Pamela was staring at me, her eyes glassy and wide, as if my words had startled her. After a long moment, she sighed and sipped her own wine. “This is lovely,” she said, finally appearing to relax a bit.

  The evening after that flowed effortlessly. We shared wine and ate dinner at Pamela’s long dining table, where she had set two places at one end so that we could continue to be near one another. The food, the music, and especially the company, were all so perfect that I found myself struggling with the idea of leaving it all behind soon.

  “Would you like to take coffee next to the tree?” she asked as we lingered over our empty plates at the table.

  “Bien sur,” I said, and we both rose. I helped her carry the plates back into the kitchen, letting my mind soak in the warm familiarity of being with Pamela, the comforting rightness I felt at her side. When she turned from the sink, she froze, meeting my eyes, and my heart began to pulse more rapidly.

  I wanted to kiss her. More than anything, I wanted to kiss her, and I could see a similar desire in her wide blue eyes. I stepped a bit nearer, approaching her as you might move toward a frightened animal, watching for any sign that this was not what she wanted.

  In the end, it wasn’t her body language, but her words that stopped me.

  “Wait,” she said, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

  I froze.

  “I wanted you to see the chia elves.”

  My mind stopped spinning, focused on deciphering this latest confusing utterance from the object of my affections. “The… I am sorry, the what?”

  “They’re mistletoe!” she said brightly, her eyes shining as she ducked out from in front of me and practically bolted toward the tree.

  I followed, confused by Pamela’s sudden departure and mention of elves and chia seeds. I had thought we might have coffee. Maybe a kiss. Not chia elves.

  At Pam’s side, I looked up to where she was pointing on the tree. There, nestled into the branches, was an army of terrifying naked elves with bows and arrows. Some kind of minute archery squad, perhaps enlisted to defend Santa Claus when the sleigh entered dangerous territory in pursuit of spreading Christmas cheer? The armed elves were not part of the French tradition, but Pamela seemed very pleased with them.

  “They are…”

  “See their little loincloths?” She pointed to where each elf had a few little dark green leaves growing near his waist, sprouting out of his stomach.

  “Ah… oui?”

  “Mistletoe,” she whispered, turning her attention back to me with a grin that I would previously have thought was somewhat suggestive, but her fleeing from my attention in the kitchen and this recent fascination with the previously unheard of elf army had me quite perplexed.

  I nodded, feeling mute and silly, my hands folded together in front of me to avoid making any moves she did not welcome. I had experienced mixed signals before, but they had never involved furious, tiny people wrapped in weeds. “Yes, I see,” I told her.

  I watched her carefully, and her expression morphed from some kind of glee to something else. Disappointment?

  “Jacques,” she said quietly, her voice nearly a whisper.

  “Yes?”

  “Back there in the kitchen. Were you about to kiss me?”

  Suddenly, I felt like a teenager again, doing everything wrong. Heat hit my cheeks, and I clasped my hands harder, hoping the pain might relieve some of the confusion I felt. Clearly, she had not wanted me to kiss her. That was why she’d jumped away and latched onto the bow-bearing elves as a distraction.

  “I’m sorry, Pamela,” I began, but she was shaking her head furiously.

  “I screwed everything up,” she said.

  I couldn’t tell if she was angry at me, or disappointed with herself for some reason.

  “No,” I told her, my hands finally releasing one another to land on her soft shoulders, to try to comfort her and still the head shaking before she injured her neck. “No, tonight was perfect. I had a wonderful time.”

  I had. I hated to go. Every minute that ticked by was a moment closer to saying goodbye forever, and the more time I spent with Pamela, the harder that knowledge was to bear. Maybe it was best that I hadn’t kissed her.

  “These stupid elves,” she spat, glaring at the armed men poised to impale us on their tiny arrows.

  “No, Pamela. The elves are lovely. I am pleased to learn of another American Christmas tradition, like the block of hard fruited cake you enjoy.”

