Wow. When he says it like that, it sounds awful. But Max is a long-time friend. We’ve been friends for years, despite the differences we had in the past.
I hear John huffing on his end of the phone. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Going back to my room to pack.”
“John, you cannot come to Paris. You have a competition.” I try keeping my voice calm, hoping it’ll calm him.
“I don’t give a damn about the competition! My sick wife is in Paris. She’s not safe!”
“I’m perfectly fine, John!” I snap, and I don’t intend for my voice to be so loud, but it is, and I can’t help it. “I’m fine and will be seeing a doctor every single day while I’m here who will make sure I’m alright. I will sightsee, I will take my time, I will live in this moment because, damn it, I deserve it, okay? I’m sorry that I can’t live in this moment with you, but this was a once in a lifetime opportunity for me, John. You wouldn’t have taken me to Paris in the condition I’m in—I know you. You wouldn’t have dared, but Max was willing to take the risk so that I could live for once.” I choke on a sob and close my eyes, but it does nothing to mask the pain, or stop the tears from falling.
“You’re sick, Shannon. This is not good for you and you know it,” John says, but his voice isn’t as strong as it was before. “I—I only want the best for you.”
“Well if you want the best for me, you’ll let me enjoy my time here. You’ll hold back your anger for now and let me have this. You can yell at me all you want when I’m back home, but I told you I need this, so please, John. Let me have it.”
He makes a noise and I can tell he’s hesitating on what to say next. I sit in the cushioned chair in the corner, dropping my face into one of my palms.
“If something happens to you…”
“Nothing will happen to me,” I say back.
“I don’t know that.”
“I don’t either, but I believe that nothing will. I believe that I will come back home to you.”
“Fuck, Shannon,” he groans, and I hear the anguish in his voice. This is cutting my husband deep.
“I’m sorry, John,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say anything to that. I hear whimsical noises in his background and men chatting. Someone pounds on my door, startling me, and I look up at it.
“Open up, Shakes! I’m hungry!”
“Who is that?” John murmurs.
“Max. He wants to take me to get something to eat.”
John sighs. Nothing more.
“I’ll call you in a few hours, okay? Just please don’t worry—I mean, you can worry, but please know that I am okay and I am being as careful as I possibly can.”
“Yeah, Shannon. Okay.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Yeah. Love you.”
He hangs up and I lower the phone as it beeps, staring down at my screensaver—a photo of John and me kissing on our honeymoon cruise, fireworks going off behind us. Right before everything went to shit.
The door clicks and in walks Max with his key in hand. “See, I knew these connecting rooms would come in handy.”
“I’m not hungry right now,” I mutter, avoiding his eyes.
“Well, you have to eat,” Max says, exasperated with me already. “Come on. There’s a café right downstairs. They’ve been rated five stars. You’ll love it. My treat.”
I climb off of the bed and go to my suitcase. I feel terrible for being here—guilty, even. Am I selfish for coming here? Am I wrong for doing this?
“Give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Okay.” Max clearly takes my mood into consideration because when I look over my shoulder, he’s gone. I go to the bathroom, which is made mostly of white marble, and get dressed. When I’m freshened up, I walk out and Max rounds the corner, looking me over in my jeans and yellow tank top.
“I was thinking we could make a little stop after we eat,” Max offers. “Unless you’re too tired.”
“No. I’m okay. A quick trip sounds nice.”
“Okay, good.” He smiles way too hard, like a child with a secret. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“Okay, but you should know I’m really not that hungry, Max.” I put on my shoes, then grab my jetpack, room key, and cellphone.
“Okay, that’s fine. Just chill with me while I grab a bite then because I’m starving.”
“Sure.” I smile, leaving the room with him and heading for the elevator. Silence surrounds us a moment.
“You talked to John, I presume?” Max asks when we’re in the elevator.
“Yeah. He’s not happy.”
“Of course, he isn’t. He’s worried.”
“I know.”
Max is quiet again, looking down at the tips of his basketball shoes. “Well, like I said before, don’t let him change your mind about this. You’re here now, living the dream. You might as well enjoy it, right?”