by Alix Nichols
Unless it’s because I haven’t been forthcoming about my own life, either.
Thing is, I’m not ready to tell her the truth yet. But I certainly want to know more about her. I’d like to hear what it was like growing up in Key West, I want to know what books and movies she likes, where she stands politically.
And I wouldn’t mind a private demo of her yoga skills.
In fact, I’ll ask for one tonight.
In bed.
My cock twitches when I picture Sophie arranging her gorgeous body in one particular posture.
“Dude, it’s your turn now,” Denis’s voice snaps my attention back to the present moment.
Squatting in front of the bag, I try to grab it with my mouth—and fail.
Denis strides toward Sophie, takes her hand, and yanks it high. “Elastic Girl is the winner!”
Sophie jumps up and down, shouting, “Woohoo! Take that, frog-eaters!”
My phone rings in my pocket with Maman’s ringtone. She must calling to ask about the result of the game.
I excuse myself and step out of the bar.
“Did you win?” Maman asks.
“Yes, we did.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks, Maman.” I hesitate. “Can I call you back tomorrow? I’m out celebrating with the team.”
“Is Uma there, too?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“What about that American woman you’ve been enthusing over lately? Is she there, too?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Are you dating her?”
“Yes.”
Keeping this from Maman is pointless. Just as is keeping pretty much anything from her. Sooner or later, she’ll find out, and she’ll be upset. We don’t want that.
When Maman is upset, she becomes emotionally unstable and gets horrible migraines. A couple of times she’s even had suicidal thoughts. The one time I upset her seriously, she filled the bathtub with hot water, wrote a farewell note to me, and was about to set her plan in motion, when I came home from school.
At the regular time.
Is it unkind of me to think she hadn’t actually meant to kill herself? Anyway, I’ve learned over the years to avoid doing things that would upset her.
Maman is silent for a long moment. I don’t need to see her face to know she’s rattled. Uma is the girl she’s always wanted me to be with.
That was my intention, too.
But not anymore.
“I’ll be in France next week,” she finally says.
“Cool.”
“I’ve decided to attend Raphael and Mia’s wedding.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Did you get their invite?”
“I tossed it in the trash, same as their engagement party invite, Lily’s christening party invite, and all other RSVPs I’ve been receiving from the d’Arcys.”
She doesn’t comment.
“I’m surprised you’re going,” I say.
“So am I, but… Since Raphael visited me last year, I’ve done a lot of thinking.”
“And?”
She sighs audibly. “He was too young at the time. We cannot hold him responsible for sticking with his older brother who’d been a father figure to him ever since his Papa engaged on the path of debauchery.”
“That may very well be, but—”
“You should go, too. For my sake. I’d like you and Raphael to make up.”
What?
“You don’t have to decide right now,” she says quickly. “Go back to your friends, and we’ll discuss this in person in three days.”
When I return to the bar, Sophie is sipping her wine at the long table. I sit down next to her.
She offers me a gummy bear. “No hard feelings?”
“None.” I turn to her. “You won fair and square.”
She beams.
I take the candy from her hand. “Thank you for sharing the bounty.”
“How’s your mom?”
“Fine,” I say. “She’s coming to Paris next week.”
I almost add “for my middle brother’s wedding” before remembering I’ve never mentioned a middle brother to Sophie. Or any brother, for that matter.
My lovely girlfriend shifts in her chair to face me. “Tell me something. Why did you leave Nepal two years ago?”
“So I could join a good water polo club and play professionally.”
It’s what I always say when asked that question.
“Oh yeah, I remember!” She smiles. “Nepalis are more into elephant polo than water polo, right?”
“Yep.”
But not quite.
On those rare occasions when I look into my soul, I see a more complex answer. There’s the water polo, of course, but there’s also… Maman. The truth is, regardless of all my love for her and my admiration for what she does, I needed a break. I needed to put some distance—more precisely, a dozen countries and a couple of seas—between us.
Sophie offers me another gummy bear.
I open my mouth and she feeds it to me. Unable to resist the temptation, I kiss the tips of her fingers. She stares into my eyes, biting her lower lip.
Suddenly, nothing else matters. All I want is to be alone with her in my bedroom. Or in her bedroom. Or anywhere we won’t be disturbed. With no match to play tomorrow, not even a practice session in the morning—Lucas has given us two days off—I’m planning to pleasure her until she begs me to stop. Judging by the way she’s looking at me right now, she won’t object to my plan.
Sophie’s purse rings.
She pulls out her phone and gives me an apologetic smile. “It’s Dad. I better answer it.”
While she’s outside, I go over to Uma and Sam. The boy declares that I played well, but I’m not as good as his dad who’s the best player in the world. Uma grins and ruffles his hair. Nodding in agreement, I look around for Zach. He’s sitting at the other end of the table, half listening to Julien talk about something animatedly.
His eyes are trained on Uma.
If I didn’t know Zach better, I’d say he’s leering.
But I must be wrong.