  “No one likes that fruitcake, Jacques.”

  “But the woman in the store--”

  “She orders it every year and then pushes it off on anyone who seems confused about fruitcake.”

  “I don’t feel confused about fruitcake.”

  “Yet you paid money for one and brought it here.”

  “True.” I was not sure what the appropriate response was now. “I apologize.”

  “Your heart was in the right place. Like Robin’s, with the oysters and the dumb elves.” She turned away from me and sank heavily onto the couch.

  “Pamela, is everything okay?” I wasn’t sure what had turned the evening around exactly, but I knew there was little chance now that I’d get to finally kiss her.

  “Yes and no,” she said, adding a little laugh to the end of her answer. “I’m a disaster, Jacques.”

  “I don’t think that is true.”

  “But it is. I think I want one thing, and then when I almost get it, I find ways to ruin everything.”

  Was she talking about us? About sending me away? “Maybe it is not too late,” I suggested hopefully.

  “I think it is for now,” she said, glancing at the clock on her mantle, surrounded by silver reindeer.

  That was my cue. “Very well. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  “Filled with smelly oysters and weird behavior,” she moaned.

  “Filled with perfect company and enjoyable conversation.” And at the side of the most beautiful woman I’d ever known.

  “Good night, Jacques,” she said, walking me to the door.

  “Good night, Pamela,” I said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. We lingered there a moment longer than was required, my lips on the soft skin of her cheek, her hand on my chest. For a moment, I thought it might turn into something else, something more. But then she pulled back, a hand going to her hair in the nervous way she had.

  “Good night,” she said again.

  I turned and went back to my little car, to go back to my small apartment and my life, which, for the first time, felt altogether miniscule.

  7

  PAM

  I was an idiot. And even a gallon of hot chocolate this morning would not fix things. There in the kitchen, Jacques had leaned in, probably about to kiss me like I so badly wanted, and the first thing that flashed through my mind was that it couldn’t happen in the kitchen. Anywhere but the kitchen! Michael had not been a demonstrative type of husband in general, but one thing he’d always done was spin me around in a dance when I was at the sink, cleaning up after the kids had gone to bed. To kiss Jacques right there on the same spot just felt...weird. So I pushed him away and ran to the stupid chia elves like a total whacka-doodle. I was sending mixed signals so fast it was making me dizzy. I can’t imagine how confused Jacques must be.

  All that and more was running through my head all night, which meant I got very little sleep. Which also meant the annual Santa Trot this morning was going to be hell on earth. I pulled on my usual nutcracker leggings, tied my shoelaces, and tried to blink away the fatigue that was weighing down my eyelids.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and winced. Maybe I was too old to be thinking about a second chance at love. Or maybe asking for another go of it was being selfish in a cosmic perspective. Like maybe the universe could only grant so many true love matches to a person in one lifetime. Either way, I needed to dab on some eye cream before I left this house or I’d scare the little ones at the race. Halloween was over, after all.

  The horn out front came all too quickly. Robin was here to pick me up and take us to the race, which started downtown. I locked up and trudged to her car, hoping I found some energy along the way or this 5k was going to take all morning.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Robin hollered as soon as I opened the car door. “Holy under-eye circles. Good thing I brought you a nitro coffee!”

  I sank into the seat and buckled up, knowing I’d need the extra protection with Robin driving. “What in the world is nitro coffee?” I took the iced coffee she extended to me and took a tentative sip. It was smooth and rich, not tasting too different from what I normally drank, so I kept drinking. I’d need the caffeine.

  “It’s infused with nitrogen,” Robin said with an eyebrow waggle before pulling onto the street.

  “What does nitrogen do?”

  Robin cackled. “Heck if I know, but it sure does get the ol’ ticker going.”

  I looked down at the half-empty cup. Maybe I should slow down a bit, though my eyelids seemed light as a feather already, so I was sure things would be fine. By the time we found a parking space in the packed downtown area, we’d both finished our coffees and were talking a mile a minute.

