The café near the Sorbonne was packed with students. I sat at my usual corner table, laptop open, textbooks scattered around me, trying to finish an essay on Renaissance art history.
Vincent had helped me enroll for the spring semester. Pulled some strings, called in favors, made it possible for me to actually go to school in Paris. Real school. Classes I wanted to take. A life I chose.
My phone vibrated. Vincent.
Vincent: Dinner at 8? There's a new restaurant in the Marais I want to try.
Me: Perfect. I'll be done here by 7.
Vincent: How's the essay coming?
Me: Slowly. Turns out French art history professors are even more demanding than American ones.
Vincent: You'll be fine. You always are. Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I set down my phone and went back to my essay. Three months. T