Zach is the ultimate gentleman, and Uma is an ingénue from a very conservative background with no family in France. She’s his employee. And his teammate’s best friend. Those are lines he won’t cross, if I know him at all.
Zach blinks as if waking up from a trance and says something to Julien.
I turn back to Sam and Uma, shamefaced. My sick mind must’ve misread Zach’s expression. He’s overprotective of his son. No doubt it’s Sam he was staring at—not Uma.
When Sophie returns, her smile is strained.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“No.” She gives me a funny look. “Dad’s here in Paris. I’m sorry, but I have to go home.”
TWENTY
SOPHIE
Dad lets go of me after the longest hug in Bander family history. No wonder, considering this has been our longest time apart.
“I hope you haven’t had dinner yet,” he says petting my braids. “I booked a table downstairs.”
Downstairs must be the hotel’s restaurant.
What with all the drinks and gummy bears I’ve consumed this afternoon, I’m not hungry, but I won’t ruin Dad’s evening by saying no to his invitation.
“At what time?”
“About now.”
“Great,” I say. “Let’s go.”
“So, how do you like living and working in Paris?” Dad asks once we’re seated.
I smile. “A lot.”
He doesn’t look pleased to hear that.
“Sophie,” he says in a tone that bodes nothing good for me. “I won’t beat about the bush. I’m concerned.”
“Is that why you flew in?”
He nods.
I poke and push my food around the plate, waiting for Dad to continue.
“How’s Catherine?” he asks instead.
Stalling, eh? “Mom’s doing great. She got the post s
he’s been vying for, so she’s happy.”
“Good,” he says. “Is she seeing someone?”
I lift my eyes from my plate. Dad wears his poker face, but I detect emotion in his eyes and a bit of anxiety in his voice.
Interesting. “No,” I say. “She isn’t. Why are you asking?”
“Just curious.”
Don’t read too much into this, Sophie.
They’ve been divorced almost a decade, and I’ve lost count of false alarms and broken dreams of their reunification. It just isn’t happening.
Mom loves her movie critic’s job, especially now that she got hired by the biggest daily in the country. When she lived with us in Key West and Dad called her Cat, she submitted movie reviews to dozens, maybe hundreds of periodicals, but her English wasn’t good enough to allow her to express herself with the same witty elegance she does in French. She landed other jobs—and hated them. She tried to be a stay-at-home mom and hated that, too. She missed her parents and friends. And she loathed the Keys weather ten months out of twelve.
While Dad’s business expanded and took more and more of his time with every passing year, Mom became increasingly withdrawn and sad. Her doctor gave her antidepressants, but they didn’t seem to help much. With hindsight, I don’t think Mom was depressed. She just never managed to make Key West her home.
When I turned fourteen, she announced she had to go back to France or she’d go crazy. She begged Dad to follow her. He refused.
The rows they had that year! He’d tell her she was capricious and irresponsible to ask him to abandon a flourishing business and uproot me just because she didn’t like the fucking weather. She’d call him self-centered and unfeeling, since he couldn’t see it was a matter of survival for her.
After months and months of arguments, they finally agreed to disagree. Mom was returning to France, Dad was staying put, and I was asked to choose.
Talk about impossible choices.
In the end, I stayed with Dad. It wasn’t just about picking him over Mom. It was choosing what I knew and cherished over the unknown. I loved my school and my friends, our big house on Elizabeth Street, the shows on TV, the cheerleading, the beach…
“Your daughter?” someone at the table on our left asks Dad, breaking me from my reminiscences.
A stylish woman in her mid-forties is looking from me to Dad.
He nods.
The woman gives Dad a coquettish smile. “Stunning, just like her dad.”
I take a closer look at her. Blonde, fit and well groomed, she’s clearly flirting with Dad. Her friend, a plump brunette of about the same age is scrutinizing Dad’s hands for a wedding band.
I smile politely, struggling not to roll my eyes.
This happens all the time. Dad gets hit on by women of all ages, colors, and sizes. He’s held up well—in fact, very well—but it’s not just that. He has that Denzel Washington air about him—poised and strong with the tiniest hint of intensity and an even tinier smile hiding in the corner of his mouth.
It wreaks havoc with women’s brains.
The funny thing is he doesn’t seem to care. Since the divorce, he’s had a dozen dates and a couple of short-lived relationships, but nothing serious. When I ask him, he says he has no time and he’s already married—to his job.
“Thank you,” he says to the blonde and turns away without a second glance.
I search his face. “Spit it out, Dad. What are you so concerned about that you flew all the way here, abandoning ship at a busy time?”
He studies his food for a moment before he looks me in the eye. “I worry that you’ll decide to stay here at the end of your internship.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The way you speak about that boy, Noah Masson.”
“The boy is twenty-seven,” I say. “And you’re totally overreacting. It’s just a summer fling… er, summer and fall fling. I haven’t changed my plans.”
“Yet,” he says. “You haven’t changed them yet. But I can see it coming a mile away. You’ve never sounded so… into someone before. In fact, you’ve never been into someone before.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
He sighs. “Anyhow. The other reason I’m in France is that I’m invited to a high-society wedding next weekend. Will you accompany me?”
