting for dinner at a small café. I was wrong and was pretty much told to fend for myself. It’s like living in New York, except I’m in Paris eating croissants instead of bagels and trying to understand a foreign language. It’s the place I’ve wanted to be for the past few years, yet I find myself wishing I were in Texas.

My days consist of being a tourist. I’ve told myself that I need to take advantage of my free time and if Alexis isn’t free, I’ll do it myself. On the list today is the Eiffel tower. Yesterday was the Louvre. Each day is something new because of the long lines to get in. I don’t have the money to pay for a guided tour, even though I’ve thought about hopping on one of those high school tours that are all over the place. I honestly don’t think anyone would know that I didn’t belong and I want the amenities that come with it. They aren’t waiting in hours of long lines or being shuffled off to the side so others can get through first.

I thought about calling my mom and asking for the money to take a guided tour, but that would only lead to an in-depth conversation about college. When am I applying and to where and if fashion is still my direction? College is only on my mind when I’m lying in bed at night, thinking about Tyler. He’s taken just enough schooling so he can run the ranch when my uncle hands it over to him. He likes things simple, whereas I want them complicated. For the past few years, my life has been a revolving door of high society drama. Who kissed whom? Who slept with so- and- so’s boyfriend. Or did you hear blah blah got caught snorting coke? It was as if the drama was needed like a double shot from Starbucks. Even though I haven’t spoken to any of my friends from New York since I left, it doesn’t mean I haven’t kept up on the soap opera known as Facebook. On there, I’m invisible, yet active with my status updates and ridiculous emojis as responses. It’s enough to keep the ties loose but with enough slack that I can pull away if need be.

With no funds for that guided tour, I’m stuck like the commoner I am, in line for the tower. I think I’ve moved about an inch in the past hour, waiting for my turn to go to the second floor. I’m hoping that by the time I get there, it’ll be dusk and I can just stand and watch the lights shine over the city. Being in Texas for a short time has made me realize how much I’ve not only missed, but also didn’t take advantage of, when I was living in the city. Sightseeing is something you do with your grandparents when they come to visit, not with your girlfriends, unless it’s walking down Fifth Avenue. I never went to the Empire State Building willingly and now I wish I had.

Using only my peripheral vision, I take a tiny step forward. My nose has been buried in my novel all morning and afternoon. I read more to pass the time. Tomorrow I’m taking the train to the country simply because I have yet another book to read. They’re crazy smut novels, only designed to increase my longing for Tyler. I don’t care though. I need them to pass the time. It’s either this or sitting at a café in a metal chair watching the women walk along the cobblestone roads in ridiculous heels. I’ve bellowed out a few laughs at their attempts to be sexy. Thing is, that was me a few months ago and it still would’ve been me had I not detoured to the ranch where I was reeducated on what it’s like to be a real girl, one that can dress-up and isn’t afraid to get dirty. It’s not the clothes that make you sexy it’s your attitude and zest for life. Your willingness to learn something new.

I’m bumped from behind and mutters of an apology are spoken in English. The man behind me is swearing profusely and trying to figure out how to tell me he’s sorry in French. I wish he wouldn’t. I close my book and turn around to tell him that it’s okay. A soft smile and a relieved look spread across his clean-shaven face. He’s wearing an Army green colored shirt and shorts. Thankfully his feet are covered in Nikes and not sandals with socks. I don’t know who came up with that fashion, but it needs to leave and never return. Ever!

“I’m sorry,” he says again with a grimace. I’m gathering he thinks I’m French, which is odd since we’re at one of the largest tourist traps in the world and I don’t believe Parisians even visit unless they’re doing the obligatory sightseeing trip with family.

“It’s no problem,” I say in perfect English. “I won’t be the last person you bump into while you’re visiting.”

“You speak English!” His excitement is catching and I find myself happily giggling. Something I haven’t done since I arrived. His hand runs over his hat giving me a glimpse of what I gather is a shaved head. It’s a gesture that reminds me not only of Tyler, but Jeremiah as well. You know you’re homesick when you’re missing someone like Jeremiah Moore.

“I’m Savannah,” I say as I reach out to shake his hand. I dropped the Vanna act because Tyler and Jeremiah showed me what an idiot that made me out to be. My mother and Alexis haven’t and both say it’s what I should go by if I plan to be successful in life.

“I’m Zach,” he offers as he slips his hand out of mine. “You’re American?”

“Born and bred. I’m on a life finding adventure, I guess you could say.” Zach is tall, muscular and very tan. Wherever he was before Paris has done wonders for his skin color. It compliments his brown eyes.

“I’m on leave.” He nods toward the line and after a quick glance I realize that I’ve held us up. The last thing I need is for the tourists to start a riot. Everyone needs to get to the second and third floors for their most magical proposals and if they’re not already nervous enough, me holding up the line isn’t helping.

“What branch?” Months ago I wouldn’t have known what to ask. Months ago I wouldn’t have asked. My friends would’ve been with me and on him like vultures. That’s how we are... or how they are. My position on romance and life has changed drastically and while I’m not perfect, I’m trying.

“Marines,” he offers, with another nod toward the moving line. I figure that’s my cue to move the line forward and maybe stop talking. I open my book and pick up from the top of the page.

“Where are you from?”

For the first time since arriving I’m about to engage in a conversation with someone who wants to know about me. Maybe I’m being presumptuous, but I have nothing to lose. I slip my closed book into my bag and angle myself just right so I can talk to Zach and watch the line.

Tags: Heidi McLaughlin Romance
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