One Summer in Paris

“Yeah? Well, order is good. Order is what gets you to work on time, dressed in the right clothes.” And preferably sober. “Don’t knock it.”

“I need to stop trying to fix things the whole time. I do everything myself, instead of delegating. And I need to work on being more…spontaneous, at least some of the time.”

Audrey decided it was time to lighten the mood a little. “We’ll schedule it in. Being spontaneous.”

Grace smiled. “Schedule being spontaneous? That sounds like an oxymoron.”

“I wouldn’t know, but we should dance down the Champs-Élysées. Strip off our clothes and swim in the Seine. Although that would be insane. Get it?” She laughed at her own joke. “In-Seine.”

“I get it.” Grace laughed, too. “I’m not going to strip off and swim in the Seine.”

Privately, Audrey thought Grace could do with stripping off at least a few layers. She was all buttoned-up shirts and long pants that showed no flesh. “Whatever—it’s time to start thinking about yourself. Putting yourself first. When did you last do something just for you?”

“I’m here, in Paris.”

“But you came because if you hadn’t, then your daughter wouldn’t have done her whole summer traveling thing. You check your phone all the time in case she needs you, and now you’ll also be checking your phone in case I need you, which I won’t, by the way. You call your grandmother—you agreed to work in the bookshop and teach me to help me out. It seems to me you do a lot of thinking about other people, but not a lot about yourself.”

“I’m fine.” She looked so anxious that Audrey felt bad for her.

“Hey, if you’re going to make me do new stuff that is scary, then you have to do it, too.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not. I’m building a new life here, and you should be, too. Otherwise you’ll go back home to the same shit—sorry, I mean the same situation—you had before and nothing will have changed. This is your chance to do something for you.” She pushed her plate away. “I’m guessing you don’t like nightclubs, but there must be other ways to meet people. Museum evenings or something. Art appreciation.” What would someone like Grace like? “When you were in Paris the first time, did you meet any guys? Oh, wait—you met the older brother.” She couldn’t imagine Grace as a teenager. Had she ever worn short skirts and done the walk of shame? It was only because she happened to glance up at that moment that she saw Grace’s cheeks turn pink. “What was his name?”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Grace!”

Grace sighed. “His name was Philippe.”

For a moment, she caught a glimpse of another Grace. A less perfect, less tightly held together Grace. “What’s he doing now?”

“We haven’t been in touch since I was last in Paris, which was before you were even born.”

“You’ve never looked him up?”

“No. I tried to forget about him.”

“Mmm, well, we should check him out. He might be single.” Audrey pulled her phone out. “What’s his second name?”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s single. I’m married.”

Audrey wondered if she should point out the obvious. Grace might consider herself married, but David clearly didn’t.

Who the hell would leave someone as kind and loyal as Grace? If she ever met David, she might just punch the guy. She decided she had to be cruel to be kind. “No offense, Grace, but you’re not looking that married from where I’m sitting. It takes more than a ring and a piece of paper. It takes the man to be present. He isn’t present, and that is his biggest flaw.”

“Good point. Brutal, but good.” Grace sniffed. “You have a very clear way of seeing things.”

With everything she’d seen and heard in the salon, she probably had more experience than the average marriage counselor.

Also, she’d seen her mother work her way through a few different men. They all had one thing in common. They didn’t stick. Audrey felt a moment of panic. David and Grace had split up after twenty-five years, so obviously there was no safe point. Was she ever going to be able to relax? What if Ron didn’t stick? What if right now her mother was driving him crazy? Audrey still checked her phone for messages every hour and she couldn’t shake the nerves and unease that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her stomach. And then there was the guilt, too. The feeling that she’d abandoned her mother.

Anxiety started to swirl inside her and she decided it was time to change the subject for both their sakes. “What’s his second name? Philippe? I’m going to find him on social media.”

“You are not.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the harm?”