by Pratt, Lulu
“Well, we shall see, won’t we?” He turned to Mx. Tok. “Please, show me the restoration.”
“Of course, Pierre.”
I’d never known Mx. Tok to be so deferential. Was this man her relative or something? It all seemed so… out of character.
But it wasn’t important, not really. What mattered, obviously, was making a good impression. I chatted idly with him about New York and the weather as Tok led us downstairs to the restoration room. Pierre was pleasant, and kindly without being obsequious. I liked him immediately.
Tok opened the door to my room — or rather, the restoration room, which I had come to think of as my room.
“Beautiful facilities,” Pierre murmured. “Very impressive.”
“Thank you,” Mx. Tok beamed. “Now, allow me to show you Chloe’s progress.”
She led Pierre inside the glass cube, and I followed close behind, the hairs on my arms bristling with fear that this man, this stranger, would not approve of my work. Why did I suddenly care so much? It was impossible to say. All I knew was that I valued his opinion. Maybe it was just something about the way he carried himself that made me feel as though he was an authority.
Mx. Tok unveiled the first painting. I’d been working most on Wilted Flower, but she’d added to my workload since approving of my progress on the other piece. Now, I was in charge of restoration of the whole collection. I liked all the alone time, being still in the room, just me and the art work and the life growing in my womb. It felt a little sacred.
Pierre nodded approvingly at the painting, a piece that featured a rippling stream through a field of flowers.
“Wonderful,” he said. “And the others?”
Tok went through one by one, meticulously showing off each of my works. I noticed with surprise that she’d taken the trouble of having them all laid within reach inside the cube, which meant she’d had to pull several from the storage room next door. Who was the guy, and why was she working so hard to impress him?
At last, she came to what I thought of as my pièce de résistance — Girl with a Wilted Flower.
Pierre gasped. “I saw the condition of this before it was delivered. The family displayed it to me some years ago, asking if I thought it was restorable. I told them I did not. To see it now… it’s a marvel.” He turned to me and with a slight bow, said, “I’m in the presence of a genius.”
“Oh, sir, no,” I stammered, taken aback by the compliment.
“Yes. You must allow me to say so. I know raw talent when I see it.”
Mx. Tok slid in smoothly, “Chloe, Pierre here is the chief restoration manager at the Louvre. So of all people, he’s in a position to recognize talent.”
Oh my God. Oh my God. I’d known from Tok’s treatment of him that he was important, but I hadn’t guessed that he was one of the most preeminent people in my field. Suddenly, I recognized his name from my classes.
“You’re Pierre Tartin?” I gasped.
He smiled, revealing a toothy grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, no, I’ve admired your work for so long,” I managed to reply. “I’d never seen a picture of you, so I didn’t know—”
He raised a hand, cutting off my string of babble. “I am not offended. Chloe, you have a very promising future ahead of you. You’ll be getting an email from my people.”
“Thank you, thank you so much, sir.”
“Please, call me Pierre.”
“Pierre,” I said, testing the singular name out in my mouth.
“I look forward to hearing more from you. I trust that this will not be the last time our paths cross,” he said, before pivoting to Mx. Tok. “I have an appointment with the MoMA, but it’s been a pleasure.”
“Always, Pierre,” she agreed. “Let me show you out.”
Mx. Tok placed a hand on his back, maneuvering him to the door. She paused only a moment to turn her head back to me and give me a single nod of approval before exiting, Pierre in tow.
I sank to the ground, my legs giving out from beneath me.
One of the most well-respected art restorers in my field had just seen my work. And liked it. Okay, not to be dramatic, but I could die happy.
All at once, my future was wide open.
CHAPTER 28
Xavier
THE MOMENT I entered the spa, I was overwhelmed with the familiar scents of jasmine and green tea, smells that powerfully evoked my childhood.
“Xavier,” the woman at the counter said, smiling in greeting. “We haven’t seen you for a while.”
I sighed. “Yes, Jenny, I’m sorry about that. I’ve been very busy.”
“Your father just came in. I believe you’ll find him in the showers.”
“Thanks very much. And tell your kids I said hi.”
She gave me another small smile. “Of course, Xavier.”
She passed me the traditional blue T-shirt and shorts, commonplace in Korean spas and designed to give the wearer plenty of comfort and room to move around. Or as was more common, nap heavily.
I’d been coming to the Dream Spa with my father since I was a little boy. Eureka had connections across the globe, but my father’s business ties were strongest to Asia. He seemed to be there a lot when I was growing up. I spent many school vacations joining him and enjoying adventures in Japan, Hong Kong and Singapore. As a result of my father’s international connections, my father had adopted a number of Asian customs, including going to spas.
My father believed powerfully in the goodness of an old-fashioned Korean spa, which involved heavy skin scrubbing, saunas and themed relaxation rooms with salt, crystal, so on and so forth, where one relaxed, meditated or stretched. The main room boasted a small café and mats where people of both genders could lie down and chill out. My father had instilled in me from a young age that hard work was important — and so was taking care of your mental health with periodic rewards. It was one of the lessons I was most grateful for.
