One Summer in Paris, page 21
Grace stood up and hugged her tightly. “I’ve been trying so hard to move on. To not be me. To be different.”
“You don’t need to be different.” Audrey had never been held so tightly in her life. “You’re great the way you are.”
“No. The real me is boring and does everything the same because it’s safe. My hair has been the same all those years because I’m too afraid to change it. But what you’ve done is amazing, and it makes me realize that change can be good. I need to do more of it. I need to give my whole life a haircut.”
Audrey felt the sting and spill of tears. Shit. If she ever met Grace’s husband, she’d floor him. “You’re smudging your makeup. Worse, you’re smudging mine.” She sniffed. “We’re going to have to start again, you know that?”
Grace made a gurgling sound that was close to a laugh. Then she pulled away and walked back to the mirror. She moved her head experimentally. Her hair swung with each movement, smooth and silky.
“How many times have you done this cut before?”
And now they’d reached the awkward part.
Audrey stood on one leg and then the other. “That might have been the first time.”
“You don’t normally cut hair short?”
“I don’t normally cut hair at all.” Mmm. Probably should have lied about that, Audrey.
Grace frowned. “But you said you worked as a hairdresser.”
“I said I worked in a hairdressing salon. I wash the hair. Do treatments. Toners. Head massages. That kind of thing.”
“So this is the first time you’ve actually cut hair?”
“Yeah.” She waited for Grace to freak.
But she didn’t freak. “In that case I think we both know what career direction you should be taking. You have real talent, Audrey. Tomorrow we are going to your salon together so that we can show them what you’ve done.”
“I can’t cut hair here in France. I don’t speak French.”
“Hair is a universal language.” Grace swung her head from side to side again. “So what should I wear on my date?”
Audrey finally relaxed. “You really are going?”
“Too right I’m going.” Grace turned to look at her and there was an expression on her face that Audrey hadn’t seen before. “I need to show off my new hair.”
Grace
Grace turned her head from side to side, admiring her hair in the mirror.
She felt excited but also nervous, which was crazy, of course. What did she have to be nervous about?
She was having dinner with an old friend, that was all.
Except, Philippe had been more than that, hadn’t he?
First love.
When she’d left Paris without even having a chance to say goodbye, she’d cried the whole way home on the flight. She cried for the life she was leaving and the life she was returning to. The crew had kept her plied with tissues.
She’d stepped off the plane into the chaos and conflict of her life. It was like plunging into freezing water after swimming in a tropical ocean. Suddenly she was negotiating a world filled with jagged edges instead of smooth curves. The only solid thing had been David. It had been like grabbing a tree, knowing that it wouldn’t move as the floodwaters of life rushed over her.
David had put her back together, piece by piece.
Eventually he’d replaced the piece that had belonged to Philippe. It was as if he had never existed.
“Grace?” There was a hammering on the bedroom door and Audrey’s voice. “What are you doing in there? You’d better not be messing with your hair! Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She took a last look at her reflection.
She didn’t see David’s wife. She saw herself.
Maybe beauty wasn’t what you saw in the mirror. It was what you felt inside.
The woman in the mirror didn’t have a plan. She didn’t ever glance at a list. She went where the impulse took her.
She opened the door and Audrey whistled.
“That outfit is perfect. Stunning. And those gold sandals are right on trend.”
The strappy gold sandals had been just one of many outrageous purchases.
Grace had been afraid Audrey would want her to buy clothes designed for a woman half her age, but that hadn’t happened. They’d found a small boutique and the first thing Audrey had picked out was a beautiful dress in Mediterranean blue. The top was fitted and left Grace’s arms bare, and the skirt flowed from the waist in tiny pleats. Audrey had also talked her into buying a pair of gold strappy sandals and a sun hat with a wide brim and a ribbon. While Grace had been trying everything on, Audrey picked out a couple of tops, a pair of well-cut jeans and a white floral skirt that fell just below the knee. It was bright and summery, but still sophisticated.
“You should be a stylist.” Grace did a twirl in the blue dress, loving the way it felt and looked. Was that really her in the mirror? She’d had no idea that clothes could make her feel this good. Some of her friends bought new outfits every week, but Grace had invested in a capsule wardrobe that could be easily adapted for every occasion in her life.
This was the first time she’d had to dress for dinner with an ex-lover and nothing in her wardrobe covered that.
How could a dress give you confidence? She didn’t know, but this one did.
“What do you think?”
Audrey folded her arms. “What do you think?”
“I love it!
“Good. So do I. Now try these—” Audrey thrust another couple of dresses at her, and Grace took them, ignoring the part of her that said she didn’t need a whole new wardrobe.
If the clothes didn’t fit her life, then she’d change her life.
She spent more in that one shopping spree than she had in her entire life and she had no regrets.
Now she tucked her purse under her arm and studied Audrey. “You look good, too.”
