She signaled the flight attendant, who brought us champagne in glass flutes a few minutes later. Trying not to gulp, I imbibed the fizzy golden liquid quickly, and my glass was refilled just as fast. Gradually, a warm buzz replaced the clammy anxiety.
“First time to Paris?”
I nodded. “Yes. It was…a gift. The trip was a gift.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Tucker. “I’m just a little unsure of myself, traveling alone.”
“What a wonderful gift! I’m Anneke, by the way.”
“Mia.”
“Nice to meet you, Mia. And don’t be scared; I travel alone quite often. I think every woman should take a trip just for herself, by herself, at least once in her lifetime. Just be careful and smart and enjoy yourself.” Her smile widened. “Paris is magical.”
“Good.” I swallowed some more champagne. “I could use a little magic.”
#
Arriving with a hangover was so not on the Paris list.
Neither was an argument with my mother.
She picked up the phone on the first ring and shrieked hello. “Mia? Is that you? What’s wrong? Are you OK?” She thought my decision to travel to Europe by myself was ludicrous and she was positive I was going to be attacked, kidnapped, and sold into sex slavery.
I held the phone away from my ear. “I’m fine, Mom. You said to call when I arrived, and I did.”
“You don’t sound fine at all.”
“I’m just tired, OK? I’m tired and hungry and I have to unpack.” And cry. There was definitely crying ahead. Maybe throwing things.
“How’s the room?”
I looked around the gorgeously appointed Junior Deluxe Suite at the Plaza Athenee. Tucker knew how to travel in style, I’ll say that much. The king-sized bed was laden with pillows, the seating area was spacious and elegant with its Louis XIV style furniture, and the view into the quiet inner courtyard was charming. Goddamn birds were chirping right outside the window.
In French, no less. C’est magni-fucking-fique.
“The room’s amazing. But Mom, I have to go, OK? I’m exhausted.”
“OK, darling. But don’t take a nap, remember, otherwise your body won’t adjust to the time difference and you’ll be miserable for days. I learned that lesson the hard way. And I don’t think you should go wandering the streets alone at night so maybe do some sight-seeing now. Or go get a massage at the spa or something. You sound so tense.”
My head threatened to burst. I couldn’t even speak. Stop talking, Mother.
She sighed. “This was a bad idea. You’re not well. I wish you’d have let me come with you. Maybe I should meet you in Paris. We can do some shopping, or—”
I found my voice, fast. “NO! No, Mom. I’m fine. Seriously.”
“Well, I just don’t feel right about this.”
I forced myself to sound cheerful. “Listen, the sun is shining, my suite is beautiful, and I can even see the Eiffel Tower out my window,” I lied. “I’m dying to get out in the air. I’m going to unpack a few things and take a stroll.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. And I need the alone time, OK? So I’m not going to be calling you every five minutes.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. Once a day is fine.”
I gritted my teeth. “Fine. Once a day.”
“I’m just worried about you, Mia. You’ve never traveled this far alone before. You’ve always had me or the girls or Tucker with you. And you’re not in your right frame of mind, either. Women make poor decisions when they’re stressed and heartbroken. Did you pack those pills I gave you?”
“I have them, Mom.” No sense telling her I planned on self-medicating with wine, not Prozac. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“All right. Love you.”
“Love you too.
Finally, we said goodbye and I flopped in a heap on the bed. I’d promised Coco and Erin I’d call one of them and let them know I’d arrived without mishap but I didn’t think I could hold back tears if I heard their voices. Jet lag and loneliness overwhelmed me, and my eyes filled. This was not the way I’d planned to start off my trip, with a pounding headache and a sinking feeling that coming here by myself was a mistake. I was too tired to unpack my bags, too cranky to pull out my Paris guidebooks and get excited, and too miserable to write in the travel journal Coco and Erin had given me.
Everywhere I looked there were reminders that this was supposed to be a romantic trip for two: the twin closets, the bottle of champagne and two glasses on the desk, the vase of beautiful peach roses on the coffee table. My chest tightened at the sight of those flowers as I recalled the 1500 Felicity roses that had been sacrificed for my nonexistent wedding.
Even the incredible white marble bathroom depressed me with its fluffy his and hers robes and side-by-side sinks in the vanity. I returned to the bed, crawled in, and lay my cheek on a striped satin pillow. My eyelids felt heavier than my suitcase. I wanted a nap, and goddammit, I was going to take a nap, no matter what my mother said about jet lag. As I drifted off to sleep, I made a list.
Things and People That Can Fuck Off
1) Jet Lag, for obvious reasons.
2) Anneke, for suggesting champagne on the flight.
3) Air France, for turbulence that made me drink suggested champagne.
4) My mother, for telling me to take drugs instead of a nap.