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“I’m envious. A whole month in Paris. Sunlight on cobbled streets, and the gardens… Paris has a special atmosphere—do you remember that? It slides under your skin and permeates the air you breathe…”
Mimi seemed to be talking to herself and Grace smiled.
“I remember—but I have only been once, and just for a short visit. You were born there. You lived there.”
“I did. And I really did live.” Mimi was never so animated as when she talked about Paris. “I remember one night we stripped off our clothes and—”
“Mimi!” Grace paused at the door to the dining room. “You’re about to appear in public. Don’t scandalize everyone. We don’t want to shock them with your sinful stories.”
“Boredom is a sin. You’re never too old for a little excitement. I’m doing them a favor.” Mimi snapped her fingers in the air. “Pierre! That’s it.” She looked at Grace, triumphant.
“Pierre?”
“The man who bought me the macarons. We’d made love all night.”
Grace was intrigued. “Where did you meet him? What did he do for a living?”
“I met him when he came to watch me dance. I have no idea what he did for a living. We didn’t talk. I wasn’t interested in his prospects—just his stamina.”
Grace shook her head and adjusted her grandmother’s scarf. “You should go back.”
“To Paris? I’m too old. Everything would be different. The people I loved—gone.”
Her grandmother stared into the distance and then gave a shake of her head.
“Time to dance.” She opened the door and sailed into the room like a prima ballerina making her entrance onstage.
They were greeted by a chorus of cheery voices, and Grace unloaded her bag onto the table. She’d stopped to pick up baguettes from the bakery on Main Street. They weren’t as crisp and perfect as the ones she’d eaten in France, but they were the closest thing she could find in rural Connecticut.
While the staff helped prepare the tables Grace selected the music.
“Edith Piaf!” Mimi glided gracefully to the center of the room and beckoned to Albert.
Several other people joined them and soon the room was filled with people swaying.
When they sat down to eat, they bombarded Grace with questions.
Did she have everything in place for David’s surprise? How exactly was she going to tell him about the trip she had planned?
She’d shared her plans with them, knowing how much they enjoyed being part of a conspiracy.
It had been David’s idea not to buy each other gifts for their anniversaries, but instead to treat themselves to experiences. He’d called it their “Happy Memory Project.” He’d wanted to fill her memory bank with nice things to cancel out all the bad experiences of her childhood.
It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.
The previous year she’d booked a weekend at Niagara Falls. They’d had a good time, but Grace had been determined to go bigger and better this year.
The afternoon passed quickly, and she was clearing up when her friend Monica arrived to teach a yoga class.
Grace and Monica had met when pregnant. No one understood the anxieties of parenting like another mother, and it was good to talk to Monica, even though her friend often made her feel inferior.
Monica was obsessed with living a healthy lifestyle. She blamed red meat for at least half the wrongs in the world. She juiced, grew her own vegetables and taught yoga. She insisted the whole family were vegetarian, although David swore he’d once seen Monica’s husband devouring a sixteen-ounce bone-in rib eye at a steak house in the neighboring town. They’d only socialized once as a couple—a dinner consisting almost entirely of lentils, after which David hadn’t been able to leave the bathroom for twenty-four hours.
Never again, he’d yelled through the bathroom door. She’s your friend.
Grace, whose own stomach was listing like the deck of a ship in a storm, had agreed.
From that point onward the friendship had been confined to the two women.