“I didn’t know what to wear.” Audrey glanced down at her jeans and shimmery top. “It’s a party at the house of one of his friends. My bottom half could be underdressed, and my top half could be overdressed but I figure at least one half of me is going to fit right in.”
“What type of party is it?”
“The sort where people get drunk, dance, throw up in the bathroom and sometimes have sex. Not all at the same time. In other words, the usual type. No fancy dress thankfully. My friend Meena and I once went as cats to a party and the mask made me itch. It was fun having a tail, though. And now you’re looking anxious. You don’t have to worry about me, Grace.”
“Where is the party?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the one with the sense of direction, as you know. Etienne is picking me up, so luckily for me it’s not my problem.”
“Do you know the friend who owns the house?”
“Duh, no? What do you want? References?” Audrey gave her a look, and Grace felt like an idiot.
“Sorry. You’re right. I should be worrying about myself, not you.”
Audrey patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t stay out too late. If you get in trouble call me. Do you have a condom in your bag?”
“I’m not going to need a condom.”
“You never know.” Audrey smoothed a strand of Grace’s hair. “I’m loving this look. Was it easy to do this morning?”
“Yes. I wish I’d had it cut years ago.” Lately it had felt as if life had been happening to her. She’d had no control. She’d had no choice about what happened with David. But now she’d made a few small choices of her own—apartment, haircut, dinner with Philippe—and it felt good.
“Only one thing missing.” Audrey handed her a little bag, and Grace opened it.
“You bought me lipstick?”
Audrey took it from her and twisted it so that Grace could see the color. “Try it.”
The color was little more than a subtle sheen, but it was perfect. “Thank you. That’s incredibly kind. But you must let me pay.”
“No way.” Audrey’s cheeks were pink. “I had good tips this week and you’re always treating me. So where are you meeting him?”
“At a café near the river. He’s booked a table outside, which I guess will make it easier for me to run if the whole evening is a disaster.” Her phone rang and she grabbed it. “It’s Sophie. I should get this.”
“I’ll see you later. Or maybe tomorrow. I promise not to be late.” She vanished, and Grace stared after her for a second before she took the call from her daughter.
“Sophie! How are you, honey?”
“Great! Mom, you won’t believe the stuff we’ve been doing in Rome. It’s so cool…” She chattered away, bright and excited while Grace listened. She was relieved Sophie was having such a good time.
When had Audrey last spoken to her mother? Grace tried to remember a time when she’d seen her on the phone.
“How are you, Mom? How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling great.” She’d said those words numerous times since David had left her, but tonight was the first time she’d meant them.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m intending to enjoy Paris. Have dinner and maybe a stroll along the river.” And she wasn’t going to feel guilty. It had been David who had made the decision to end their marriage, not her.
She was picking up the pieces of her life, that was all.
She was in Paris, wearing a dress she loved, and she had a date in a pavement café.
Wedging the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, she twisted her wedding ring on her finger.
She remembered the day David had slid it onto her finger. She’d been nervous that he’d lose it, or forget it, that the wedding would never happen.
She’d been a mess. Still grieving her parents. Confused and guilty. Always guilty. Always thinking about other people.
Sophie was still talking. “I should go, Mom. Chrissie has found this amazing club.”
Another club? Sophie used to be all about museums and art galleries, but lately all she seemed to talk about was parties and the people they’d met.
Grace opened her mouth to tell her daughter to be careful, but then imagined Audrey rolling her eyes and making strangling sounds. She still wasn’t comfortable not knowing the details of her daughter’s life. When they were young you controlled almost everything about their world. You arranged the playdates and the trips to the movies. You never had to worry about where they were or who they were with. Letting go of the reins wasn’t easy. “Have fun. Talk to you soon.” Proud of herself for not interrogating Sophie on exactly where she was going, she ended the call.
She tugged off her wedding ring and left it on the table.
Without looking back, she locked her apartment.
The restaurant was only a short distance from the bookshop so she chose to walk.
Summer had descended on Paris, bringing with it sunshine and throngs of tourists. They crowded along the streets, sprawled by the river, watched pavement artists at work, took photographs constantly. The heat was oppressive, the air still with not a breath of wind.
Grateful for the sun hat, Grace leaned on the bridge for a moment and watched the sunlight play over the surface of the water. The river Seine wound lazily through Paris, the buildings that clustered along its banks mirrored in its glassy surface.
She’d been dreading traveling alone, but now she was glad she had. It had been exactly the right thing to do.
She had no idea how the evening would end, or what tomorrow would look like, but for once she didn’t feel as if she needed to know. That in itself was progress.
She heard the sound of music and laughter and saw a river cruiser drifting beneath the bridge. When she’d been in Paris the first time she’d thought it looked like fun, but Philippe had dismissed it as something for tourists.
The restaurant he’d chosen for tonight was tucked away in a paved courtyard and by the time she arrived it was already crowded with not a spare table to be found inside or out.
