French Roast (The French Twist Series Book 4)

by Glynis Astie

  It was the first time I had cursed the fact that I lived in California.

  Once we boarded the plane, both Luc and Louis fell asleep and I stared out the window, transfixed by the wisps of clouds floating by. I was relieved to have a few moments in which I didn’t have to pretend to be okay. Luc had been so worried about me, he had stuck to my side for the duration of our time in New York. I, of course, felt it necessary to show him I was coping, so I kept my emotions well hidden. Mommies simply didn’t fall apart; they soldiered through the pain, ensuring the family unit functioned as well as possible. After all, what were we if not the glue holding our families together?

  The next morning, I said a tearful goodbye to Luc (he insisted he should accompany me for the day) and ventured into work, determined to find some sense of normalcy in my grief-ridden life. As I walked the long hallway to my office, I reached up for my mother’s pendant, feeling a small sense of reassurance in having a piece of her with me.

  I unlocked my office door, flipped on the lights and nearly jumped out of my skin at the presence of a large easel next to my desk.

  “I hope it’s okay.”

  Startled for the second time in the span of ten seconds, I whirled around to find Tempra, my favorite human resources representative, standing at the opening to her cubicle, just a few feet away.

  “Good morning,” I murmured. “I didn’t realize anyone was in yet.”

  I had purposely come in early, hoping to settle into my office before the general populace arrived. I somehow thought if I had my head buried in stacks of paper, people wouldn’t feel the need to ask how I was doing. I knew they meant well, but the truth was, I had no idea how I was doing and I was afraid my once-impenetrable diplomatic filter might not be up to the repeated questioning.

  Tempra smiled. “I like coming in early. It’s quiet.”

  I gestured to the easel. “What’s this? A new project?”

  She wrung her hands nervously. “No, I, uh, wanted you to have something to come back to. Lots of employees came by to ask about you and I thought you might be overwhelmed if they all stopped by on your first day back, so Vivian and I asked them to drop cards by instead.”

  My eyes returned to the easel. The large pad of paper resting on it was covered with scraps of paper of various sizes, shapes and colors. Closer examination revealed an assortment of cards, poems, invitations and even comics. I was momentarily amused by the variety of ways we as humans find to deal with our feelings. Apparently, Tom from marketing found a good old-fashioned polka contest effective in battling those blues away. Maybe he was on to something…

  I was about to giggle, when my emotion pendulum swung wildly back the other way. (Pregnancy hormones combined with extreme sorrow quite frequently resulted in disaster.) Suddenly overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection from the employee population, I dropped my bags to the floor and sank into my chair.

  Tempra perched on the arm of one of my guest chairs. “Do you need anything?”

  “I…” I do. I need SO many things. Sanity, first and foremost, although I had been pursuing that for years, to no avail. Sleep. Sleep would be good. Sleep might help me be able to approximate some semblance of sanity.

  My mind couldn’t seem to stop whirling. It was refusing to believe the world would just keep on turning without my mother.

  That’s what I really need! If you could just bring my mother back, then everything would be dandy.

  “I’m fine.” I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Thank you for asking.”

  She stood up and started toward the door. The need to say one more thing brought her back.

  “Your necklace is beautiful.”

  My fingers instinctively closed around the pendant. “It was my mother’s”

  “I thought so.” Tempra smiled softly. “She had nice taste.”

  “She really did.” I paused, trying to clear the lump from my throat. “She would let me wear it on special occasions when I was younger—graduations, prom, weddings—I have so many amazing memories associated with it.”

  “What a wonderful feeling to carry with you.”

  A smile spread across my face when I realized how right she was. “My mom used to tell me every woman needed a little extra sparkle from time to time.”

  “You have plenty of sparkle without the necklace.” She grinned. “And I think that has a lot to do with her.”

  “It has everything to do with her,” I whispered before quickly looking down to cover my impending breakdown. (Damn those wily emotions!)

  “I only met her once, but,” Tempra hesitated, “you always spoke of her with such wonder, with such love. I know how special she was to you and I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  I raised my eyes to hers, seeing my tears reflected in her eyes. Unable to speak, I simply nodded.

  “I’m here if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” my voice broke. It took everything I had not to fall apart in that one moment. Apparently, this day was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

  She glanced at me one last time before exiting, pulling my door shut softly to allow me some much-appreciated privacy.

  Thankfully, my email account was filled to the brim with distracting projects. Vivian, my outstanding boss, had been shouldering the load during my absence, but it was clear her resolve was weakening. Ever the diligent human resources director, she had copied me on her responses to a wide range of employee queries. Years of having me handle our most problematic employees—the ones with the worst attitudes—had made her a little rusty in the game of diffusing the inane problem without harming the employee. (A human resources professional with a prison record was really frowned upon in this day and age.) She was used to the higher level executives—those who had finally learned how to play well with others.

