One Summer in Paris

She pushed her hair back from her face again. H

er hands shook. Emotion swelled inside her like a tide and she couldn’t hold it back.

“I’m sorry.” She gulped out the word, tears pouring down her face. “I’m so sorry for everything. For being drunk. For texting you. For making you so worried you stayed awake all night. All of it.”

“It’s not a big deal, honey. Forget it.”

“I c-can’t.” She hiccuped. “You probably won’t believe me, but I’ve never been drunk before. I don’t drink. Last night I drank because everyone else was and I didn’t want to be different. Marc looked at me as if I was a child or something and I thought Etienne might be embarrassed to be with me, so I said yes and I never say yes.”

“It’s called peer pressure, Audrey. It happens.”

“Not to me. You don’t understand. I was out of control. The thing I never wanted to happen to me, happened to me. And I was so sure it never would. I’m just like her.” Just like her mother. She’d lain on the bathroom floor just like her mother. She’d thrown up. Panic drenched her. Her mother must have started this way. One drink and then another. It was something that had always scared her, that one day it might happen to her, too. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be that person.

She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand, but the tears kept coming and with it the sobs and then Grace was holding her. Rocking her.

“You’re upset because you didn’t sleep and you have a terrible headache. You shouldn’t think about this now.”

“You don’t understand.” Audrey sobbed on Grace. Why didn’t she have a mother like Grace? Why? “You don’t know what it’s like at home. No one does.”

“There, honey.” Grace smoothed her hair away from her face. “Do you want to tell me how it is?”

Audrey sniffed. She couldn’t possibly share all the things that were in her head. They were too awful. “I’ve never talked about it.”

Grace squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but if you want to talk, then I’m here.”

Audrey took a deep breath. “My mum drinks.” There. She’d said it. Finally. She felt as if someone had lifted the heavy weight that had been crushing her forever. And those three words opened the floodgates for many more. “She drinks a lot. I don’t even know how she holds down a job, because most of the time she’s drunk but she can cover it up. She’s like this amazing party animal. Everyone thinks she is so much fun, but they don’t see how she is the rest of the time. I never know where I am with her. One minute she’s hugging me and telling me she loves me, and the next she’s yelling. And when I suggest maybe she talks to someone, or has a night without drinking, she tells me that there’s nothing wrong and I’m the one with the problem.” She glanced up, expecting to see surprise or maybe even disgust on Grace’s face, but she saw nothing but sympathy and kindness.

“Your mother is an alcoholic?”

Miserable, Audrey nodded. “I feel bad saying it. I do love her, honest. But it’s hard. I’ve never told anyone before.” She grabbed a tissue from the box Grace had left close to her and blew her nose hard. “I probably shouldn’t have told you. Don’t ever tell anyone, will you? Not a living soul.”

“I promise.” Grace hugged her. “A moment ago you said you were just like her, but you know that’s not true, don’t you?”

Audrey scrubbed her face with her hand. “That’s how it starts, isn’t it? Every alcoholic starts by having one drink. And then another.”

“Is that why you’re upset? Because now you think you’re one, too?”

It probably sounded ridiculous to someone else. No one was going to get how it felt.

Defensive, vulnerable, she pulled away from Grace. “Forget it. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“Yeah, right.” She picked up the glass of water next to her and finished it. “You’re just trying to make me feel better. How could you possibly understand how I feel?”

Grace took the empty glass from her. “Because my mother was an alcoholic, too. I understand exactly how you feel.”

Grace

Grace beat the eggs in a bowl. She added herbs from the pots on her balcony, a twist of salt and pepper and then tipped the mixture into a skillet. They sizzled and she nudged the edges, juggling the pan until the base of the omelet was golden brown. It was a routine that calmed her.

She slid it onto a plate, and added toasted slices of sourdough bread and a dollop of ketchup.

Audrey was sitting at the table on the balcony, wearing dark glasses and nursing an appalling hangover. Her hair was still wet from the shower and she was wearing one of Grace’s shirts. Her legs and feet were bare.

She looked young and vulnerable, and Grace ached for her.

She understood everything Audrey was feeling. All of it, including the shameful agony of sharing the truth with someone outside the family.