And while I’m excited to see Oliver, I’m nervous, too. Haxahaven once felt like a prison, but of late, it’s become a sanctuary. I remember what happened the last time I longed for adventure. The last year has been spent wrapping myself in a cocoon, building a quiet life where I cause no more destruction. Am I ready to leave?

Maxine slumps into the front seat, and I situate myself amongst the luggage in the back, a solid, sharp-cornered reminder that this is real. We’re truly going.

Mabel is, blessedly, a much better driver than Maxine, and hurls us through the wide boulevards of Queens and across the bridge into Manhattan.

All the while, I try to quiet the riotous butterflies in my stomach. There’s the buzz of excitement, but there’s something else, too. Dread, probably. Fear, perhaps. I don’t want to admit that I’m still scared of Finn, but I am.

I knew what I was agreeing to when we planned this trip. I also knew it was my fault Maxine didn’t understand my reluctance at first.

“Oliver is studying at the Sorbonne. My family home is right across the river, and Maman has been begging me for a visit to Paris. Frankly, it doesn’t make sense for us not to go,” she insisted one night after dinner a few months ago, while we were playing cards in the drawing room. I was losing like usual, both at cards and the conversation.

“I don’t have the money,” I muttered half-heartedly, looking at the two of hearts in my hand rather than meeting her eye.

“You know that’s not an issue,” Maxine replied, laying down the hand-winning card.

“My classes…”

“Ann has said she’ll cover them. The tickets have been purchased. I’ll drag you there in my trunk if I have to.”

I knew she wasn’t bluffing. It wasn’t Maxine’s way, in cards or in life. And so the plans were made. My cases were packed.

I never told my friends or Oliver of Finn’s letter, the one that arrived one year ago, currently lying hidden under piles of documents in my desk drawer. Soon, Frances, we will be together again, he promised. Together in Europe.

In the moment, I was ashamed of how frightened I was. Then, it was easier to pretend he didn’t exist at all. We never spoke of him, as if by rule.

But there’s a knot in my chest. It’s been there since the letter arrived, and today it’s squeezing tighter.

There have been no more letters. Maybe I’ve gotten lucky and he’s forgotten about me. Perhaps he’s found some other girl to dream about.

Am I a fool for bringing myself across the ocean to him, or is it brave to not let fear control me?