Made In Paris

by Ana Newfolk

  Made In Paris

  Ana Newfolk

  Made In Paris - A Christmas Short Story © 2018 by Ana Newfolk

  First Edition: December 2018

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopy, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Made In Paris - A Christmas Short Story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For anyone that has ever written or received a letter from a friend or loved one, Made In Paris is for you.

  Thank you so much Rhys and George for your unwavering encouragement and support.

  Thank you to my beta readers, Fernanda, John-Michael and Vania. Your feedback is the most precious present I could have asked for Christmas.

  Merci et Joyeux Noel

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Also by Ana Newfolk

  Made In Portugal - excerpt

  About Ana

  Chapter One

  Dorian

  How much is too much Christmas?

  As I walked through the rooms of the townhouse we were going to call home for the next year, I wondered if I'd gone overboard with the decorations.

  There were garlands, arrangements, decorations, trees, candles, you name it, everywhere, all leading to the living room where the biggest Christmas tree I'd ever seen was standing tall, bright and proud by the fireplace.

  The house itself was already too big, so to go that step further and make sure the Holiday season was present in each room may have been a little too much.

  I wondered, not for the first time, if it had been a good decision renting out such a big house in Paris. It was only for one year, after all.

  I'd always been a city boy, born and raised in Manhattan, I was used to the skyscrapers, the crowds of people rushing to get somewhere all the time, the street food, the entertainment, everything.

  Paris was so different and somehow I felt equally at home here.

  I walked through the house, checking the rooms one more time to make sure everything was in order. I paid particular attention to the one right next to the master bedroom. This was where we were going to spend a lot of time over the next year so it needed to be perfect.

  My heart raced with excitement and my chest expanded feeling so much warmth and sense of pride. This had been the room that sealed the deal on the house. It was large, bright, and like the master bedroom, it had double glass doors leading to the garden.

  I was pleased with the result of the redecoration; the soft cream color on the walls and the light pine furniture always gave me a sense of peace. This was the only room that had needed more than the bare touches applied to the rest of the house.

  Once I was satisfied that there was nothing more I could do I headed to the bathroom in the master bedroom for a shower.

  This was one of the most important days of my life so I took my time going through my options of what to wear. I settled on black slacks and a button down navy shirt with a light blue sweater.

  When I reached out for the shoebox on the top shelf, another one dragged along with it. I didn't see it until it was too late and the box was on its way to the floor.

  I looked at it, the lid wide open and the contents half spread on the floor. Feelings whooshed through enough to get me on my knees.

  Letters, hundreds of them had been stored inside the box, some of them loose and some grouped in small bundles tied with string. I didn't even remember putting them all there.

  I picked one, the paper yellowed from age, the scrawl a little uneven as would be expected from a ten-year-old boy.

  That handwriting was permanently etched on my mind, as unforgettable as the person who had written the letters all those years ago.

  My phone rang in the bedroom making me jump. I got up and ran to answer it.

  "Hey."

  "Hey," I said, my heart skipping a beat like it did every time I heard that voice.

  "Dorian, are you going to be on time?"

  "Yeah, don't worry, everything is ready."

  "Baby, everything was ready two weeks ago." I could hear the exasperation. "Please, tell me you won't get distracted."

  I laughed as I said goodbye and disconnected the call.

  Still holding the letter I picked, I couldn't help but open and read it. I had four hours, plenty of time to through just the one. The one I’d received twenty years ago, almost to the date.

  15 December 1998

  Jean-Paul Bertram

  47 Rue Des Fleurs,

  75014 Paris

  France

  Dear Dorian,

  My name is Jean-Paul and I am 9 years old. I live in Paris with my mother and my cat, Audrey.

  Audrey is white and has a black mark on her head that looks like a crown.

  I go to school close to my house. I am in year 4 and my favorite class is Math but when I go home I like to read books, especially recipe books. I also like to take photographs. I asked to have a new camera for Christmas.

  I have never been to New York, what is it like?

  I like living in France. Well, I have never been outside of Paris but I like it here very much.

  We don't get snow at Christmas but we still have lights everywhere. It is very beautiful.

  How is Christmas in New York?

  Please forgive my English, I am still learning in the after school classes.

  Your new pen friend,

  Jean-Paul

  Chapter Two

  Jean-Paul

  "Maman?" I called out as I went through the doors of the place I'd called home since I was born.

