The Goldfinch

The Goldfinch

The words covered in plastic danced between soft yellow splotches covering the page from the candles lining tables and held in sconces. Amelia’s eyes flickered with hope as she wove between the wobbling letters on a menu she had read time and time again. She knew every dish, the monthly specials memorized.

  Amelia watched out of arched windows as the sky faded from blue, blushing clouds of pinks and oranges covering the sky like a curtain, beckoning the night to take the stage. She picked at the corner of her fingernail, a nervous habit she could never seem to kick. Her foot tapped anxiously on well worn tile floors covered by the long table cloth. Amelia sighed; she was growing more impatient by the second. 

She reached into her purse for her phone, bringing it out only to cringe at the bright screen that seemed to bring light to the entire restaurant. She felt hands brush her shoulders, a shiver of surprise coursing quickly through her body. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled warmly greeting her fiancé. He leant down to kiss her quickly before she spoke. “You’re late” she teased, motioning for Emile to sit. He chuckled softly, pulling his own chair back. “My love, you are simply early” he replied, words drowning in a thick French accent. 

They looked at each other, indulging in a perfect moment in the soft lit dining room now dimmed further by the setted sun. Amelia watched in perfect silence as the wine poured into their glasses. It was nights like these that she cherished. This restaurant, The Goldfinch, held so much more than fine dining. It was where they had shared their first kiss, first ‘I love you’ over a slice of cake, and damn near every date night since then. No matter where they were in the world, The Goldfinch was where all of the special moments for Amelia and Emile were. Emile cleared his throat, eyes looking just slightly away from Amelia. He knew the look on her face, the hope in her eyes for another perfect night and the smile that meant contentedness. He would hate to break the bubble, but he also knew that bubbles were made to pop and that hope was such a fragile thing to hold onto.

He tugged at his ring and twisted his cufflinks before speaking. “My love, what do you think of Paris?” His tone was careful, nervous. 

Amelia looked at him, head cocked in confusion. Emile was not one to be nervous by any stretch. “Well, I certainly admire the city and I enjoyed it when we visited, although I do think three weeks was all I needed. Why do you ask?”

“Well, Jean Luc has offered me a position to teach at Sorbonne University. He will need an answer by the end of tomorrow night. It is a wonderful opportunity to teach the future of France. You know not many get the privilege to teach at this caliber” 

“The Sorbonne? We would have to move.” Amelia replied, stress furrowing her brow. 

“Yes, we would. But my love, it would be a beautiful opportunity with a beautiful woman by my side” he took her hands, trying to keep excitement in his voice.

“Do you not enjoy your life here? Do you not enjoy teaching at Columbia? Do you not enjoy New York?” 

“I like it fine Amelia, but-’

Amelia interrupted him, taking her hands out of his. “But what?” tears welled in her eyes. “We have moved across the world for you. First it was England so you could finish your PhD, then Germany because you said they had the best universities for you to start your career, and then it was Australia because Germany was too cold, and of course there was Japan because Australia was too hot and the spiders were too big. And finally Emile; finally we were here in New York. You proposed to me here, or have you forgotten already” she lifted her hand, showing her ring; “we were supposed to settle down here and now you want to move again to Paris? When does it end, when will it be enough for you? You have taught at this caliber for your entire career. It’s unheard of and yet you still have. So yes, you are right. Not many get the privilege, but you have. Hell, you even have that privilege right now.” Amelia blinked back tears, feeling a few rogue drops spill onto her cheeks.

“Why is it so hard for you to want me to be happy?” he replied, tone seething with resentment. Emile was always quick to upset, but the disgust bubbling in his chest rivaled his anger. His head turned away from her “I can’t even look at you right now. If I was such a great burden for you then why did you come with me? I never begged you to follow me, you came all on your own'' Emile set his glass down hard causing the flatware to sing back at him as it clattered against the table. “And if we’re being so honest, you have always held me back Amelia. You could never just let me live. You would never let things go. God, even now you pick at your fingers. You can’t let an old habit go and you couldn’t let me go, could you.” 

“Then go” replied Amelia, head hung low staring at her untouched entree. She spoke so softly she could barely even hear herself.

“Excuse me?” huffed Emile.

“Then go” she repeated, voice shaking. “What has happened to you Emile that you would speak to me like this?” she reached out to him but he recoiled, forcing Amelia to take her hand back. 

The bustling restaurant felt deafening to Amelia as she looked up to Emile, his head still turned away from hers. He did not answer but still, he stayed. Hope fluttered in her chest, just a whisper behind the unsureness and love she still held, but still it was there. The silence between them was heavy and charged with tension. Amelia missed how it all felt before Emile had even spoken at all, how picture-perfect it all seemed. She wished she could return to that snapshot where they could do nothing but look at each other with adoring love. Now they couldn’t even look in the other’s direction without tears and speechlessness in the horror of their argument. Unanswered questions of love and marriage hung in the air.

Emile pushed his chair back and Amelia’s breath caught, becoming shallow and anxious. “Don’t” she pleaded, choking on her whispered words.

“I’m not sure why you even wanted to come here tonight,” Emile said, checking his watch. “But it’s late, and I should go now. I have a flight to book.” 

“You’re leaving, then. Is this it?”

He walked over to Amelia, kissing her once on the forehead. “Goodbye, Amelia” was all he said before leaving her alone at the table.

Amelia sat alone in shock, head held in her hands allowing the tears to fall freely now. She glanced up with one last flicker of hope, one last chance for him to come back; but instead all she saw was an empty chair staring back at her. She reached tear stained fingers into her purse, unwrapping the gift she had meant to give to Emile. The tears came heavier now, paper ripping to shreds in her hands around the positive pregnancy test and card she used to be so excited about. She set it down and stood, leaving cash with the check. As Amelia turned away from the table she couldn’t help but see the future she was walking away from; the future she would never have. For just a moment she allowed the screen of her phone to light up her face. She considered it, a life in Paris but she knew it was futile. It was never a life she could find happiness within. And above all else, she knew Emile would never love her more than the idea of success.