by Alix Nichols
“Relax,” I say. “Lily’s dad is back in Martinique.”
“Lily,” he repeats, staring at my baby.
“I named her after my favorite grandma.”
“So you jilted the father?”
“We broke up by mutual agreement.”
He nods. “How old is she?”
“Four months,” I lie.
“I don’t know much about babies, but I would’ve given her six. At least.”
“Her father is very tall,” I say. “She’s his spitting image.”
He nods again, visibly calmer.
“Can I hold her?” He attempts a smile.
I turn Lily around and sniff. “Maybe some other time. I think she’s done a poo.”
He studies her diaper-clad posterior. “Are you sure it’s poop? Maybe her diaper just slid down and… bunched under her butt.”
I lift her closer to his face. “Smell it.”
“Ugh.” He grimaces and turns away.
“Told ya.”
“It could also be gas,” he says.
“Here’s a rule of thumb with babies.” I set Lily down on the floor to get her change mat. “If it looks like poop and smells like poop, then it’s poop.”
“Ah,” he says. “Mia and her rules of thumb. You haven’t changed that much, after all.”
“Raphael and his rule of the middle finger,” I say. “You haven’t changed at all.”
Chapter 25
As a uniformed maître d’ leads me to Sandro’s table at La Coupole, I admire the art deco murals of this legendary brasserie where Joséphine Baker once came with a lion cub and Marc Chagall celebrated his last birthday.
I also take the full measure of how nervous I am about today.
First, because the DCA gang—especially the perceptive Delphine—is bound to ask me questions I’ll have to skirt. Second, because Xavier, whom I’m seeing later this afternoon, might attempt hand-holding or other forms of physical contact for which I’m not ready yet.
Barbara throws herself at me with such force I sway. “Mia, you bastard, how long were you going to keep your return from us?”
She gives me a bear hug and then moves away to make room for Delphine.
“I’m sorry, guys, I really am,” I say as I embrace Delphine and then then Sandro.
Delphine arches an eyebrow. “We might forgive you if you tell us everything.”
And that’s exactly what I do over the next hour. I fill them in about my life in Martinique, my upcoming defense, and the co-moderated workshop. I also tell them about Lily, feeding them the same version of her origins I gave Raphael. Who knows, if I repeat it often enough, maybe I’ll start believing it myself.
“So her dad stayed back in Martinique?” Sandro asks. “Is it really over between you two?”
I nod.
“I had a romance like that, too, a couple of years back,” Barb says, her eyes dreamy. “It took just three or four weeks before my rose-colored glasses fell off. But while it lasted, I was crazy about the guy.”
“Sounds like your glasses were colored by horniness more than roses,” Sandro says.
Barbara shrugs a perhaps.
I glance at Delphine, who’s been suspiciously quiet.
She’s eyeing me with an impish look in her eyes, and I know exactly what she’s trying to communicate.
You can fool those two, ma cocotte, but not me.
Thankfully, she doesn’t say it out loud.
We say good-bye at two-thirty on a promise to do this again in a couple of weeks and that I’ll bring Lily along so they can meet her.
At a quarter to three, I’m in front of the main entrance of the Montparnasse tower for my rendezvous with Xavier, who hasn’t arrived yet. Fifteen minutes later, he climbs off his bicycle, secures it with a U-lock, and heads toward me. He’s right on time. It’s me who got here early, having almost run the short distance from La Coupole. I suspect I’m too eager to get this dating thing started… and over with.
Argh!
I shouldn’t think that way. What’s the point in trying to date someone if I’m already looking forward to the end of the experiment?
Xavier seems to be such a great guy.
He says he loves children. He volunteers for several humanitarian organizations. Whenever he can, he participates in antiwar rallies, and he has recently purchased an indoor worm composter. It’s a container filled with worms that eat organic waste, and it’s perfect for apartments as an alternative to outdoor composting. Xavier claims the worms stay inside the container. He told me everything there is to know about it in minute detail after Professor Guyot’s workshop last Monday.
A man like that deserves my best effort.
And I’ll be damned if don’t give it to him. Raphael’s impromptu visit two days ago won’t make me change my mind.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask after we cheek kiss. “I have two hours.”
Annoyance flickers in his eyes. “Why so little?”
“Lily,” I say. “The nursery closes at six, and I need an hour to get there, factoring in the usual métro suspects like suspicious packages on the platform, electricity outages, and personnel strikes.”
He smiles. “The trade unions haven’t announced any strikes for today.”
“Did they also promise no abandoned backpacks?” I ask, smiling back.
“Unfortunately not.”
“Then we have two hours.”
“OK,” he says. “Let me think. I wanted to take you to one of the charities where I volunteer, then to the recycling cooperative, and then to a café.”
“Pick one.”
“Let’s do the cooperative.” He gives me a determined nod. “Maybe you’ll find something nice to buy in their shop.”
I wish he’d picked the café.
Shame on me.
A recycling cooperative is of course a much better choice.
Fifteen minutes later, Xavier opens the door to a folksy-looking shop, and we walk in. Introductions and handshakes ensue, after which Xavier gives me a tour of the premises.
