“To your wonderful family,” I said, lifting my glass.

  “To France,” Pamela said.

  “To us.” I sipped the sparkling wine and let my head fall back. I hadn’t slept at all the night before and found that all the emotions had drained me further. A few sips of champagne, and I was out.

  When I awoke, it was to the captain’s voice announcing that we would soon be landing. Pamela’s hand was on my arm, and as I came to consciousness, realizing again that I was the luckiest man in the world, joy surged through my entire body.

  “I can’t wait to see your home,” Pamela whispered, tilting her head up to look into my eyes.

  I adored this woman, and though I was still half asleep, a few words floated to the top of my mind. “I love you,” I told her.

  After clearing customs and finding our way through the airport, we caught the train to Avignon, which was another few hours to the place I grew up. As we stepped onto the platform, each of us exhausted and bedraggled, but beaming with happiness, I spotted a familiar form at the doors to the terminal.

  “Papa!” I called, and my father’s white-topped head turned my way. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Pamela on my arm, and his face broke into its familiar smile.

  “Jacques,” he said, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug. “I am so happy to see you. Who have you brought along?”

  “This,” I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice, “is Pamela. My girlfriend. Pamela, this is my father, Julien.”

  Pamela’s face lit up at the word, and she took my father’s hand. “I am so happy to meet you, sir.”

  My father kissed both of Pamela’s cheeks and whisked her suitcase from her hands, turning to lead us to his car. He drove us out of the city and soon vineyards stretched into the moonlit darkness on both sides of the car and a feeling of finally being home washed through me and tension seeped from my limbs.

  “It is so beautiful here,” Pamela said, her eyes wide. “I can’t believe I’m really in France.”

  “France is lucky to have you,” my father said, ever the charmer. “I hope you are not too tired. It is quite late.”

  “I am sorry,” I told him. “It’s such a long flight.”

  “Oh!” Pamela gasped. “It’s Christmas Eve.” Her face fell. “Did we ruin all your plans?”

  “Ah, non,” my father said, chuckling. “Only the endless hours of church.”

  “We usually go to Midnight Mass,” I explained.

  “We could still make it,” Dad said, sounding like he would greatly prefer not to attend church.

  “If you want us to sleep at church, then that is a good idea,” I told him.

  He grinned at me. “I thought perhaps a light meal and some port instead?”

  “That sounds perfect.” I sat back and watched my father’s vineyards slide past the windows in the darkness, my soul settling into the knowledge that I was home.

  The house was quiet, but lit up from every window with glowing golden light. Bringing Pamela into my childhood home was an odd sensation, and I found I was examining everything with new eyes.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, walking around the little front room and staring at the numerous photographs of me with my parents from many years ago. There were other photos with the extended family, and she paused before these. “Do you have a lot of brothers and sisters, Jacques? I can’t believe I don’t know this already.”

  “Ah, non,” I said, moving to her side as my father took our suitcases upstairs. “These are all my cousins. My father’s brothers all live on neighboring land, so you cannot escape the family unless you travel many, many kilometers from Avignon.”

  She smiled up at me. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

  “Tomorrow,” I promised her.

  After a snack and a glass of fortified wine, as promised, we were both yawning and ready to turn in. I showed Pamela the bedroom and bathroom, and after thanking my father, she disappeared.

  “Son,” he said, leading me to turn as I began to make my way up the stairs. “A word?”

  I followed him back to the sitting room, where the tree glowed merrily in one corner. We sat together on the soft couch, and I felt my mother there too. She had loved this room, and she had loved the holidays especially. I missed her.

  “You love this woman, non?”

  “I do,” I told him. “I plan to marry her.”

  “Good,” he said. He dipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a small box, handing it to me. “Your mother’s,” he said quietly.

  I took the box from him, opening it gingerly, my heart thumping inside me with some mix of sadness and awe. My poor emotions had been so scattered today I was surprised I could still feel anything. The box opened to reveal my mother’s simple engagement ring nestled in dark satin inside. The ring was silver, with detailed tooling around the sides of a single square-cut emerald. There were two clusters of tiny diamonds on either side of the middle stone.

  I lifted my eyes to meet my father’s. “Are you sure?”

  “Oui.” He nodded. “She would want this.”

  I shut the box and held it to my chest, knowing my father was right. “Thank you.” I could not wait to give the ring to Pamela, to ask her to be my wife.

  “Good night, son,” my father said as I stood. “I am so happy you are home.”

  13

  PAM

  I woke to a steaming cup of hot chocolate, the marshmallows perfectly melted, and the smile of a Frenchman with ruffled hair and gentle lines fanning out from the corner of his eyes.

  “Good morning, mon amour. Merry Christmas.” He waited until I sat up and took the mug, kissing me on both cheeks.

  “Merry Christmas! I can’t believe we’re in France!” I blew on the hot chocolate and took a tentative sip. I was particular with my sweet liquids and this one held a deeper, sweeter note than most. “Oh, this is wonderful, Jacques. Does everything taste better in France?”