  “Mom! Over here!” Boston’s voice broke into our current debate about sports bras that zipped up the front. I thought they were convenient, while Robin thought they were a disaster waiting to happen based on an incident years ago with El.

  I found his head in the crowd pushing toward the race start line. Grabbing Robin’s wrist brace, I dragged her behind me until we met up with my boys and daughters-in-law. All my sons had on ugly Christmas sweaters and sweat bands on their heads. The girls were in red and green tutus with festive stockings.

  “Good morning, kiddos! You look amazing,” I trilled, realizing belatedly that my volume was equivalent to a bullhorn. I looked around but didn’t see a particular Frenchman. “Did Jacques make it?”

  “I saw him when we parked,” Lincoln answered, whipping his long arms around to warm up. “He said French people don’t run for no reason, and he’d meet us at the finish line with spiked eggnog.”

  “Ew. Eggnog after a run?” Dalton paused the TikTok he was making with Rae long enough to voice his opinion on holiday drinks.

  “There’s alcohol. What more do you need?” Robin added helpfully.

  “Make way!” came a shout from behind us.

  We all turned to see Frank and a mannequin girlfriend of his attached to each side of him with a bizarre leather strap, like a Frank sandwich.

  “Nice you could make it,” El said kindly, reaching awkwardly around a mannequin to pat Frank on the shoulder.

  “We didn’t want to miss all the fun.” Frank began to stretch his legs by stepping to the side, which pitched the mannequins at odd angles. It was like an accident on the freeway. You couldn’t look away no matter how badly you needed to keep your eyes on the road. Frank switched legs suddenly, and the mannequins swung wildly. An arm clipped El in the side and Boston tucked her behind him, whispering furiously in her ear.

  “Good morning, Solano Creek! Are you ready for this year’s Santa Trot?” The announcement blared through the speakers set up on each side of the road that had been cleared of cars for the event. Everyone shouted, and the group energy was just what I needed to pull me out of my funk.

  “Hey, Mom? We’re going to sit this one out,” Boston shouted in my ear.

  I spun toward him and El, seeing her face looking a little green around the gills. “Are you okay?” I shouted back over the crowd.

  “El’s just not feeling that great. We’ll be over at the finish line.” Boston motioned to the other side of the road where the arch of balloons was placed, marking the end of the race.

  I’d never seen El look like that, which had me concerned. I grabbed Robin. “Let’s go help El,” I shouted in her ear. Her gaze whipped up to El, and we immediately formed a protective wall around the girl in the frenzied crowd.

  We hollered, elbowed, and Robin even stomped on a foot to try to get out of the packed crowd, but nobody was paying attention. The starting gun went off, and the crowd surged forward, taking us with them.

  “Let’s just get through this pack at the starting line and then we can…” I started, then had to pause as I was already out of breath. These runners weren’t messing around today. The pace was quick and the nitro in my bloodstream seemed to be fading fast.

  “I’m fine!” El huffed. But her face had gone white and Boston looked ready to blow.

  “No, you’re not!” Boston shouted back, his eyes darting around, looking for a break in the crowd.

  “Seriously...I can do this...we just need...to slow...down.”

  The other boys had noticed our panicked faces and tried to gather ‘round. As a living, breathing entity of bodies, we were able to shuffle our way to the side of the stream of runners and at the first turn in the road, we went up on the grassy knoll and collapsed as a group.

  “Well, that was interesting.” Dalton was the first to speak. Ah, youth. Able to recover in a matter of seconds. I’d need a pastry, a recliner, and a few days to get my heart rate back out of the stratosphere.

  “Yeah, what was that all about? Are you okay, El?” Robin lay flat on her back in the grass, but she was able to lift an arm and run her hand back and forth on El’s back as she took slow, measured breaths with her eyes closed.

  Boston leaned in to whisper to El again and she nodded her head, eyes still squeezed shut.