Striding into the men’s locker room, which was gender segregated because all the men were naked in the various water features, I immediately locked eyes on my father.
He was, as I could’ve guessed, in the hot pool, taking a soak before he would dip into the cold one right next to it. He said the alternating of the cold and hot temperatures was one of the things that kept him looking so young. I suspected this was old folk wisdom, but I had to admit he looked excellent for his age.
“Xavier,” he called out. “Shower off then join me.”
I changed out of my clothes, shoving them in a reserved locker before heading to the showers. It was traditional to scrape off all dead skin before getting in the tubs. Anything less would be considered unhygienic.
After five minutes of careful work, I joined my father in the tub.
“How are you?” he asked as I relaxed into the water.
“Better, now that I’m here.”
He splashed a little water on my face. “You used to love it here as a kid.”
“I know, I think I looked forward to this spa more than I did, like, Disney World.”
“You were a strange boy,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, it was just because this is where we spent the most quality time.”
My dad smiled, his eyes creasing. “I’m glad you got as much out of it as I did.”
I smiled back, and then we both looked away, overwhelmed by the sentimentality of the moment. We tried to be open about our feelings as much as possible, but society was tough on men. We felt — or at least, I did — as though there was a distinct limitation on just how much we could express ourselves. I tried to subvert expectations, but sometimes, it was more trouble than it was worth.
“Have you heard how Adam is doing?” I asked, trying to steer things into easier territory.
“Adam is doing better. He is at home now, recovering. I hope you have been in regular contact with Rebecca. Her father has had a brush with death and she needs support.”
“Of course. I
spoke to her the day before yesterday, but she was on her way to see a friend,” I recalled our brief conversation as being stilted, but considering what she and her family had been through, I might have been a reminder of other responsibilities.
“Good,” he replied.
“So, why did you invite me out, Dad?”
“Not enough that we haven’t been here in a while?”
I arched an eyebrow. “It would be, but I don’t think that’s what’s going on.”
My dad exhaled and said, “Let’s grab our towels, change and go to the Himalayan salt room.”
“Okay,” I agreed, even as my mind whirled with possibilities. What could my dad be getting at?
We both quickly got into our T-shirts and shorts before padding out to the main area, where men in blue outfits and women in pink ones lay on the floor or sat before low tables, eating and drinking tea. We passed by all of them, heading to the backmost room.
The Himalayan salt room was what it sounded like. The walls were made from pink salt, and pink salt crystals covered the heated floor. Mats and head rests were spread around for maximum comfort atop the lumpy ground. It was my father’s and my favorite room, because it was so hidden that it usually had few to no people.
Sure enough, there wasn’t another person in sight. My father sat down with a groan on a nearby mat and I joined him, stretching out my legs and letting the floor warm me.
“So,” I said once he’d made himself comfortable. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Son, I’ve noticed you’re not in the office much recently.”
I picked up a few of the salt crystals in my hand, letting them run through like large grains of sand.
“I’ve been busy. This stuff with the Comino Gallery has been very time-consuming.”
“I understand, and I’m not mad. I just want to make sure you don’t lose sight of what’s important.”
Pulling myself up onto my elbows, I asked, “Are you saying that the paintings aren’t important?”
My father’s brow furrowed. “I’m saying, remember what your priorities are. And who your priorities are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I’m getting at, Xavier.”
“I really, really don’t.”
He sighed, and this time, I heard exasperation fraying his voice. “If you don’t pay a little more attention to Rebecca, she’s going to stray. She’s a very sweet young woman — smart as a whip, friendly — and you need to show her that you care about her. There are a million other men who would be happy to date Rebecca. Show her that you want to be her husband.”
This was the moment. I had to tell him the truth now. If I didn’t, I’d regret it forever. Besides, hadn’t I just been thinking about how I wanted to be better at expressing my feelings, regardless of what society might want me to do?
“Dad,” I said, working up the courage. “I’m not sure I want to marry Rebecca. I don’t know if it’s what my heart actually wants, and you’ve always told me to follow my heart.”
My father gave the last response I would’ve expected — he laughed.
“Xavier, nobody is sure about getting married. Marriage is an exciting prospect, yes, but also a deeply daunting one. It’s a big commitment to make, both emotionally and legally. There are families and loved ones involved. A lot is on the line. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t nervous, because it’d show me you weren’t taking this seriously.”
“Dad—”
“Having cold feet is normal. Once you get over the initial nerves, you’ll be thrilled you made this decision. Okay?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
With that, I lay back alongside my father on the salt floor, trying to will away my doubts in the silence.
CHAPTER 29
Chloe
THE RESTAURANT buzzed with the noise of early morning boozy brunchers. Ugh. This seemed like an “avocado toast and latte art” kind of place. Very much not my scene.
But Alexandra and I had originally planned at meeting up at our favorite hole-in-the-wall bar, only to realize that neither of us could drink. So… brunch was the second best option.
