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“No offense, but you’re not young, cool and athletic.”
Grace took a mouthful of coffee. How much should she say? “It’s still Sam?”
Sophie’s smile faded as if someone had hit the dimmer switch. “He’s seeing Callie. They walk round together holding hands. She keeps giving me these smug smiles. I’ve known Callie since I was three, so I don’t understand why she’s doing this. I mean date him, sure. That sucks, but it’s life. But it’s like she’s trying to hurt me.”
Grace felt a burning in her chest. Not heartburn, but parenthood. As a mother, her role was to support from the sidelines. It was like being forced to watch a really bad play without the consolation of knowing you could leave in the interval.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Don’t be.” Sophie put her bowl in the dishwasher and then added the one her father had left on the side. “It would never have worked out. Sophie and Sam sounds pretty lame, don’t you think?”
Her hurt slid into Grace and settled deep in her gut.
“You’re going to college soon. After a month in California you won’t even remember Sam exists. You have your whole life ahead of you, and all the time in the world to meet someone special.”
“I’m going to study, graduate top of my class and go to law school where I can learn how to sue people who are assho—”
“Sophie!”
“Er…not very nice people.” Sophie grinned, slung her backpack over one shoulder and stroked her long ponytail over the other. “Don’t worry, Mom. Boys drive me insane. I don’t want a relationship.”
That will change, Grace thought.
“Have a great day, Mom, and happy anniversary. Twenty-five years of not yelling at Dad when he leaves his socks on the floor and his dirty plate on top of the dishwasher. Major achievement. Are you seeing Mimi today?”
“This afternoon.” Grace slid her laptop into her bag. “I made macarons, like the ones she used to buy in Paris. You know what a sweet tooth your great-grandmother has.”
“Because she lived in Paris during the war and she had no food. Sometimes she was too weak to dance. Can you even imagine that?”
“That’s probably why she talks to you about it. She doesn’t want you to take things for granted.” She opened the box she’d carefully packed that morning, revealing pastel macarons lined up in neat rows of rainbow perfection.
Sophie made a sound that was almost a purr. “Wow. I don’t suppose I could…?”
“No.” Grace closed the box. “But I might have packed a couple for your lunch.” She tried not to think about the sugar, or how Monica would react to the inclusion of empty calories in a lunch box.
“You’re the best, Mom.” Sophie kissed her cheek and Grace felt warmth flood through her.
“Do you need a favor or something?”
“Don’t be cynical.” Sophie grabbed her coat. “Not many people would teach French at an assisted living center, that’s all. I think you’re amazing.”
Grace felt like a fraud. She didn’t do it out of any sense of charity, but because she liked the people. They were always so pleased to see her. They made her feel valued.
It was embarrassing to think she could still be needy at her age.
“Their French Club is the best part of my week. Today being Valentine’s Day, I’ve allowed myself to be creative.” She picked up the stack of menus she’d designed. “The staff are laying the tables in the restaurant with red-and-white tablecloths. We’re eati
ng French food, I’m playing music… Knowing your great-grandmother, there will be dancing. What do you think?”
“Ooh la-la, I think it sounds great.” Sophie grinned. “Just remember that the average age of Mimi’s friends is ninety. Don’t give them all heart attacks.”
“I’m pretty sure Robert has his eye on Mimi.”
“Mimi is a minx. I hope I’m like her when I’m ninety. She has this wicked twinkle in her eye… It must have been fun having her living with you when you were growing up.”
It had been lifesaving. And that, of course, was why Mimi had moved in.
It was a time she’d never discussed with her daughter. “She’s one in a million. You’ll be okay tonight?” She checked the kitchen was tidy. “There’s casserole in the fridge. All you need to do is heat it up.”