  “El and I have some news.” Boston took El’s hand in his, and when he squeezed, El finally looked up.

  “I’m pregnant!”

  The sounds of the race faded and my life changed forever. I was going to be a grandma. I was also wrong. I didn’t need anything to help me recover except for this incredible news. We all jumped up and piled on Boston and El, showering them with love and congratulations. Boston kept trying to push us off, ever protective of El, but it was El who finally got us to sit back down.

  “I think I might puke.”

  She hopped up and ran faster than the front line of runners when the gun went off, nearly doubling over as she shoved her head in one of the trash cans set up for the race.

  Robin shook her head. “Poor thing. I was the same way when I was pregnant with her. We need to stock up on crackers, baby daddy Boston.”

  I crouched by Boston’s side and pulled him into my arms, the tears now flowing freely down my cheeks. “Congratulations, my son. My baby is having a baby.” He squeezed me tight for long seconds before setting me back and clearing his throat.

  We sat there until El came back, feeling good as new now that she’d lost her breakfast. A pang of sadness hit my chest as I realized Michael should be here right now. He should have gotten the chance to hear this great news. To feel what I felt right now. The family we created was having a family of their own. Warm arms wrapped around me from behind, and I inhaled the cologne I loved so much.

  Leaning back in his arms, Jacques whispered in my ear, “You will make the best grandmere, my lovely Pamela.”

  I patted his arms and nuzzled back into his chest. Michael wasn’t here, but Jacques was. And while it wasn’t the life I envisioned years ago, it was exactly right for me now. I was happy, and Jacques was a large part of that.

  I had to tell him how I felt before I botched one of the best things to ever happen to me. Life was short, as I knew all too well. No more waiting for him to make a move.

  8

  JACQUES

  It was a strange sensation, watching Pamela’s family celebrate the announcement of El’s pregnancy. I was happy for them—for all of them. But I was sad as well. I was an outsider here, and Pamela, for all her warm embraces and happy smiles, seemed to want to keep it that way. So I did what I could. I held the woman I loved as she absorbed the news that she would become a grandmother, and I wished silently that things could be different.

  That evening, we all gathered at Hannah’s shop to help her with her holiday event. Men and women came together to paint and enjoy wine and company as soft holiday music played and Lincoln, Dalton and Dillon hustled around the shop, serving wine and paint with Hannah.

  The rest of us sat at a long table, painting and talking and sipping wine. Well, I was not painting. I was sitting at Pamela’s side, possibly drinking more than was absolutely wise, and contemplating the flight I needed to catch two days from now to take me back to France and away from all of this.

  I couldn’t help feeling sad. Even a little bit angry.

  Pamela sat beside me, smiling and happy as she painted an ugly Christmas sweater onto a ceramic frog. She did not seem bothered by our impending separation, and that was as hard to take as the separation itself.

  “Hey.” Dillon appeared at my shoulder, bending down to get my attention on the side opposite from his mother.

  I swiveled my head to look up at him. Dillon had never liked me especially, and I was a tiny bit wary of whatever he might have to say, given my sour mood. “Oui?”

  “Can I talk to you for a second? Outside?”

  This, I believed, was the traditional American way of engaging in a fistfight. I’d seen enough movies to know that when someone asked if you wanted to ‘take it outside’ it meant you were about to have to throw punches.

  “Non,” I said, the sound as defeated as I felt. “I am not in the mood to punch you.”

  Dillon’s eyebrows rose suddenly and his face split into a grin. “Good to know.” He laughed lightly and then tried again. “I wasn’t inviting you to fight. I just wanted to talk for a second. With, like, words.”

  He was still grinning, and I realized I was being a fool. My mind was not working at optimal levels, so much of it was entangled in the issues with my heart. I rose, excusing myself, and feeling Pamela’s curious gaze on my back as I followed Dillon outside to sit at the little iron table positioned on the sidewalk.

 

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