  The apartment wasn't grandiose or even spacious but it had two bedrooms and a separate living room. I felt the familiar scent of fresh flowers. I never knew how she did it, but my mother's home always smelled of fresh flowers.

  She'd worked very hard all her life to provide for us. She taught French at the Lycée and also supplemented her income by tutoring students. Somehow she still found time for us and I had lots of fond memories of our city adventures.

  "Ici, mon chéri." Mom cried from the living room.

  I went past the living room and straight to the kitchen to make us some fresh coffee. It was a ritual we were both so used to we didn't even need to arrange it any more. If I came over I would make coffee to accompany the macarons I always bought for us.

  She was sitting on the sofa with a book in her hand.

  "Bonjour maman, ça va?" I greeted her with a kiss on each cheek once I put the coffees on the table.

  "Oui, mon chéri."

  "How are you doing? I see you've put all the decorations up without me this year."

  "You're going to be busy now so I thought I'd just get it done."

  She put a hand on my knee the way she always did when she wanted to check I was ok.

  "How are you chéri?"

  "So excited, Maman. I've wanted this for such a long time and now it's real."

  I felt a lump in my throat so I needed to change the subject. I took a whole macaron, chocolate and hazelnut a
nd stuffed it in my mouth. "Mmm, c’est délicieuse!"

  "Jean-Paul! Manners," she chided and I laughed.

  "What's that?" I asked looking at a box on the coffee table. "Don't tell me you're digging out all of my baby photos again." I sighed.

  "Non, these are your letters. They were nearly destroyed when we had the leak from upstairs so I put them in this box. I thought you might want to have them."

  My heart raced. I hadn't seen the letters in years. In some ways they were such a distant memory it was like they belonged in a different lifetime, in other ways all the memories they contained were as alive in my mind as the present moment.

  "I need to go out to buy some groceries, Mon chéri. I will leave you in peace," mom said slipping into her coat.

  And with that she left me in the apartment with the biggest treasure I'd ever had.

  I took the box to the room that used to be mine and had been recently redecorated. My mom insisted in living in the apartment she had lived in for most of her life, even though I’d offered to help her move to a safer neighborhood.

  I guess it was a win that she did accept my help with the redecoration.

  The room looked beautiful, it had a very light pink color on the walls, white furniture and an inviting sofa facing the doors of the Juliet balcony.

  It seemed like the perfect spot to revisit my treasure, after all, it was in this same room that I’d opened them all for the first time.

  I opened the box and held up the first letter. It looked old so it had to be one of the first ones. I still remembered so well when my teacher Mademoiselle Bissett asked the class if we wanted to practice our English by writing to other students in New York. I'd jumped at the chance and was so excited to get to know another boy on the other side of the world.

  2 January 1998

  Dorian Charles

  345 East 72ndd Street,

  10021 New York

  USA

  Dear Jean-Paul

  As you know, my name is Dorian and I live in New York. I'm ten years old and I go to St Millers School.

  I'm in the 4th grade, and my favorite subject is Geography. No one else in my class likes Geography, but my mom is French so she told me all about Europe. I hope I can go one day to visit.

  I can't believe yours is Math. Yuck!

  I also like sports, do you like sports?

  What's it like living in Europe? Is it nice there?

  Oh and I have a sister and a brother. Katie is 6, and I call her Kat, and Ashton is only 1, and I call him Ash. He's just a baby but he's cool.

  I hope we can become friends,

  Dorian Charles

  Chapter Three

  Dorian

  I smiled to myself as I put the letter back in its envelope, remembering how excited I'd been about corresponding with a boy from Europe.

  So much life had been lived since that time, so many sad moments, but also so many happier ones. I decided to take the box to the kitchen with me since I wanted to keep reading but also needed to eat something.

  There was still plenty of time and this would keep me distracted enough that hopefully I wouldn't work myself up about this afternoon.

  I set the box on the table and opened the fridge to take what I needed to make a sandwich. I was convinced I had the most organized fridge in all of Europe. From top to bottom there were all ingredients needed to make the delicious food I now couldn't live without.

  I'd never been a foodie when I was young. My parents enjoyed dining out and encouraged us to try new foods, but despite my mildly adventurous taste buds, as a kid my favorite food was macaroni cheese with bacon. So much so that during my childhood, I lived off the thing and rarely ate anything else.

  I decided on a bacon, mozzarella, pesto, arugula and tomato grilled sandwich. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I saw the plate of sliced bacon, just begging to be had.

