I find hard to believe is you didn’t bang one of those cute French dudes while you were living there.’
‘Yeah? Well, maybe I’m paying for it now.’
‘I’m sure there were cuties in Thailand.’
My nose wrinkles immediately. ‘Did you not hear me say how awful those backpacker hostels are? Nothing dampens a girl’s libido like a potential lover whispering, do you want to come back to my room. I’ve got the bottom bunk.’ Emma begins to snigger manically. ‘Besides, most of the guys I’ve met over the past few months were barely shaving. And a lot of them were barely bathing.’
‘Eww. While I’m a fan of a little stubble, not bathing would be a hard limit for me.’
‘I meant they weren’t shaving because they were babies, mostly doing the gap year thing. Come to think of it, they mostly smelled like teenagers, too. Honestly, I felt like an old grandma.’
‘And you don’t want a boy toy tonight, hence the swanky-ass hotel.’
‘Yep.’
‘And you think you’ll find a hot guy—’
‘In a suit,’ I qualify from my wish list.
‘For a one-night stand.’ He pauses. ‘That so doesn’t sound like you.’
‘Maybe that’s the whole point.’ The whole point of travelling. ‘And somewhere like the Harbour Park Regency isn’t likely to be full of unwashed twenty-year-olds with scraggly facial hair and dreadlocks. Not at four hundred bucks a night.’ A whistle sounds down the line. ‘I’m expecting a different kind of clientele. Suits, square jaws, and hundred-dollar haircuts. A Chris Hemsworth lookalike would be awesome, or even a Liam, and if he has an Aussie accent, all the better.’
‘Well, I suppose it is your birthday,’ she asserts, amused.
‘Exactly. And I’m gonna treat myself. I’m tired of men-boys in dusty boots and grimy T-shirts.’
‘So how are you going to land this Aussie stud? Just walk up to him and ask if he’d like to didgeridoo you?’
I groan as though I’m in physical pain from the pun. ‘No, I’m just going to sit in a nice hotel bar with a nice glass of wine and wait for some nice company to sit next to me, then we’ll have a very nice conversation before—’
‘You leave for your room to have very nasty sex. It sounds like you’ve got it all planned,’ she adds, still sounding amused.
‘Sure have!’
Yet the truthful answer is no, not at all. Up until a year ago, I’d lived a very predictable life. I had a good job teaching third grade in my Midwestern hometown, and I was dating a nice man. A very nice man—a man I’d had birthday sex with three times! That’s not to say we had sex three times on one birthday. Because wouldn’t that have been something. No. We’d been dating for over three years. Three birthdays, sex on each one. And maybe it wasn’t awesome birthday sex, but it was nice enough. I’d begun to see the path of my life mapped out before me, and those prospects were just frightening. I suppose Todd, my then boyfriend, must’ve been feeling the same because when I sat him down one Friday evening to talk with him about it, he was a lot less upset than I’d initially feared. A lot less upset. I’d worried it might come down to following my heart or breaking his, but it didn’t. Truthfully, I think he might’ve been relieved. So the following Monday, I’d resigned from my job, effective the end of the school year, and condensed my life to the size of a backpack.
‘Well, my friend, here’s to you unwrapping one fine birthday gift tonight and the lightest, tastiest macarons you’ve ever tasted to look forward to tomorrow.’
‘La vie est faite de petit bonheurs,’ I say with a sigh that doesn’t mask my terrible French accent. Oh, and would you look at that—the elevator. I must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere because I feel like I’ve walked the whole floor looking for it.
‘You do know what that means,’ Emma chides.
‘Come on, my French isn’t that bad. Life is made for small pleasures,’ I add in translation, though not for her benefit. Emma’s French is much better than mine, even if I did spend the first four months of my adventures working in Paris.
‘Your accent has improved, even if your sentiments are a little off.’
‘What do you mean?’ Hitching my shoulder, I trap my phone between it and my ear as I press the call button before proceeding to search through my purse for my lipstick. Peach, not harlot red, if you’re interested.
‘Surely the birthday