She nodded triumphantly. “Somebody sent a pack to a friend I saw when I was in Germany last month. So I begged him to let me have some, and I saved them for you! Happy Birthday!”

We went up in the hot air balloon and floated over Paris. It was attached, so we couldn’t float far, but we could gaze at the Tour Eiffel from her level and look down at the city everyone but me was about to leave.

My heart hurt. This was the end of an era and the beginning of another, and I was going into it all alone. Almost all alone. Sébastien would be there.

But what did he know about living in a strange country for love? He had been born in a hospital only a couple of blocks from his current apartment. He had his friends, a solid wall of support around him.

“You have my friends, too,” he protested, hauling my suitcases over to the new room for me. “They like you.”

I shook my head. “It’s not the same.” They barely knew me. I barely knew them. They were his friends and probably secretly preferred Claire anyway. I was entirely dependent on him in too many ways.

“I don’t see why you have to take this room,” he said, flexing his arms after he set my suitcases down in the new place. It was about the size of my old room, but with hardwood floors. And, of course, totally empty of my experiences, which were all packed up now in my suitcases. I felt that vast sense of emptiness I always get when arriving in a hotel. “You should just stay at my place.”

“We’d kill each other sharing your place. It’s too small.” Not to mention the cat’s predilection for peeing everywhere. “No couple could survive that.”

“We’re just going to spend all our time in the Métro going back and forth to see each other,” he protested. “You’re going to be spending most nights at my place anyway. Right? This is silly.”

“This way we’ll each have our space.” And I would keep this last lonely vestige of independence.

He rolled his eyes and pulled something out of his shirt pocket to hand to me. It was a tiny, handmade finger puppet he’d spotted in a shop window when passing through the Marais. He liked to bring presents I couldn’t predict.

“Did I tell you?” he said. “I’ve got a job offer at the best graphic arts firm in Paris. And a couple of others, but I decided to go with this one. It’s small, but it’s the best, and I’ll be able to learn a lot. It starts August seventeenth.”