A knock on the window caught my attention — it was Alexandra, flagging me down, already seated at our table. I smiled back and walked inside.
“Chloe, I’ve missed you,” she said, wrapping me in an embrace. “It’s been too long.”
I joined her at the table, both of us sitting down. “Yeah, sorry about that. The restoration has been pretty time-consuming.”
“Oh, I bet. I’m just grateful I got out of there before the paintings came in,” Alexandra laughed. “It’s nice that I got to stick the hard job on you.”
“Yeah, thanks so much for that,” I replied sardonically.
“But has it given you any opportunities? Does Tok like you? Because God knows that’s important.”
“Actually… yeah.” I bit back a wide grin as I told Alexandra, “She introduced me to Pierre Tartin.”
“What?!” Alexandra shrieked, drawing the eyes — and resentment — of other brunchers.
“Yeah. And, get this, he was impressed. By my work.”
“Oh my GOD!” Her voice now properly rang out through the restaurant, and I could see some woman fixing to get up and give us what for.
“Shh, Alexandra, keep your voice down.”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’m pregnant, I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
“Okay, drama queen. Anyway, I checked my email just before I came here, and… ” I swallowed, unable to believe what I was about to say. “Pierre’s team says I’m a potential candidate to join the Louvre restoration unit.”
If Alexandra was the fainting type, she would’ve been on the floor right about then. Her eyes bulged out of her head, and I thought I was going to need to fetch some sniffing salts.
“Chloe, that’s incredible,” she said, sniffling back a celebratory sob, but managing to keep her voice down this time. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, don’t be proud just yet, I haven’t technically gotten the job.”
“Oh please, it’s in the bag.”
“And I’m not sure that I would accept, even if I did get it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why the hell not? It’s the Louvre!”
I went silent, unwilling to plow too deeply into my thought process.
She raised an eyebrow, and I knew that she saw right through me. “Chloe, would you turn down a job because of Xavier?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your eyes did.” She shook her head. “You can’t make a decision like that if you haven’t even told him you’re pregnant. Speaking of which, why the hell haven’t you told him you’re pregnant?”
I slumped down in my chair like a sulking teenager. “It hasn’t come up yet.”
“Oh, bullshit. Find a way to bring it up.”
“But,” I countered, changing my tack, “if I went to Paris to work at the Louvre, then Xavier wouldn’t need to know. It could be just me and the baby. That’s what my mother always wanted — to have adventures, to travel the world. Maybe I could do for my kid what she wasn’t able to do for me.”
Alexandra pursed her lips sympathetically. “That does sound amazing…”
“Granted, I think it would get lonely,” I admitted, almost playing devil’s advocate against myself. I was of two minds so different they couldn’t even seem to follow one stream of an argument.
Alexandra reached across the table to grip my hand. “Whatever you do, Chloe, I’m on your side. I just want to make sure you’re thinking about your options and that you’re happy, however this shakes out. A baby, a career… you can have it all. But how you have it is your decision to make.”
Squeezing her hand, I replied, “Thanks, Ali-bali-bee. For the opportunity. For everything.”
“Anytime.” She pulled her hand away, and was back in strict mama mode. “At least tell Xavier you’re in line for the j
ob, okay? Then either way, no matter what you do, he won’t be totally caught off guard.”
I thought about it for a moment, then allowed, “Okay, that does make sense. But what do I say?”
“Just tell him the truth. That you’re up for a position at the Louvre.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll do it now.”
I pulled out my phone and composed the most casual, amicable text I could muster, then slid the phone across the table for Alexandra to read.
“How’s this sound?” I asked, biting at a loose nail.
“Are we back in high school, deciphering texts from boys?” she asked with humor before picking up the phone and reading my quick missive. “It’s great, send it.”
I took the phone back from Alexandra, hesitated for one moment longer, then pressed ‘send.’ There. Now at least some small part of the truth was floating out in the universe.
“Feel better?” Alexandra questioned.
“A little.”
“Good. Now let’s get some waffles.”
CHAPTER 30
Xavier
MY FATHER and I were at a coffee shop, having left the spa together.
I’d just returned from the counter with two drinks when my phone dinged.
“You’re supposed to have your phone on silent,” my dad chided. “Don’t disturb the relaxation of others for your own sake.” He was somewhat old-fashioned about dad-son time.
“Sorry. Just a moment.”
I glanced at the screen and saw that it was a text from Chloe. What could she want?
I muted the phone and opened it to the home page to check the message.
It read:
Hey Xavier, big news! I’m in consideration for a position at the Louvre! Isn’t that crazy? Had to tell you :)
Well.
Shit.
My dad, apparently registering the distress in my face, asked, “Is anything wrong?”
Was anything wrong? Yeah, some stuff was wrong, I wanted to reply. The woman I might be kind of a little in love with was talking about moving to Paris. Everything was wrong. Every moment I got closer to Chloe, the universe ripped us apart.