  Lyndsey, my nemesis extraordinaire, was choosing to start off the new year with a bang. It seemed she was pregnant (why, oh why did we have to be on the same pregnancy schedule again?) and had her heart set on a water birth. Why was this my problem? Two very important reasons: first, even though this was technically an issue for Tempra to handle, she was far too green to handle the likes of Lyndsey and second, our current insurance company was balking at being asked to pay for a specially constructed water tank for Lyndsey’s bedroom.

  Once again I pondered the idea of writing a book of my most outrageous employee issues to date. You just couldn’t make this stuff up.

  As soon as I finished making a list of the most urgent issues to deal with, I sensed a presence in my doorway. Apparently I was so engrossed in distracting myself with the most tedious tasks known to man, I didn’t hear anyone knocking. I looked up to find none other than Paul regarding me with some unreadable emotion.

  “May I help you with something, Paul?”

  I needed to tread very carefully. Lyndsey had knocked him out of first place in the most difficult employee ever contest, but only by a hair. Given my extreme emotional vulnerability, I wasn’t sure I was up to a face-to-face challenge with an employee of his caliber yet. (Maintaining a calm tone in an email or phone call was much easier when you could make angry facial expressions, inappropriate hand gestures and squeeze the life out of your stress ball in the privacy of your office.)

  “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” He stared intently at his shoes. “You know, about your mother.”

  For a moment I simply stared at him staring at his shoes. I was wholly unprepared for him to say something kind to me. This was the same person who once told me I was “evil incarnate” for not procuring a richer benefit plan for his schnauzer.

  Quickly recovering my manners, I said, “Thank you, Paul.”

  He raised his eyes for a split second in recognition and departed without another word.

  I sat in silence, wondering what in the world had just happened. Where was the man who demanded all the Halloween decorations containing spiders be removed because of his intense arachnophobia? Or the man who spearheaded the cam
paign to have all snacks containing gluten removed from the break room? What about the guy who insisted not only that pets be invited to the company picnic, but they receive a free t-shirt along with every other family member?

  Maybe he was gone. Maybe Paul wasn’t such a bad guy. Maybe I would have a little peace in my work life from now on.

  Paul popped his head back in and declared, “The new brand of soap the company has chosen for the employee bathrooms is simply intolerable. Skin irritation doesn’t even begin to cover my concerns. Will you be good enough to speak to the facilities department on my behalf?”

  Maybe not.

  By the time I returned home nine hours later, my brain no longer possessed the ability to perform so much as simple arithmetic. Louis was going to have to pull himself away from the latest version of Street Fighter to handle homework duty. What the hell was a number bond anyway?

  “Mommy!”

  Luc came barreling toward me as soon as I put my purse down. I sank to the floor and enveloped him in a long hug. He buried his face in my hair and sighed contentedly. I felt the strain of my day drift away and allowed myself a moment of pure joy.

  “I missed you today, sweetheart.”

  He smiled beatifically. “I’m not surprised. I’m very popular with the ladies.”

  I glanced up at Louis in shock. “It’s starting already?”

  “I’m afraid so, mon coeur.”

  “What’s starting, Mommy? I’ve always been irresistamable.”

  I giggled. “Right you are, my darling.”

  Louis approached me wearing an enormous smirk. “Ready or not, Syd, here comes the br—”

  “Bite your tongue!” I hissed.

  Luc’s eyes widened in shock. “That would hurt, Mommy! Why would you tell Daddy to bite himself? Although you have told him to bite you before…”

  “It’s just an expression, Minou,” Louis managed to choke out as he helped me up. “In both cases. There is no actual biting involved.”

  “Grown-ups are weird,” Luc decided before scampering off in search of who knows what.

  After shaking my head in amusement, I hung up my coat and settled myself on the couch.

  “Why is he growing up so fast, Bluey?”

  He handed me a glass of water before sitting next to me.

  “He’s not. It just feels like he is.”

  “It’s scary.”

  “I know, mon coeur.”

  “Do you think that’s what it feels like for all parents?” I paused, wondering if I should ask the question weighing on my mind. “Do you think it felt that way for her?”

  He took my hand. “I imagine so.”

  “I keep thinking…”

  He waited for me to formulate my thought.

  “Why didn’t I tell her how much I loved her?”

  “What are you talking about? Every time you spoke with her you told her you loved her. I remember thinking how odd it was when we first met, but the more I got to know you, I saw what a wonderful thing it was. Your family has never had any reason to doubt how you feel about each other. You have to know that.”

  “But it became habit. I knew I meant it when I said it, but I never took the time to express more…to tell her how grateful I was for everything she did for me. How much I cherished the incredible childhood she gave me,” my voice became thick with grief, “how I could never imagine my life without her.”

  He pulled me to his chest and stroked my hair. “I cannot begin to understand what you’re going through, Syd. You had such a close relationship with your mother. You understood each other, supported each other and loved each other in the most incredible way. It was truly a sight to behold.”

  I burrowed deeper into his chest, wishing I could find a place far away from the pain.

  “But you have to believe me when I tell you, she knew how you felt about her. It was in everything you said, everything you did…and it’s still in everything you are. She will always be with you.”

