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Losing some of his attitude, Robbie said, “Oh, well, I wasn’t always this fabulous, you know. I’ve had my fair share of heartbreaks. I had one just last year.”
“Nathan, wasn’t it?” Julien said, and Robbie looked back to him and nodded.
“Yes. But we aren’t talking about him right now. In fact, it’s probably best we don’t ever talk about him.”
“I disagree,” Priest said, and then looked over at Julien.
“As do I. Our past shapes us, princesse. Whether we want it to or not. Especially this imbécile de Nathan.”
Robbie snorted at that and began to twist the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “Okay, I’ll tell you about him—one day. But not tonight. Tonight, we’re talking about Jacquelyn, and I want to hear more. If that’s okay?”
Priest reached out and took Julien’s free hand, and as they all sat there, somehow or other connected, Julien nodded.
“Of course it’s okay. Now, where was I?”
“You were trying to find her,” Robbie said with a grin. “It was spring break.”
“Oh, oui, you’re right…”
WHEN JULIEN REACHED Jacquelyn’s door, he knocked and called out, “Are you up here, ma petite poulette? Mom and Dad want to talk to us—”
“WAIT A SECOND,” Robbie said, and then grimaced. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Yes, we can tell by the way you keep doing it,” Priest said, but Robbie just rolled his eyes.
“I am sorry. But that sounded like something important, and I don’t want to miss anything. I’m learning, remember? What’s ma petite poulette mean?”
Julien nodded. “’Ma petite poulette is what I call Jac—pardon. It’s what I used to call Jacquelyn. It means ‘my little chick.’”
Robbie reached out to squeeze Julien’s knee and whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Non, it’s okay. I’ll use English from now on, so you don’t miss anything else important.”
Julien then rested his hand over the top of Robbie’s and continued.
HE PUSHED OPEN Jacquelyn’s door and spotted her sitting on her window’s bench seat with a window cracked, the phone pressed to her ear, and a long, thin cigarette between her lips.
She glanced guiltily over her shoulder, her long, dark hair waving down to the middle of her back, and when she saw it was just him, she motioned for him to hurry up and come inside.
Julien shook his head but stepped into her room and shut the door behind him.
“I’ve got to go, Léa, Julien’s here.” Jacquelyn paused, and then laughed at something her friend had said. “You wish. But you aren’t his type.”
Julien rolled his eyes and picked up the book lying open on the wicker reading chair in the corner of her room—Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. He’d given her that for her birthday years ago.
“Now that he’s single, though,” Jacquelyn said with a giggle, “your brother Clément might stand a chance.”
Julien picked up the cushion, also on the chair, and threw it at her head, and Jacquelyn poked her tongue out at him.
“Yes, yes, I know. Bye.” She ended the call, then stubbed out the long cigarette and reached for an old candle. She dropped the stub in and put the lid back on.
“You’re reading Little Women again?” Julien said as he walked across the room. “What’s this? The millionth time?”
“Probably, but you know how much I love it,” Jacquelyn said and then quoted. “’Some books are so familiar, reading them is like being home again.’”
“I know.” Julien couldn’t count how many times he’d had to listen to their mother read that book over and over to Jacquelyn as a child. He inspected the frayed spine and worn edges of the hardback. “This copy is almost worn out.”
“This copy,” she said, as she took it off him, “is my favorite, and I won’t let you speak badly of it.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Although I do question the fact that your favorite book is about having sisters…”
Jacquelyn laughed. “Of course you do. But you shouldn’t. Whenever I read it, I always think about how each of them is somehow like us in a way. And yet there are four of them and only two of us. How lucky are we?”
“I’ve always said the luckiest.”
“Exactly. This book just proves that. Plus, I kind of see myself as Jo and you as Meg, so don’t worry, I manage to put you in there, even as a sister.”
“Meg? Wasn’t she the—” As Jacquelyn hopped down from the window, Julien spotted the packet of cigarettes on the sill and picked them up. “When did you start smoking these?”
“Ugh… Meg was the beautiful but forever responsible one,” she said, and then shook her head. “You sound just like Dad. Not my brother who I worship and adore.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, but eyed her closely, letting her know that she wasn’t off the hook just because, in this particular instance, she was right. He was the responsible one, whereas she was the impulsive and reckless one of the two. “You can stop kissing my ass. I’m not going to rat you out.”
