by Ali Parker
My father sidled over to us and gave me a hug. “Good to see you, my boy. How was the flight up from New York?”
“Quick,” I said with a nod.
“Come sit,” my mother said, guiding me by the arm to the table.
Most of my family was gathered around, and they all gave me warm and very French welcomes. I said hello and took my seat. My parents sat to my right as I made small talk with my uncles and aunts and cousins.
It had been a long time since I’d last seen them. Since Christmas of the previous year actually.
I still saw my folks every two months or so, and sometimes more where I could fit it in, but now that I’d built my life in New York, I was busier than ever. My gallery had taken off, and my art was being sold all over the world. The explosion of success had thrown me for a loop, and it was still taking some practice to learn how to handle it all.
I hated that my family paid the price for it. I didn’t get back up to Canada to see them as much as I liked. I missed my home. I missed the romantic French language and culture. I missed the iced hockey winters in Quebec and the small-town feel of old Quebec City—especially at this time of year. I’d paid for everyone’s travel expenses to bring them here to the Chateau so we could all see each other for at least a bit before the holidays began.
I would have my hands full with the Casanova Club.
The waiter arrived, looming over my shoulder, and took everyone’s drink orders. He returned within minutes with two bottles of red wine for the table. He filled up my glass, and I leaned back in my chair with it, swirling it around the edges of the glass while I stretched my legs out under the table and crossed my ankles.
“How has business been in New York, cuz?” my cousin Damon asked. His head of shocking black hair was as thick as mine, and as he waited for my answer, he ran his fingers ruthlessly through it in an effort to tame it. His attempts were as futile as I knew they would be.
“It’s busy. Very busy.”
“But busy is good, no?” Damon’s very French mother asked. My mother’s sister. “Busy means money.”
“Busy is definitely good. But you know me, Auntie. I’d rather be here with all of you this time of year. You know, enjoying the simpler parts of Christmas.”
Damon chuckled. “Is New York too hectic for you?”
I took a sip of wine. It was heavenly and sat heavily on my tongue. “It’s too cold.”
“Cold?” my mother asked, cocking her head to the side. Her lovely dark hair cascaded over her shoulder. “Darling, are you unhappy there?”
I shook my head. I never should have said anything. “No. No, everything is great. I just miss all of you, is all. You’re all New York is missing.”
My mother smiled. “My son always knows the right thing to say.”
“He’s a Curtis. Of course he knows what to say.” My father winked as he lifted his wine glass for a toast. “Here’s to my son. And to family. And to all of us being able to be here together because of him. Joyeux Noël.”
“Joyeux Noël,” we all echoed in unison as we also lifted our glasses above the table.
And then we drank. Food was brought around, served in three courses, and we overindulged as all Curtis family members did over the holidays. We laughed and talked and poked fun at each other.
All the while, I envied my cousins and their wives.
They sat around the table well into the evening, their bellies full of food and wine, with their heads bowed together and their lips curled in flirty smiles. They had found that ever-elusive love that always seemed just out of my reach.
I’d been looking. Damn, had I been looking.
But when my life took a turn toward wealth and I found myself running in circles like the Casanova Club, true love seemed out of reach for me.
Women weren’t out of reach, of course. Quite the opposite. Women approached me everywhere I went. And beautiful women, too. But like New York, I found them cold. Harsh. Closed off. Dating and relationships had become more of a business deal than a passionate pursuit of sheer happenstance and luck that could potentially lead to more. And I wanted that.
I craved the unknown more than I ever had before. And that was what this charade with the Casanova Club offered. Exposure to a woman who I might never have met without their intervention. The chance to connect with someone from another life and see if we were compatible.
I was desperate for it to work.
“Son?” My father put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me from my thoughts. He nodded his head over toward the corner, where moonlight was streaming in from one of the windows. “A moment?”
I nodded and pushed my chair back. Everyone around the table continued to talk as my father and I slipped away to the privacy of the corner with our glasses of wine.
I faced the window and looked out at the starry sky. The perfect evening.
My father looked out with me. “Are you sure you’ve thought this whole thing through, Joshua?”
“What whole thing?” I asked.
“This dating thing. I have not been able to stop thinking about it since you told me what it was last week. Your mother and I… we are concerned.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Dad, you don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I can’t help it. You’re my son. And the son I raised would have scoffed at the idea of sharing one woman amongst twelve men. It unsettles my stomach. This whole thing is distasteful.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“But you will not reconsider?”
I studied my father. He was looking older each and every time I saw him. More wrinkles had appeared at the corners of his once very bright green eyes. His smile lines were also growing. His thick and well-trimmed beard was showing more and more white hairs amongst their gray brothers. Not only that, but he seemed shorter somehow.
I sighed. “I can’t bow out now, Dad.”
“When will you meet her?”
“Soon. Very soon.”
“Along with how many other women?” he asked.
“Nine. Ten in total. By the end of the year, it will be narrowed down to just one.”
“And what month will be yours?”