“These are made in Senegal from recycled plastic bags.” He points at a selection of god-awful pocketbooks that cost a fortune.
“Nice,” I say.
He picks up a wallet with a splashy yellow-green pattern reminiscent of vomit. “Would you like to buy one? It’s Fair Trade Certified, like everything here.”
“Um…” I give him an apologetic look. “I don’t need a wallet.”
He puts the item back on the shelf.
I wonder why I felt compelled to apologize. Why didn’t I just say the wallet was ugly as hell and not worth a quarter of the price the cooperative charges for it? Out of politeness, no doubt. I don’t know Xavier well enough to be frank. It’ll come.
As we continue the tour, he shows me more objects that are as hideous as they are useless. I say “nice” every time, itching to ask if the shop ever manages to sell anything. But I bite my tongue. The cooperative must be one of those outfits that exist as long as they’re funded and dissolve as soon as the grant dries up. Purchasing their products is an act of solidarity with workers in developing countries rather than regular shopping.
I should be ashamed of myself.
“This key ring is lovely.” I point to the cheapest object, which is as “lovely” as a pack of hyenas feasting on a carcass.
He follows my gaze. “It was made in Somalia.”
“I’ll buy it.”
Xavier’s expression brightens.
Phew.
I can’t get out of the shop quickly enough.
“We still have forty-five minutes,” Xavier says after we wave good-bye to his buddies. “How about a coffee?”
I beam. “Good idea.”
A few minutes later, we’re seated in the back of a dimly lit bistro. “I hope you enjoyed the excursion,” Xavier says. “Next time I’ll show you the homeless shelter I volunteer for.”
“I’d like that.”
Liar.
“And
maybe another time,” he says, “we could hang out with your baby so you won’t need to rush home?”
“Sure,” I say.
And I almost mean it.
We order two espressos.
“Did I tell you I practice tantric yoga?” he asks.
“Sounds impressive.”
“You don’t know what that means, do you?”
“Nope,” I admit.
“It means I have such control over my body I can last forever during sex.”
“Oh.” I stare at my hands on the table. “That’s… nice.”
I’ve said “nice” at least a hundred times today.
Xavier covers one of my hands with his and strokes his thumb across my palm, slowly and deliberately. I let him, trying to figure out if I like it. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t. Xavier is attractive, and good, and I haven’t been touched by a man in over a year.
There’s a pattern to his stroking… It’s a spiral… Clockwise expanding, then a straight line, then counterclockwise shrinking.
Must be a tantric thing.
He lets go of my hand, bounds around the table, and sits on the bench next to me.
I wonder what he’ll do next.
He lowers his head and begins to tongue my earlobe.
I stiffen.
He continues with a redoubled zeal.
That makes me think of my early days with Raphael, when we were still learning each other. My freezing like this would’ve stopped him short. Unlike all the other men I’ve kissed, made out with, or had sex with, Raphael pays attention to nonverbal feedback.
Maybe he’s a freak.
I draw back and give verbal feedback to Xavier. “I don’t like ear licking.”
He looks stung, as if I said something mean.
That’s a shame.
I wish he’d just say, “Note taken, I won’t do that again,” and move on, like Raphael would’ve done. I wish he weren’t so heavy going and earnest.
I wish Raphael hadn’t ruined me for everyone else.
Chapter 26
It’s nine on a Saturday morning and Lily is still asleep, bless her sweet little heart. Me, I’m wide awake. It’s been a long night. The few short bouts of sleep I managed to catch where filled with weird dreams. In one of them I kissed Raphael who turned into Xavier who turned into a pixelated space invader.
Gah.
My first date with Xavier had been a total flop.
Before we said good-bye, he insisted on meeting Lily and that we take her to the Jardin du Luxembourg or Tuileries on Sunday.
I said this Sunday wouldn’t work.
Not that I had any plans. It just felt too soon. Or maybe it was the image of Xavier, me, and Lily strolling in the park together like a family. That just felt… wrong.
We should try that sometime—he’s totally right about it—but I guess I’m not ready yet.
Anyway, there’s no rush. I have other, more important matters to take care of.
The positive outcome of my sleepless night was that I made up my mind. Next time I call Màma and Pàpa, I’m going to tell them about Lily, consequences be damned.
Eva is right—I can’t put it off much longer. The excuse that I’m too busy to go to Estheim is old, seeing as I’ve been back in continental France over a month now. Last time we talked, Màma hinted she and Pàpa were planning a little Parisian vacation in October. My confession had better happen before that vacation.
It will happen before that vacation.
I rub my eyes and drag myself out of bed.
Someone knocks on the door.
Raphael.
Please, let it be him!
“A little early for a second courtesy visit,” I say as I open the door and stare at his sexy, clean-shaven face.
I hope my enthusiasm doesn’t show.
“Are you referring to the time of day or the time of year?”
“Both.”
He nods and steps inside. “With all the excitement from fixing your dishwasher, I forgot to get your number last time.”
“Why would you need my number?”
“So I could invite you and Lily to come with me on a little weekend trip.”
I blink.
“This weekend,” he says.
