Someday in Paris by Olivia Lara

‘How are things with you, darling?’ I ask as we get close to Reims. The plan is to drop her off to meet some friends at the university in Reims while I go to Paris. Every year, on 9 December, I go to Paris no matter what.

‘Fine,’ she says, too busy with her phone to look at me.

‘Anything interesting happening?’

‘No, not really.’

As usual. Either Valerie has a painfully dull life or a secret one.

‘Ugh, perfect,’ she scoffs and throws the phone in her bag. Then she picks it up again like she can’t decide what to do.

‘What’s wrong?’

Silence.

‘It might help if you talk about it,’ I say.

‘It’s nothing really. Just this guy.’

‘What guy?’

I think I already know the answer.

‘Someone I met online. We’ve been chatting every day for a while now, but for the last two days, he’s been completely ignoring me. No email, no text, nothing. I’m so naïve. It’s my fault, really, for getting worked up about a man I’ve never even seen. Isn’t it stupid?’

I smile. No, no, it’s not. Not at all.

‘He’s clearly ghosting me. This is so embarrassing.’

‘What does ghosting mean?’ I ask.

‘Ghosting? It’s when someone disappears without an explanation. I’ve sent him tons of messages since Friday and nothing. Look,’ she says, shoving the phone in my face.

‘Can’t see while I’m driving, darling,’ I say calmly.

She seems frustrated with me. ‘Anyway, my friends say he’s a catfish; otherwise, why wouldn’t he talk on the phone or Skype?’

‘First ghosts, now catfish. Everything used to be much easier when I was your age.’

‘A catfish is someone who pretends to be someone else online,’ she says.

I don’t see the connection between that and a catfish, but what do I know?

‘Online as in on the internet?’

She laughs again. ‘Everyone is on Facebook and Twitter these days. He could very well be a twelve-year-old Parisian having fun with his playmates.’

‘As opposed to?’

‘A twenty-six-year-old actor on a movie set in Sydney.’

Today is probably not the day I tell her about the dreams. Even to me, an actor who avoids showing his face seems fishy.

‘He won’t even send me a photo. All the signs are there. Why did I even think there could be something between us? This whole thing is stressing me out. I can’t eat. And ever since he stopped responding I’ve been having the strangest dreams.’

‘What are the dreams about?’ I ask. A dream can be just a dream. Even in our family.

‘Don’t know. Stupid stuff.’

‘Please, tell me.’

‘Why?’

‘Please, Valerie.’

She looks out the car window. ‘I dreamed about a man with a gun. He was pointing it at me, and I was scared, terrified. But the strange thing is, although it was me in the dream, it wasn’t me. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s as if I saw it through someone else’s eyes.’