I was romanced by a young guy in France (pt. 3)

let's say au revoir to this story!

I am finally wrapping up this essay! If you haven’t read the first two parts, you can do so here:

i was romanced by a young guy in France (pt 2)

i was romanced by a young guy in France (pt 1)

And if you want to know how it truly ended and why (because when I initially wrote this piece, I didn’t know what was really happening behind the scenes) you can read this essay afterwards:

Please Don’t Text Me “Good Morning”

There is even more tea to spill when it comes to this story, and maybe at another time I will write about it. For now, you can read this essay and get the gist:

men always come back

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Dieter is coming to Paris. It was supposed to be a surprise. However, after asking if I arrived in Paris safely, I suspected something was up when he asked me which hotel I was staying at.

“Why do you ask?” I texted back.

“No reason.”

Right, I thought. Eventually I got it out of Dieter that, yes, he is indeed on his way to Paris to see me. It’s a six-and-a-half hour drive. One way.

I’m not happy or even flattered to hear this news; I’m actually annoyed. “Dieter, I wish you would’ve told me. I’m tired and I have a long flight tomorrow.”

“You can sleep on the plane,” he says to me.

When I tell my new friend Hannah about Dieter’s plan, her immediate response is: “OMG how sweet!! How romantic!!!”

Mine is: “OMG am I being love bombed?”

After all, I write about this stuff for a living. I know the signs. Suddenly I am picking apart Dieter’s actions and chalking it up as textbook love bomber behaviour.

being alone in Paris is actually peace

He bought me cookies and wrote me a love letter?! COME ON! I knew this was too good to be true, I tell myself.

“I’m going to call you,” Hannah says to me.

Hannah and I became fast friends at the retreat because among the many things we share in common – a love for astrology and writing– we both chase men who are hard to catch and chase away men who want to be caught. She is also dealing with her own relationship woes at the moment with a man who is being avoidant.

Within a few minutes, she video calls me from her apartment in Barcelona and after we dissect and analyze our current situations, she asks me: “Brianne, do you think we are the ones who are hot and cold?”

Her question hits me square in the face, like I’m being forced to look at my reflection in one of those terrifying magnifying mirrors at the dermatologist’s office that exposes every gross blackhead and pitted acne scar on what you thought was a decent complexion. You can’t deny what you see because it’s right there. It’s now so obvious you wonder why you didn’t notice it before.