She felt a flicker of nerves. Would Philippe be angry with her for the way she’d ended their relationship?
Not that angry, surely, or he wouldn’t have agreed to meet. Unless he just wanted a chance to tell her what he thought of her.
She saw him right away, seated at a small table, shaded by a vine. He was reading. Not his phone like everyone around him, but a book. He sat with his head bent, engrossed, lost in the words. He gave his whole self to everything he did. There were no half measures where Philippe was concerned. His inky black hair showed not a fleck of gray. His skin was bronzed from the sun. His clothes were casual, yet effortlessly stylish.
It had been years since she’d last seen him but seeing him lost in a book made it seem like yesterday.
Philippe had always had a book under his arm, the pages marked, corners turned in. They’d argued about whether it was right to defile books. He’d believed that a book should live a life, show signs of age and use. Battered was good because it meant someone had read and read. Best of all were notes, above the text and in the margins. He’d added passages, lines, words—
She’d lain next to him on the grass, watching as he scribbled.
Are you rewriting Shakespeare?
He’d grinned. Just the parts he got wrong.
The memory was so vivid that she caught her breath and he glanced up even though he couldn’t possibly have heard her.
His gaze held hers and for a moment there was a throb of tension in the air. Then he put the book down and uncoiled himself.
He was taller than David. Not as broad. More athletic. Stop it, Grace. Stop making comparisons.
David had pushed her out of his life, and it was time she pushed him out of her head.
She was pondering whether to shake hands or kiss him when Philippe pulled her in for a tight hug, removing the burden of decision-making.
It made her think of those first heady days when they’d gone everywhere together.
She’d been staying with his family and the plan had been for her to spend time with his sister, but she’d broken her leg and so the job of entertaining their American guest had fallen to Philippe. She’d heard raised voices one evening, as he’d protested.
She’s my sister’s friend. What am I supposed to do with her?
In the end they’d found plenty to do. The connection had surprised both of them.
And here they were, face-to-face again. Something she’d never thought would happen.
It felt like a first date.
He cupped her face in his hands, kept his eyes on hers in a way that made her insides squirm. “I spent months planning what I would say to you if I ever saw you again.”
Grace swallowed. Guilt swamped her. “Are you going to yell at me?”
“I’m not the yelling type, particularly over something that happened almost thirty years ago.” He smiled and ran his thumb along her jaw. “It’s good to see you, Grace.”
He spoke in French. He’d always insisted on it. You’re here to learn. How will you learn if we speak English?
“Thirty years is a long time.”
“You haven’t changed at all. You’re still beautiful.” He used charm like a blowtorch, melting resistance.
It made her smile, but there was also a feeling of relief that he didn’t seem to hold any grudges for the way she’d ended things.
“You’re still a charmer.”
“And much good that did me.” He pulled out the chair for her. “I hope you’re hungry because the food here is the best in Paris.”
“Your opinion?”
“Perhaps.” He flashed her a smile. “But when it comes to food, my opinion is the only one that counts.”
Grace picked up the menu but he reached out and touched her arm.
“Can I order? I’m not being sexist and controlling. It’s more that I want you to taste the best things on the menu. This place is an experience you shouldn’t miss.”
The fact that she nodded was a sign of how far she’d come. She put her menu down. “Go ahead.”
He turned to the waiter who was hovering and ordered multiple dishes, with detailed instructions of how they should be served.
She listened, fascinated. “Did you ever think of being a chef?”
“No, but I do love to cook.” When their wine arrived, he tapped his glass lightly against hers. “To old friends.”
“Old friends.”
“So—” He put his glass down. “I will start the conversation with a question.”
“Go on.”
“Why wait almost thirty years to get in touch? I can’t figure it out. When you left, I waited to hear from you. I waited six months, then a year, and after eighteen months I forced myself to accept I was never going to hear from you again.”
How could she explain that she’d known the only way to move on was to make a clean break? “Things were difficult when I went home. My parents were killed.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was a mess. It was—complicated.” She didn’t want to talk about the details. She didn’t want to taint the evening with that part of her life.
Instead, she told him how her life had changed, about Mimi and also about David.
Philippe was a good listener, paying attention to not just what she said but what she didn’t say.
“He was there for you. Your rock. I can see why you would have forgotten me.”
She hadn’t forgotten him. Instead, she’d managed to lock him securely in a compartment in her brain that she never opened.
“I’d known him forever, but we didn’t start a relationship until that summer I returned from Paris.”
“You’d lost your parents. You needed someone familiar to lean on.”
He was implying that she’d been vulnerable and it was true, she’d been vulnerable, but that wasn’t why she’d fallen in love with David.
“We got married. We have a daughter. Sophie.”
“And is Sophie here in Paris with you?”
“No. She’s eighteen years old. Traveling with a friend.”
