Lahat ng Kabanata ng A Sketch Away From Perfect: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

​​*Harper*It’s just past three A.M. when Melody’s baby girl finally comes into the world. It’s sort of a terrifying event. I hold Melody’s hand as she screams her lungs out and cries that she can’t take any more pain. For some stupid reason, she’d decided she was too strong for pain meds.I do what I can to help. I hold her hand and wipe her head and tell her everything is going to be okay, even though I don’t know if that’s remotely true. But when her daughter comes into the world, screaming almost as loud as Melody, I am in awe.She’s absolutely beautiful.She’s all red and scrunched up and still covered in goopy stuff, but she’s breathtakingly beautiful. Her lungs are strong, pushing out her cries for the whole world to hear. Already, she’s showing that she’s a force to be reckoned with, just like her mother.In the silence that follows, a strange peace descends on all of us. I feel a lump rise in my throat as I watch Melody cradle her daughter for the first time. She’s trembling,

*Harper*Summer flies by fast and hectic, like a tornado. Every morning I wake up with a new mental checklist: Make sure my passport is updated, work on my lesson plans, respond to the school about my apartment. Some days my list includes helping Melody, sending her articles on breast pumps, watching the baby so she can do a yoga class. I live in constant motion, and still it feels like I’m always behind.Even so, I’m happier than I’ve ever been, and I’m not even in Paris yet. I’m emotional all the time, and exhausted, and usually overstimulated, but still, I’m happy.May is such an incredible baby, and I love spending time with her. Every time I hold her and get a hit of her baby smell, my heart melts a little more. I’m still worried about Mel, but I remind myself that I have to focus on my own life and leave her life to her. It’s hard, but I think she’s starting to get the hang of things, and that helps me let go.I split myself like a calendar, trying to give everyone what they nee

*Harper*I’m so giddy as I walk to my classroom for my first ever session, I can almost hear it in the bright way my heels clack against the old tiles. I open the door to find my students already assembled, some chatting with each other, while others stare seriously at their hands while they wait for class to start. I try not to be intimidated by how effortlessly cool they all look. They’re all so Parisian. There’s no other way to put it.They all seem so unbothered by anything going on around them, so I try to employ the same strategy. I go to my desk and begin introductions. I’m pleased to find that a handful of my students are international, so maybe I’m not the only one who’s just pretending to be unbothered.We spend a good portion of the class going over the syllabus before I start my first lecture. They listen intently and engage with the material, which is the best result I could have possibly asked for.But, best of all, they ask incredibly intelligent questions. They seem e

*Rafe*The second I step off the plane, my heart starts racing like I’m about to walk into the biggest game of my life. I don’t even care that I’m running on three hours of sleep and a terrible in-flight meal. I’m in Paris. I’m going to see Harper for the first time in weeks.Even though we talk all the time, and I see her face every day on my phone screen, nothing compares to being in the same place. It’s been so much harder than when I was in California.The airport is loud and chaotic. People are moving in every direction, announcements are echoing loudly overhead, but all of that fades the second I spot her. She’s standing just past the gate, looking straight at me with a soft smile playing on her lips. Her hair’s loose and a little wavy, tucked behind one ear, and she’s wearing a pale blue sweater that makes her eyes look like the sky cracked open. Paris suits her. She looks like she belongs here.I don’t even bother trying to play it cool. I drop my bag and take the last few s

*Harper*The afternoon sunlight filters through the tall windows of the staff break room, casting a soft golden glow over the whole room. Lucas is leaning against the counter near the espresso machine, one hand curled around a tiny porcelain cup of strong black coffee, the other tucked casually into his slacks. He’s mid-sentence, laughing about something one of his students said during class, and I can’t help but smile.I’m standing across from him, stirring a little sugar into my own coffee, half listening, half admiring how he’s always so effortlessly put together. Today he’s wearing a crisp blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A few of his curls fall across his forehead, and he makes no motion to push them away. He’s so easy, so comfortable in his own skin, but I have to keep my guard up around him.Across the room, a few of the other teachers are chatting near the fruit bowl, and our boss, Andre, is perched on a stool with a thick folder in his lap, fli