I arch an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had high-society connections here.”
“I have many connections in many places that you aren’t aware of,” he says. “So will you come? I wouldn’t want to go alone.”
“Sure. I’ll keep you company, Dad. It’ll be my chance to wear that big-ticket gown I brought with me and never had an opportunity to show off.”
“The one you wore to your graduation? I love that gown,” Dad says.
“Me, too.”
When we’re done, he walks me to Mom’s where I’ll be sleeping over tonight. My place is farther away, and Noah’s is across the city. Besides, it would be too awkward asking Dad to put me in a cab so I can spend the night with a man. A man he clearly disapproves of.
Luckily for me, Mom doesn’t.
“I’ve never seen you so into someone before,” she says at some point in our now-traditional kitchen table confab.
Funny how she gives a positive spin to the words Dad had uttered with horror earlier tonight.
“It may turn out to be nothing,” I say.
“Sure. But it may also turn out to be something beautiful and lasting. You have to let it blossom.”
“Dad worries I’ll give up on my future to be with Noah.”
Mom says nothing.
“Isn’t that what you did?” I ask, before adding, “And regretted it?”
She takes a heavy breath. “I never regretted marrying your dad, or having you. It’s just… I know how much you and Ludwig love Key West, but that place was slowly killing me.”
I take her hand over the table and give it a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to—”
“I saw Ludwig earlier today,” she says, interrupting me.
“You did?”
They haven’t met in ages.
“The years have been kind to him,” she says, smiling.
“So have they been to you.”
“That’s what Ludwig seems to think, too.” She pushes a strand behind her ear. “He said I looked just as smashing as when he first laid eyes on me.”
I can’t believe my ears—or my eyes. “Mom, you’re blushing.”
“No I’m not. Anyway, it doesn’t mean anything.”
I cock my head. “What’s the deal? Did he just show up on your doorstep?”
She laughs. “Nothing so dramatic. He called and said he was in Paris in a hotel not far from me and asked if I wanted to have a coffee for old times’ sake.”
I wait for her to tell me more about their coffee, but she changes the topic.
As I listen to her talk about the latest movie she saw and the review she was writing for it, I can’t help wondering if my parents still have feelings for each other.
The other thing I wonder about is whose hunch about Noah will carry the day. Will our fling turn into something more? Will I change my plans and stay in France so I can be with him? Or will he be willing to move to Key West to be with me?
Sheesh.
I should learn to live in the present moment, and stop building castles in the sky.
They’re known to crumble at the slightest puff of wind.
TWENTY-ONE
NOAH
“When will you come over again?” Sam asks me.
“In a couple of weeks.” I scoop him up and sit him on my lap at the garden table.
Uma comes out of the house carrying a tray loaded with three glasses of iced water and three bowls of ice cream—regular for her and me, and a special homemade concoction for Sam. After an hour of playing tag, this is just what we need.
“Is it normal for late October to be so warm in Paris?” she asks.
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“No, this is much warmer than the norm.” I ruffle Sam’s soft curls. “Your dad and I are playing two major tournaments this season, so we’ll be away quite a bit.”
He nods, a solemn look on his face. “I know.”
Uma sits down across from us and gives Sam a wink. “I’ll arrange a bunch of playdates with your chums Evan and Mo while your dad and Noah are traveling.”
Sam’s eyes light up.
“Besides,” Uma says. “I have some outings planned for us.”
The boy’s eyes are sparkling now. “To the movies?”
“Yes, but not only.” Uma leans in. “We’re also going to the zoo and to the circus.”
Sam jumps off my lap, bounds around the table, and wraps his arms around Uma.
She kisses the top of his head. “Listen, why don’t you watch a couple of Diego episodes, while Noah and I discuss some boring grown-up stuff?”
He grabs his bowl and scoots into the house.
Uma points at the untouched water he left behind and sighs. “He’s got his priorities straight… Hang on.”
She picks up the glass and carries it into the house. Through the open window, I hear her negotiate with Sam around ice cream, water, and Diego.
When she returns, I ask her about her embroidery school. She says she’s learning a lot and loving every moment of it.
“Good.” I smile and point my chin to the house. “It looks like you’re not too unhappy about your part-time job, either.”
She beams. “Sam is the sweetest kid I’ve ever met.”
“How is it going with Zach?”
“Fine.” She looks down at her ice cream bowl.
“Uma?” I narrow my eyes. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
She shakes her head before lifting her eyes to me. “But I have a question for you.”
I lean in. “Shoot.”
“Is Sophie still in the dark about who you are?”
Not quite the question I expected. I nod.
“Why?” she asks.
“It’s complicated.”
She scowls.
I duck my head in mock panic.
She lays her hands on the table. “I get it that you don’t want to be associated with the d’Arcys, and you don’t want strangers to know your real name. I respect that. But you did tell Zach. Why not confide in Sophie, too? I’m sure your secret will be safe with her.”