I looked back out the window and up at the starry night sky. “February.”
“Have you not given any thought to the men you are up against? Who are they? What do they do? Are they good men? Honest men?”
I took a sip of wine. “They’re all decent for the most part.”
“And if she chooses one of them?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Then she chooses one of them. At this point, it makes no difference to me, Dad. And it’s not really a risk. I mean, worst-case scenario, I spend a month with her and she forgets about me. Waiting for her to court ten other men for the rest of the year seems tedious. I suspect she will choose someone closer to the end. Someone who is more likely to stand out in her memory. Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. The year will end, and nothing will have changed.”
My father was looking at me. I could feel his eyes staring into my soul. “That is what I worry about for you, Joshua.”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he slid a hand in his pocket and rocked back on his heels. I cleared my throat. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you better than I know myself, Joshua. I can feel you craving change. You’ve been seeking it for years. And I’m afraid that you will finally get a glimpse of what your life could be, and you will fall in love with it, and it will be nothing but an empty promise.”
I clasped my hand on my dad’s shoulder. “What did you tell me when Cherie LeBlanc left me halfway through my art studies?”
My father’s face stretched in a massive grin. “That there are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“And the only way to catch one?”
“To put yourself back out there.” My dad sighed, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect that my advice would come back to bite me in the ass.”
I
laughed. “I appreciate your concern, Dad. I really do. But trust me when I say it’s misplaced. I have this well under control. I won’t get my hopes up too high. I’ll keep my wits about me. This time next year, it will all be behind us.”
My father nodded and patted my back. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He moved away, leaving me standing alone in the square of moonlight shining through the window.
It was quite strange to consider what my life might look like at this time next year. Would I be here beneath the Chateau Frontenac as I was every year, with the woman I loved on my arm? Would she feel as fondly about this old town as I did?
I stared at the moon, and then my gaze slid to the brightest star in the sky. It winked and twinkled as I lifted my glass to my lips and finished my wine.
Let me find her soon. Please.
Chapter 4
Piper
“Son of a bitch,” I snarled as I waded through the half dozen blankets Janie liked to keep on our sofa. “Where the hell is it?”
Janie was standing in the kitchen, eating a cup of strawberry yogurt. She licked her spoon and watched as I tore the living room apart. “What are you looking for, Piper?”
“The third scarf for Mrs Wilson. The other two are in my bag, and somehow, I misplaced the last one. Fuck. I’m already late.”
“Which one is it?”
“The green one,” I said. “Well, sort of green. I guess it’s more of a teal, but—”
“This one?” Janie asked, holding up the knitted green scarf.
“Thank God,” I breathed. Then I hurried to put everything back into place on the sofa while Janie neatly folded up the scarf.
“Are you dropping them off to her on your way into work?”
I nodded as I draped one of the blankets over the back of the sofa. “Yeah. One is for herself, and then she ordered two more. One for each of her daughters-in-law. And I promised I’d have them ready today. I can’t be late. I need her to talk me up to her friends.”
“I’ll finish cleaning the living room,” Janie said. “Don’t worry about it. You go. Say hi to your folks for me. And Phillip.”
“You are the best, Janie. Seriously.”
“I know,” she said before rinsing out her yogurt cup and setting it aside for recycling. “Are you still free to go for coffee on your break?”
I nodded. “Yes. Should be fine. Just don’t come inside, okay? Otherwise, my parents will want to talk to you, and Phillip will want to flirt with you, and we’ll never get out of there. Then before we know it, my break will be over, and I just really need as much time out of that restaurant as I can get.”
“I’ll meet you at the cafe.”
I nodded. “Okay. Perfect. See you around one.”
I left the apartment and went down to the underground parking where my bike was locked up. We’d had a couple issues with theft and vandalism lately, but luckily, my bike had not been a target. Probably because it already looked like it had been vandalized due to the peeling purple paint. Nobody would want to steal it. I’d gotten it for five dollars at a garage sale and had zero complaints so far. It got me from point A to point B in one piece, and that was all that mattered.
I put on my helmet and pedaled out of the garage onto the street. It was about a fifteen-minute ride to Mrs. Wilson’s, and I was already running ten minutes behind. There was no way I’d make it at the time I promised, but I could do my best to really push myself and take some shortcuts.
When I took one of said shortcuts through a cobblestone alley, someone stepped out in front of my bike. I veered right to avoid them and squeezed both of my breaks—which sent me flying over the handlebars.
I let out a startled shriek as I hurtled through the air. I landed in a messy tangle of limbs, and as soon as my left foot struck the ground, pain lanced up my ankle and shin.
I sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at it as the pain intensified to a fierce burn.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I clenched my teeth and rubbed at my ankle in an attempt to make the pain go away. It didn’t. It did, however, become less sharp and turned into a pulsing sort of ache.
That was exactly what I needed. A sprained ankle.
“Perfect,” I sighed as I stumbled to my feet. I picked up my bike and inspected it for damage. There was none.