I blink again.
“It wasn’t planned.”
I fold my arms across my chest.
He screws up his face, eyebrows roof-shaped, sexy as hell. “Will you come?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“I have other plans.”
He unleashes his ultimate weapon—the sad-puppy look. “Can your other plans be postponed?”
“Why is it so important?”
“Because…” He hesitates. “I managed to get my closest friends and Sebastian and his wife to clear their schedules.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Why? And… where to?”
“So they can meet you… on a Greek island south of Crete.”
“The one in the photos in your apartment?”
“Ninossos,” he says with a nod. “It’s even more beautiful in real life. I hope you’ll like it.”
I rub my forehead as if trying to prevent my thoughts from scattering all over the place. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.” He smiles. “I promise there’s no hidden agenda, no expectations, no strings.” He gives me a wink. “I’m a conscientious objector to strings, as you know.”
I do.
God, this is tempting.
“All I want is for you to have a bit of fun,” he says.
“Why do you care?”
“Honestly?” He shrugs. “No idea.”
“OK,” I say, hardly believing my own words. “Why not? Lily and I will tag along.”
He plants a kiss on my forehead, then turns around, and heads to the door. “I’ll pick you up at ten thirty”
And then he’s gone.
He was right—Ninossos is even more gorgeous in reality than in those beautiful prints on the walls of his penthouse.
I take in a deep breath of air that smells of seawater and several other delicious things I can’t identify and put Lily back in her stroller. She was agitated earlier, so I left Raphael and his friends to finish their lunch on the patio of his villa and took Lily for a calming walk. I had to promise him we’d stay in the vicinity of the house and be back in fifteen minutes.
You’d think the island was swarming with wild beasts.
The wildest creature we’ve met so far was a sea gull.
The flight to Ninossos was quick and easy, Lily’s incessant crying notwithstanding.
“This is Mia and Lily” was how Raphael had introduced us to everyone before we boarded the jet. No other qualifier or explanation—just “Mia and Lily.” The responses to that laconic presentation ranged from Sebastian’s nod to Diane’s bear hug. When she let go of me, she asked if I’d let her hold Lily, and as she gently took her from me, I realized she was pregnant.
Between those two extremes were the firm handshake from Raphael’s buddy Cedric and the contactless cheek kiss from his bestie, Genevieve.
Yes, that Genevieve.
Finally, I had the honor of meeting Raphael’s oldest friend, who turned out to be a refined creature in her late twenties. Clearly, his equal in both status and money. Also, probably the only woman in his life he’s been faithful to, if not in flesh then in spirit.
She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe I’d seen her before in Raphael’s bar without knowing who she was.
Despite their different greetings, all four guests had one reaction in common. They stared at Lily longer and with more intensity than a regular person would look at a baby. The expression on their faces was that of a person trying to solve a puzzle. I knew exactly what that puzzle was.
Is this baby Raphael’s?
As I push the stroller, I wonder what conclusion each of them had arrived at.
By the time I’m back at the patio, Lily is fast asleep.
&n
bsp; I set the stroller in the shade and return to my place around the table. The catering service Raphael has hired so we could “just chill” brings out coffee and dessert.
He apologizes to Genevieve, with whom he was chatting, and comes to sit next to me.
She glances at me with so much hatred it feels like a sharp punch to my face. I gasp, incredulous, and take a second look at her. Genevieve lifts her teacup to her lips without the slightest hint of emotion on her serene face.
I must have imagined it.
“I saw Noah yesterday,” Genevieve says.
“Where?” Sebastian and Raphael ask in unison.
“At the Tintin exhibit in Grand Palais. A friend of mine dragged me there.” She picks up a canelé and bites off half of the miniature pastry. “Mmm.”
“Noah’s always been a huge fan of Tintin,” Raphael says with a smile.
Sebastian’s gaze is hard when he turns to Genevieve. “Did you talk to him?”
“First, I wasn’t sure it was him,” she says. “Last time I saw him, he was a child. But I thought I’d try my luck, so I asked him if he was Noah d’Arcy.”
Raphael’s expression is now as grave as Sebastian’s. “And?”
“He said, ‘Noah Masson, why?’.”
“He uses Maman’s maiden name these days,” Raphael says.
Genevieve nods. “I knew that, so I introduced myself.”
She puts the second half of her canelé in her mouth and chews slowly.
“Come on, Vivie,” Raphael urges. “Don’t keep us hanging.”
“Sorry.” She smiles. “I told Noah his brothers were hoping he’d return their calls. He said he was hoping you’d gotten the message by now. And then he said good-bye.”
Raphael and Sebastian exchange a look full of frustration and disappointment.
“Fine,” Sebastian says, wiping his mouth. “I’ll stop reaching out. He can continue living like a bum, renting a shitty rathole in a shitty neighborhood while his trust fund is collecting dust and his castle in Burgundy is falling into disrepair. Not my problem.”
Raphael lets out a sigh.
“My theory is he doesn’t want any part of the d’Arcy fortune for ideological reasons,” Genevieve says. “Maybe he’s become a left-wing radical like Diane—except he actually lives by his principles.”