Antoine and I are touristing Les Jardins d’Tuileries in Paris. Some Moon flowers are in bloom, others are tall white, ready to open. A bee lands on the tip and crawls into the still closed bloom as if it was invited. Like a virgin being slowly entered. I am amazed that the bee lounges there. Maybe it feels welcomed?
Like I do in Paris with my French boyfriend, Antoine. I live in America, and am a guest here for 2 weeks, despite my girlfriend status of four months now. We met as he was finishing his masters degree at Cornell University.
The day before I arrived he signed a lease for a room in a shared house located in a suburb of Paris called Nogent. Perfect timing.
Like while sitting on a bench within the view of the Arc d’Triomphe, each eating our salmon, tomato, lettuce baguette sandwiches. I ask, “Would you like the last bite?” He replies: “Don’t you want it?” I look into his deep brown eyes and say: “Notice what you just did. You didn’t answer my question.”
Antoine searches his acute awareness to say, “I’m being the pleaser again. I hate it.”
“Yes, I want you to answer my question. Please yourself!”
Antoine emphatically replies, “I need to please myself.”
“You are not my guest, you’re my boyfriend. I am offering you my last bite because I am full of love for you!”