  I nodded, finding a small sense of comfort in his words.

  “I understand you don’t want to go on without her, but you have to.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  “You have her legacy to uphold, you see.” His chest rumbled with laughter. “And I have no doubt, given your mother’s dedication to child-rearing, be it of the child or grandchild variety, she’ll be watching you.”

  I raised my head to look at him. “But you’re an atheist. How can you believe she’ll be watching me?”

  He smiled. “Your mother was the most determined woman I’ve ever met. I know she’ll find a way to see what you’re up to.”

  I returned his smile. “I don’t know what would have pleased her more, that you recognized her determination or that she was able to get you to change your mind—even slightly—about a belief you held so adamantly.”

  “Let’s not get carried away…”

  “I see, so you’re just telling me what you think I want to hear…” I poked him playfully in the ribs.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, mon coeur.”

  I pouted at him, knowing he was warning me off starting a tickling war. Given the more delicate state of my bladder during pregnancy, I decided it best to give up the fight. His tickling prowess was far and away above mine.

  “If I were you, I would spend less time trying to tickle your husband and more time developing a plan as to how you will become the perfect mother to two children.”

  “Come again?”

  “You do realize that whole line about ‘good enough being good enough’ was all well and good for you, but not for her grandchildren, right?”

  I regarded him with undisguised confusion. This did not sound at all like my husband. He must be up to something...

  Undeterred by my quizzical look, he continued smoothly, “Grandchildren are held to a much different standard. They can do whatever they want and still be considered perfect and, therefore, are expected to be cared for in the most perfect manner. When your mother was here to correct for your slightly imperfect manner with her precious grandson, she didn’t worry, but well, now, you’re going to have to get yourself up to snuff once and for all.”

  Now I knew he was up to no good. Louis would never purposely feed into my insecurities. I examined his face closely, zeroing in on the concerned look in his eyes. He was clearly wondering if he had made too great a gamble—fearing he would send his wife into the depths of despair instead of showing her the humor in such a heartbreaking situation.

  Eureka!

  “How long have you been taking ‘button pushing’ lessons from my dad?” After finishing my air quotes, I cocked an eyebrow, daring him to deny the source of his questionable behavior.

  “About a month.” He pulled me into his arms. “You have to admit, his method can be rather effective.”

  I let everything sink in—the pain of the last few weeks, the trepidation I had about moving on without her and the hope I had for the future of my children. She would have wanted me to find the strength to go on. She would have wanted me to be the best mother I could possibly be to my babies. To give them all the love in the world and to be my version of perfect.

  Knowing my husband had hit the nail on the head once again, I threw my head back and laughed until my stomach could take no more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two months had passed and I was amazed by how quickly my stomach had expanded. I had heard things progress more quickly with the second child, but I wouldn’t have guessed things would progress this quickly. (My maternity clothes were still loose well into my sixth month the first time around, yet here I was at the start of my fifth month straining to close my favorite wrap top around my rather large belly. It might also be possible that the fabric had shrunk…)

  It was Monday morning and I was in a foul mood—I hadn’t slept well, I was completely coated in sweat a mere ten minutes after I had showered and my morning sickness had reached the red zone. To top it all off, I had ripped my las
t pair of pantyhose. I had a presentation to give at our company’s annual board meeting today and the stuffy old codgers in attendance found bare legs to be highly inappropriate. (Clearly, the hormones were in full possession of my brain at this point. This might be why Louis offered to take Luc out for breakfast before driving him to school this morning. Hmm.)

  Swearing under my breath, I dug resolutely through another dresser drawer, hoping I had accidentally put a pair away in the wrong place. It wasn’t completely far-fetched, given my newest pregnancy related brain abnormality. I kept finding things in the strangest places—my mascara in the silverware drawer, a pair of socks on the shelf with Luc’s books, and, I may have left a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the hall closet. When he found my ill-placed sandwich, Louis speculated as to whether I had finally lost my mind. (The poor bastard! It was long gone years ago.)

  I continued to root through my pajama drawer until my hand settled on something hard. Decidedly not pantyhose, I pulled out the object in question. My hands started to shake when I realized what I had found. My mother had given me a book for my last birthday and I kept meaning to read it, but life had become overwhelming once the holiday season started. Once she died, I couldn’t bear to read it, knowing she wouldn’t be there for me to discuss it with when I finished.

  Realizing I could avoid it no longer, I took a deep breath, and opened to the page on which she had written the inscription…

  My dearest Sydney,

  I have never been able to properly put into words the joy I felt when I met you for the first time. With each child, your heart grows, granting you the capacity to love each of them to the ends of the earth. Thank you for giving me such an incredible gift—I will never be able to repay you.

  This book is the closest I have found to being able to express the bond between a mother and her children in the days following their birth. It reminds me of the experience I had with you and I’m sure you will see remnants of your relationship with Luc. I hope you enjoy reading this as you prepare to meet the next love of your life.