You walk hand-in-hand along the Champs-Elysées, the Eiffel Tower rising from the trees, a glittering spire watching over the two of you. Taking side streets at random, making your way through the city, through small neighborhoods where a ten-speed bicycle is still the primary mode of transportation, you find your way to the river, then across to the Notre Dame cathedral. On the steps of the church you stop and kiss, bathed in the warm orange glow of the setting sun.

Tired from walking all day, you rest on the large granite steps. You pull Rachel to you and rest your face on the top of her head. Though damp from the sweat, you can still smell the shampoo she used this morning. She turns her head to look into your eyes. Her mouth opens but all that comes out is high-pitched shrills letting you know the fries are done.

You pull the silver baskets out of the bubbling grease and latch them on the back of the fryer to drip. The meat on the grill sizzles and pops as you slide the long metal spatula under it and transfer it to a plastic tray.

A manager shouts from the front that they need more cheeseburgers and hamburgers. Some little kid is having a birthday party today. The fifteen-year-old hostess is telling you about how some kid’s father tried to hit on her last week.

You are half listening as you try to pull the meat off the grill without getting burned. The new guy making sandwiches behind you tells you he needs more grilled chicken. The manager calls to the girl that the party is here, and she bounds up front to show the party to the back room. Watching her walk away you think about how much she looks like Rachel when she was in high school.

The note you found this morning taped to your toaster was from Rachel. You didn’t read it.

It is tucked away, still neatly folded in your jacket pocket, hanging in the back room. Today was not the first time you woke up alone in the morning. It had in fact been happening more frequently lately, but it was the first morning you woke up to a note. It couldn’t be anything important, you think, or else she would have waken you to tell you.

She wasn’t around a much as she used to be. Most of the time she would be in the apartment when you got home from work, standing in the kitchen area, getting dinner ready. She’d look up at you and watch you walk into the bathroom to take a shower. It was a rule that you couldn’t get within five feet of her until you were clean. Dinner would be ready when you got out.