  He lifted a shoulder and smirked. “Oui. But of course. You think the French have not tried to woo their women with chocolate for centuries?”

  I took another sip and sighed in pleasure. “Consider me wooed.”

  Jacques sat on the bed next to me, and I noticed he was already fully dressed. The time zone change was doing a number on my sleep schedule. I wasn’t sure if it was day or night.

  “Would you like to see our family vineyard this morning? I’ve already made a batch of croissants to take with us.”

  I pulled in the deepest breath I could, taking in everything and letting it soak in. I wanted to remember this trip forever. “That sounds lovely.” I patted his hand and then threaded our fingers together. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

  His face lit like the Christmas tree back home. “This feels right in my chest, you know? As if bringing you here where I grew up is coming full circle.”

  Tears blocked my vision, but they were happy ones. I took another sip of hot chocolate and sadly placed it on the rickety bedside table with a silent promise to come back to it once I was dressed. I let go of Jacques and slid out of bed.

  “Let’s go Christmas it up!”

  Jacques shook his head at me, the smile giving away how much he loved me, even though I was a dorky American. With a quick kiss, he was gone, and I got dressed for the day. My girls knew me well and had packed my most outrageous Christmas outfit yet. Bright green leggings, red socks, and the Christmas sweater Robin had brought with her the other day: two Chia elves who were supposed to be cupids. The hair was actually fuzz you could touch, and the arrows lit up when you pressed on them.

  Julien greeted me when I emerged from the bedroom and made my way to the living room, but nearly spit out his drink when he took in my outfit. Embarrassed, I grinned.

  “I know. It’s a lot, but Christmas only happens one day a year. It’s best to fully celebrate it, right?”

  Julien shot a smile over at Jacques, who’d come out of the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder. “You have a smart one here, son.” Julien looked down at his own grey button-down shirt. “She makes a good point. I think I better go change.”

  He patted me on the back as he left the room, the soft smile on his face giving me hope I hadn’t completely ruined things.

  Jacques took the towel off his shoulder and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go now before I have to see what creation he comes up with. Knowing my father, it could be something you Americans aren’t ready to see.”

  My eyebrows nearly hit my hairline. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

  We ran out of the house laughing, getting into the tiny car that Jacques assured me his father had no issue with us taking during our stay. My forehead had a permanent mark from being pressed against the window the whole time Jacques drove. The countryside was so beautiful, I kept trying to take pictures on my phone until Jacques gently suggested I just experience it. The man was a genius. I didn’t need pictures of what would surely be lodged forever in my brain. Dalton would say I needed to post all over social media, and maybe I would post later on, but I wanted this day to just be for Jacques and me.

  “Here it is.” Jacques pulled the car over to the side of the road and climbed out, coming around to help me out of the low car. The look on his face made me pause and stare. He looked at his family’s land like I looked at my kids. Pride and happiness mingling to make a person feel like they might just float away. “Come.”

  He grabbed my hand and helped me under the wooden fence that marked his property. We jogged through the rows of grapevines to stay warm, the winery owner in me stopping to taste the grapes occasionally. They were excellent. Sweeter than the grapes we had in Solano Creek. Was it possible to taste the long history of the grapes?

  We stopped at the top of the hill, a wooden bench offering us a place to rest. And the view! An entire valley of vineyards lay below us as far as the eye could see. Jacques told me that all of it was his family’s land.

  “Oh, Jacques. It’s beautiful.” I stared out at the view, wanting to pinch myself to believe this wasn’t a dream.

  Jacques moved, and I glanced down, thinking he’d dropped something. Instead, he perched there in the dirt, one knee down and his face turned up to see me and not the view.

  “Wh-what⁠—?”

  “Pamela, I know circumstances are unknown right now, but I do not need a passport stamp to know I love you. To know I want to spend the rest of this lifetime with you. You make my life sweeter, and let us be honest, you make life much more adventurous too with your family shenanigans.” His mouth tipped up at the side, and my giggle came out with a hiccup. “You’re like a fine wine I want to sip and savor. I don’t want to grow old with you, because we pretty much are already. I want to stay young at heart with you, ugly Christmas sweater and all. Let me be your husband and love you forever, mon amour?”

  My lungs ceased to function and time stood still. A bird flitted from the tree above, off to find the perfect grape to have for breakfast. There was magic here, I could feel it just like I felt the importance of this place.

  Jacques cracked open a box held between us, a ring sparkling up at me. I felt a smile pull at my lips until it took over my soul.

  “Yes, Jacques. Absolutely yes. Oui!”

  Jacques stood up and so did I. He swung me around in his arms, and I smiled up at the clear blue sky, our breaths coming out in white puffs. This was my life. I was marrying my love, proposed to in the romance capital of the world.

  He set me down and held the ring out. I slipped it on my finger as he explained. “This was my mother’s ring. She would want you to have it, though I will also buy you a new wedding band. Something old, something new. The past, and all the wonderful people in it, will come with us into this marriage, oui?”

  My hand covered my mouth as I bit back the sob. I studied the ring on my finger and then the man who said and did all the right things. The man who saw my past and welcomed it into his life without a moment of hesitation. I could barely get words out. “I like that very much.”