  While the sandwich was on the grill I sat on the stool at the breakfast bar and took another letter from the box. This one had been written a few years later.

  12 May 2001

  Jean-Paul Bertram 47 Rue Des Fleurs, 75014 Paris

  France

  Dear Dorian

  How are you? I have been okay.

  I want to tell you about this place my mother took me today. I was so excited to tell you about it I couldn't wait to get home and write to you.

  We went to a pâtisserie that makes THE best macarons in the whole wide world. I swear!

  We had the perfect day. It was a sunny day and not very cold.

  We started our walk from L’Arc de Triomphe toward Le Musée Du Louvre. When we walked past the pâtisserie there was a long queue so I asked my mother why there were so many people. She said she was going to show me why.

  Can you believe there was a menu for all the flavors of macaron? It was so difficult to choose so we decided to have lots of flavors and share them.

  My favorite flavors were chocolate and hazelnut, strawberry and cream, and blueberry. There were really crisp on the outside and soft and chewy on the inside. Have you ever tried macarons? I think you should.

  Next to our table there was a couple celebrating their engagement. My mom congratulated them. They were really nice but a bit strange. They asked if I had a girlfriend I wanted to bring macarons to. I said no.

  Have you ever thought about having a girlfriend?

  Some of my friends at school talk about girls all the time. I'm not sure I'd like one. I mean, they are pretty but I don't think I'd like to kiss one.

  Audrey is mad with me because I was out all day, so now she won't come to me. I guess I'll have to buy some fish for her tomorrow.

  I hope to hear from you soon.

  Your friend,

  Jean-Paul

  The grill pinged to let me know my sandwich was ready. I poured coffee into a mug and brought both back to the table, digging into half of the sandwich while it was still hot.

  Reading the letters brought back memories I had long forgotten.

  To think that once upon a time I was a thirteen-year-old boy, building a tentative friendship with Jean-Paul, who for the simple reason that he lived so far away, seemed so intriguing and different from all the other friends from school.

  I remember coming out to my parents when I was fourteen. It wasn't much of a shock to them and my mom had told me she’d been waiting until I was ready. I had actually been for a little while but hadn’t been sure how to tell them.

  In the end it’d been the confused feelings I had for the boy across the ocean that had helped me come out. I remember talking to my mom about it and she'd been so great.

  I started eating the second half of my sandwich and picked up a postcard.

  15 January 2002

  Jean-Paul Bertram 47 Rue Des Fleurs, 75014 Paris

  France

  Dear Dorian,

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

  I hope my card arrives before your birthday.

  Are you going to have a party? I didn't want to have a party on my birthday, instead I went to the cinema with my friends and then we had pizza.

  I hope you get all that you want!

  Happy birthday from your friend,

  Jean-Paul

  Chapter Four

  Jean-Paul

  I was so wrapped up in the letters I'd forgotten my coffee and the delicious macarons I'd bought. It had been the same thing every time I'd received a letter from Dorian. I'd bring it to my room and read it over and over again until I knew all the words by memory.

  My mom had started giving me dinner when I got home from school before she told me there was a letter from Dorian for me, because she knew I'd soon forget about how hungry I was.

  26 March 2002

  Dorian Charles

  345 East 72nd Street,

  10021 New York

  USA

  Dear Jean-Paul

  Spring has started but it's been warmer than usual. This weekend my parents took us all on a weekend trip to Bear Mountain State Park.
<
br />   We had a wood cabin with 2 rooms so I had to share my room with Kat. She was scared at night because she thought there were bears on the mountain.

  Ash had lots of fun exploring and running around. I swear he only has one speed. Lightning fast!

  This morning my dad woke me up just before sunrise to go hiking. The light was just enough that we could see where we were going. We went past a creek and had to hop on the stones to get across the river.

  When we got to the other side there was a clearing with the most amazing view of the park. The sun was warmer as it rose up in the sky. It was awesome.

  I really wanted to take a photo to send you but I forgot my camera.

  Oh crap, my dad is calling me. I'm late to help set the fire. He says I'm always late! Jeez!

  We're making s'mores. Do you know what they are? I'll teach you to make them one day.

  Oh, and I've been thinking and I think it's cool that we write letters to each other, let's not change to emails. I always look forward to the post, and I think it wouldn't be as special looking at the computer. Hope that's okay.

  Your friend,

  Dorian

  That was the summer Dorian came out to me in one of his letters. Little had he known then how much we had in common.