“I am grown up.”
“I know.”
“Anyways.” I cleared my throat. “How are you?”
“Good. Good. Nothing new.”
“How’s Dad?”
“He’s working.”
Dad was always working. “Are you being social? Have you got lunch with Linda or Janice lately?”
“Linda and I are meeting tomorrow, yes.”
A silence fell, and I took a deep breath, trying to suck it away, tired of all the silences that always formed. “Mom, I’m really sorry if I didn’t appreciate it when you took me out. I know it was how you bonded. I just—I didn’t know that then. I wanted to play catch.”
“I know. You always wanted to be one of the boys. I never forgave your father for not including you more.”
“Carl was talking about how happy you were here, and I guess—I don’t know, I want you to be happy. Mike’s mom has some—weird issues with her late husband’s old girlfriend, and they’re all messed up, and I don’t want us to be messed up, and I’m sorry if I was judgmental and a bad daughter.”
“Natalie. Natalie, slow down. You’re not a bad daughter.”
“Are you happy? Were you really happy here?”
She was silent for a minute, and when she spoke she sounded far away. “I remember Paris with rose-tinted glasses, so what do I know? But what I remember was wonderful. And that’s enough for me.” She cleared her throat. “Sometimes I worry you like that feeling too. But so much that you move around quickly, so that you can always be looking back at something with fondness.”
I bit my lip. “I’ve been sort of thinking about that. And I was thinking that if this works out—I really like it in Kilkarten. Of course, it’s impossible to know anything until it happens, but I think I would be happy to have that and New York. I don’t think I would need anything else. Right now, I don’t even want it.” I saw the clock. Almost dinner. “I should go. But Carl said to tell you to come visit. He said you were missed.” I paused. “I miss you, Mom.”
“I miss you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you in two months.”
* * *
I clicked off and went downstairs. Mike sat in the miniscule courtyard, eating rolls dotted with large sugar crystals like popcorn. I dropped down in the wicker chair beside him.
“Thank you for taking me here.” I felt light. Whole. Like I’d shed some weight, the burden of misconception and worry and anger and guilt. “I’ve never understood my mother. I always thought it was so horrible, being wrenched away from your family at such a young age and living where she didn’t even speak the language. And I know Mom always talked like she liked it, but I thought that was some weird, messed up psychological thing, because how could you? But maybe she really did. I think I have a hard time admitting other people’s points of view are okay when they’re radically opposed to my own. Maybe I never even listened to her.”
“So you made a conclusion about your parents and might have been wrong.” He gave me that crooked smile I loved so much. “Must be crazy.”
I tilted my head back and saw that same black cat still perched on the turret. “I think my mom’s a lot smarter than I give her credit for.”
He started laughing. I straightened, startled.
“Join the club,” he said, and kissed me between bursts of laughter. “Join the fucking club.”
Chapter Twenty-One
We had dinner on rue Cler, a pedestrian street made of cobblestones and tourists. We ate outside, a candle on our table, a flower shop on one side, a chocolate shop across the street. I could have sat for hours watching all the people go by: the speeding locals, the chatting shop owners, the tourists who looked from their guidebooks to one restaurant and then another.
Instead, I watched Mike.
He ordered one of every appetizer, and then talked animatedly, hands waving, eyes sparking. He told me about his friends, his teammates, the last season and his hopes for the next. They’d drafted two players that were supposed to be amazing. They’d also traded for a new linebacker.
He made me so happy.
We laughed all through dinner, and then flagged the waiter down for dessert. He looked at us with exquisite boredom. “You will take the crème caramel?”
I ventured a quick glance at Mike. Did something about us say crème caramel? “Um—I was thinking the chocolate cake.” I looked to Mike for confirmation, and he shrugged agreeably.