  And then an idea came to me, born from a deep sense of knowing. When something was right for you, you didn’t wait. Waiting was for the young who had their whole lives ahead of them and time to waiver on their decisions. This old broad knew exactly what she wanted.

  “Can we get married now?”

  Jacques stared at me with wonder and excitement in his eyes, the backdrop of the vineyards giving me a picture perfect memory to add to the rapidly expanding collection in my brain.

  “I will marry you anywhere, anytime, mon amour. You say today, and I will make it happen.”

  I bit my lip and bounced on my toes. “I say today.”

  Jacques leaned in to kiss me, and I melted against him. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Then today it is.”

  And that is how, a few hours later, we stood in the living room of the house Jacques had grown up with, his father in suit pants and a green scarf—and nothing else—while a man dressed in a Santa Claus costume married us. Jacques stood in the red and green plaid button-down shirt I’d gotten him for Christmas—as festive as I knew he’d prefer to be—and me in my ugly Christmas sweater. I’d done the big fancy wedding before and didn’t need all that. Jacques felt the spontaneity was all that he needed for his idea of a perfect wedding.

  “As mayor of our fine township—and Santa Claus,” the man winked at us, speaking in English so I could understand, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Jacques tipped me over his arm and kissed me like only a Frenchman would: inappropriately and thoroughly. Santa strode past us before Jacques had even let me go.

  “I must depart. You must come to the festival in the street. I will be on the float.”

  Julien passed him something in an envelope, and the deed was done.

  Jacques and I stared at each other, both of us too excited for words.

  “Well, you two. I think I shall head to the festival and drink a bottle of our best champagne to celebrate.” Julien nodded and left in a hurry, the silence in the house stretching out.

  “My apologies, my father is very obvious.”

  I frowned, thinking we’d offended him somehow with our quick ceremony. “What do you mean?”

  Jacques threw me a half-lidded look I knew well. “How do you feel about making love in front of the fire and the Christmas tree, wife of mine?”

  “Ohh…” I breathed.

  It was a very merry Christmas, indeed.

  14

  JACQUES

  In the end, it took just over two months to get the paperwork straightened out in order for me to return to work at the Cunning Ham. We secured another work visa for me, and this time, we also put in an application for a green card, which would allow me to stay indefinitely as the spouse of a citizen. Of course, there was a significant wait for that too, but I didn’t mind.

  Pamela and I flew home together, each of us a couple pounds heavier even though I felt lighter than I ever remembered feeling.

  “You are excited to be home again,” I guessed, watching Pamela’s knee bouncing as we waited for our flight to take off.

  She let out a sigh. “I am. I have had such a wonderful time here, but I’ve never been away from the boys for so long. And El! She must be showing by now! And we’ll need to put together a gender reveal party soon and the baby shower, and help them get a nursery together…” she trailed off, a dreamy look in her eyes.

  “You look happy, my love.”

  “I am happy, my love. And you will make such a wonderful grandpa.”

  Though the idea of being old enough to be someone’s grandfather was a bit startling, I found myself very excited about the prospect of watching a child grow, of being close to that tiny new life and of having the child regard me as an important figure. As part of their family. It was a thing I had never imagined I would have. “I am excited too,” I told Pamela.

  When we landed, it was early in the morning, since our flight had taken us from one day to the next. We cleared customs to find the Cunningham family waiting patiently to welcome us home in a way that only this strange and wonderful family could.

  Boston was the first one I spotted, and he held a sign with El at the other side, holding two corners each. It read: We Are So Glad You Got Paroled, Mom and Jacques!

  “What is this?” Pamela said, her voice caught somewhere between amusement and irritation.

  Robin and Frank held another sign. This one read: Welcome Home From Rehab, Pamela and Jacques!

  “Oh goodness,” I muttered, swallowing the surprise and doing my best to ignore the interested stares of other passengers and strangers around us.

  “Mom!” Dillon and Dalton, who were thankfully not holding signs, crossed the crowded floor to wrap their mother in a big hug.

  “Sorry about the signs,” Dillon said, lifting his head to address us both. “Robin made us.”

  Pamela laughed and hugged the boys, just as I spotted my own face bobbing through the crowd. Actually, above the crowd. And enormous. And behind it, came Pamela’s face. “What in the name of croissants?” I heard myself mutter.

  Lincoln and Hannah appeared from the crowd, apologizing for being late, and each of them holding a stick attached to an enormous cutout photo of our faces. It was startling to see myself so huge.

  “Honey!” Pamela cried, rushing to hug Lincoln and pulling Hannah into the hug, too.

  “Thank you all for coming,” I told them. “And for these...interesting signs.”

  “We wanted you to know we missed you,” El said, stepping out from behind her sign to reveal a significantly rounded belly.

  “Oh!” Pamela cried, spotting her stomach. “How are you? How’s my little grandbaby?”

  “She’s quit tossing her cookies, so that’s a bonus,” Robin said. “We do have some bad news though.”

 

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