One Summer in Paris

“I mean something bad. You’re a young girl and Paris is a big city.”

“Do you worry this much about your daughter?”

“More.” Grace picked up her fork again. “It’s the curse of motherhood.”

Audrey was pretty sure her mother didn’t suffer from the same curse. She felt a pang. “Your daughter is lucky to have you. If you want to help me, you can teach me a few very specific French words. Just the essentials. The kind of stuff a girl might need on a date.”

“You mean small talk? The weather, and ‘that was a fun evening,’ that kind of thing?”

“No. I mean the French word for condom. That kind of thing.” She looked up as Grace choked on her salad. “What? You don’t know the word for condom?”

“I do, but—” Grace breathed. “You don’t know him, honey.”

“Hopefully after tonight, I will. I mean, sex is a great way to get to know someone, right?”

“I—Maybe you should see each other a few times first. What if you don’t get along that well? What if you discover the two of you don’t want the same thing?”

“I want to have fun. That’s it. But I want to have safe fun, which is why I need the word for condom. I take precautions. That’s a good thing.” She felt suddenly defensive. She wasn’t usually so open with people. “Forget it.”

“I said the wrong thing. I’m sorry.” Grace picked up her drink. “I’m worried about you, that’s all. I don’t want to see you hurt. But maybe I’m just a little jaded about love. You shouldn’t listen to me.”

Audrey softened. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been looking after myself for a long time. I’m pretty independent.”

“I expect your mother is worried sick about you.”

Audrey thought about all the times she’d walked to school on her own, talked to the teachers alone, fed herself and taken care of her drunk mother.

She licked the salt from her lips. “Yeah. Probably can’t get me out of her mind.”

“Well, you have my number so you can call me if you get into trouble.”

Audrey had never called anyone in her life. She’d never had anyone she could call. There was Meena, of course, but Audrey was usually the one protecting her, not the other way around. She looked at Grace, and saw the kindness there. For a moment Audrey was tempted to tell her the truth about her life, but something held her back. Once the truth was out there, you couldn’t pull it back, and Audrey had never told anyone before. She didn’t want to say something she’d regret.

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll call if I’m in trouble.”

“Good. In that case I won’t worry about you. But take a cab home. And don’t use your phone in the street.”

“You’re teaching me street smarts? I’m not the one who got mugged and lost my purse.”

Grace looked embarrassed. “Point taken. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re a good person, Grace. If you ask me, your husband is bat-shit crazy for leaving you.” What the hell was that about? Grace was kind and loyal and everything a mother was supposed to be if you believed what you saw on TV. She was the type who would pick you up and hug you when you fell, make you nutritious meals and listen to your woes. “So is your daughter messed-up about your divorce?”

“We’re not actually divorced yet, but yes, she’s pretty upset. She’s close to her dad. Are you close to your dad?”

“Sure.” Audrey kept her face deadpan. “We’re inseparable.”

“What does he do?”

“Oh, you know—” screws women and then leaves them pregnant “—this and that. How about your bat-shit crazy husband? What does he do?”

“He’s a newspaper editor. He’s worked for the same company his whole career.”

“So that’s why, then.” Audrey finished her drink.

“That’s why?”

“Why he had an affair. He’d let his life get boring. Why are you frowning?”