I climbed back on and winced as I rested my left foot on the pedal. I didn’t have the luxury of calling a cab or finding another way to my customer’s house. I needed to get her these damn scarves one way or another, and this was the only way I could afford.
So I pedaled.
And pedaled.
And pedaled.
Until I finally found myself hobbling up her front steps to knock on the front door of her townhouse. I was about twenty minutes late.
Mrs Wilson opened the door and shielded her eyes against the stark glare of the winter sun. When she saw me, she smiled. “Oh, hello dear. It slipped my mind that you were coming this morning. How lovely.”
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson,” I said, still somewhat out of breath. I opened up my bag and pulled out the wrapped package of three scarves. “I have your order. Yours is on top. The other two for your daughters-in-law are on the bottom. I was going to gift wrap them for you. I know you’re a busy lady. But I thought you might want to look at them first and make sure they were up to your standards before—”
“Oh, sweetheart, you are too kind,” Mrs Wilson said. She pulled the scarves out of the grocery bag I had tossed them into. She pulled out hers, a deep purple one with strands of royal blue yarn threaded throughout, and inhaled sharply. “My goodness. This is beautiful, Piper. And so soft.”
I grinned. “I’m glad you like it. What do you think about the other two?”
She pulled out the teal scarf next and squeezed it in her hands. Then she reached in and withdrew the hot-pink scarf. I’d never made something so vibrant before, but she’d told me her youngest daughter-in-law loved everything pink.
“Exquisite,” Mrs Wilson said. “Positively exquisite. Hold on a moment. Let me go get you your cash. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? Coffee?”
“I would love to, but I have to head to the restaurant for my shift. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, dear, my pleasure. Come in out of the cold at least while I go get my wallet.”
I accepted her offer but didn’t move inside until her back was turned. I didn’t want her to see my crippled hobble. I closed the door behind me and relished being inside where it was warm as I waited for her to come back with her wallet in hand. She handed me a hundred and fifty dollars.
My eyes widened. “Oh, this is far too much, Mrs. Wilson.”
“No, I won’t pay anything less. Please take it. You do great work, and great work deserves fair payment.”
I bit my bottom lip. “I really appreciate this, Mrs. Wilson.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Merry Christmas, Piper.”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Wilson,” I said as I opened her door and stepped outside. The cold wrapped around me in an icy hug. I descended the stairs slowly, mindful of my aching ankle. Mrs. Wilson didn’t notice, and if she did, she didn’t say anything.
“Say hello to your mother and father for me,” she called as I got on my bike.
I waved as I rode away and promised that I would. Right after I iced my ankle.
* * *
I was lucky that my dad was out making a delivery when I got to the restaurant. My mom was in the kitchen, as per usual, and Phillip was in the office. Neither of them noticed when I showed up and made a beeline to the ice bin. I scooped some into a plastic baggie, zipped it closed, and sat down behind the counter to put the makeshift icepack on my ankle.
It helped alleviate some of the pain right away.
I was able to sit on the floor and ice my ankle for about five minutes before I heard my brother’s footsteps coming down the hall. I stood up in a hurry and braced myself on the counter after tossing the icepack into the sink. I hoped
he wouldn’t notice it.
“Hey, Piper. Dad wanted me to tell you you’re free to go home after lunch today.”
I blinked. “What? Really?”
Phillip nodded. “Yeah. I’d take him up on it, too. Tony didn’t come in for a scone this morning.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Yeah. First time in three months. Has both Mom and Dad on edge. He’s their last regular customer, and I think it’s easier to justify staying open when you have at least one person buying your food. But now…” He trailed off and shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes got hung up in the sink when he saw the icepack. “What’s that for?”
“Nothing,” I said hurriedly.
“Piper.”
“I took a fall on my way here and hurt my ankle.”
Phillip sighed. It was the same exasperated sound he used to make when we were younger. As my older brother, he was always looking out for me. “Come to the back. I’ll wrap it up for you.”
“Thanks, Phillip.”
We didn’t talk while Phillip wrapped my ankle. I think both of our minds were probably wrapped up in what it would be like if nobody set foot in our restaurant for the rest of the year. Surely, we would get some customers throughout December. We were on a busy enough street to at least attract some foot traffic.
But it wasn’t a sure thing.
I spent the rest of my afternoon worrying. Time passed with excruciating slowness, and at a quarter to one, I decided to call Janie. She answered right away. “You better not be bailing on me, Piper. I already left the apartment.”
“No. Not bailing. Just a quick change of plans. Come to the restaurant for coffee?”
“Bad day?”
“Yeah. We haven’t seen a single customer.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Okay. Thanks, Janie. And don’t tell my parents I called and invited you, okay?”
“Got it.”
My parents both came hurrying out from the back when they heard the bell chime over the door. When they spotted Janie, they weren’t disappointed. They threw their arms around her in a warm greeting and hurried to make coffee and serve her a scone and a cup of soup. I joined her and brought my own food over to the table by the window.
