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She worried her lip. “Well, I did run through a pack of tissues on the plane, but then I started watching all my feel-good Paris movies. Worked like a charm.” Mostly.
“How many movies are we talking?” Brooke asked suspiciously.
“I started withFrench Kiss, then went on toJulie & Juliabefore ending with the movie that kicked off my love for everything France.”
“Sabrina.” Brooke sighed heavily. “Oh, Thea. I don’t want you to worry, okay? You won’t have rent, staying at Nanine’s. What did you do about your apartment?”
Oh, that. Her nausea rolled back like a freight train. “I told Mrs. Randall everything. She’s too nice to hold me to my lease. I only have to pay rent until she finds a new tenant. I worked like a dog to pack up my personal belongings before I left. I didn’t have much since I was never home. My parents agreed to store my stuff at the farm.” That had gone over like a lead balloon, along with them agreeing to keep her car until she could arrange to sell it.
She’d even dropped some boxes off at the Salvation Army on her way to the airport, things she never wanted to wear again, things her mother had given her. Black old lady shoes in her giant size of eleven and ugly print dresses that made her like look she could star inLittle House on the Prairie. Her mother had always had a fondness for the show and hoped Thea could turn out like Half-Pint. Her school photos wearing floral print flannel dresses with her hair in braids would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“Out with the old and in with the new!” Brooke’s enthusiasm was a soothing balm. “Thea, I’ll cover anything you need. That asshole you worked for didn’t appreciate you, and I’m glad you quit. I’m so proud of you.”
She couldn’t blame jet lag for her tears this time. It was those words—she’d rarely heard them from her parents. “You’re the best. Did you know that?”
“Tell that to my ex. Ugh. Did I tell you he’s dating this hot new Brazilian model named Plumonia? My editor asked if I was going to be able to still report on what she wears during fashion week.”
Brooke was a style editor forTRENDS, which meant it really would be part of her job. Sighing, she added, “I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t ask, but seriously, what kind of name is Plumonia?”
“Sounds like pneumonia to me.”
“She’s nineteen, by the way.Nineteen!”
Which meant their age difference was eighteen years. Now it was Thea’s turn to cheerlead. “I never liked Adam. You’re better off without him.”
“That’s what I’ve told myself every day for the past four months since I changed my ringtone to Beyoncé’s ‘Best Thing I Never Had’ to help me remember. Hey! You need a new ringtone.”
She’d ignore the fact that she wouldn’t be using her U.S. phone in Paris because the fees were too expensive. Going back to using an international calling card had its advantages. One of them being that she wouldn’t have to call her parents for a while. When she’d first come to Paris, they’d gone six to eight weeks at a time without talking, and since they still didn’t have a computer, email was out of the question. “I’ll think about it.”
“All right, Thea,” her friend said. “I’ll see you in forty. Don’t get into trouble. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
She groaned. “Dorotheais my name, and jokes about me being from Kansas aren’t funny. Iowa is an entirely different state.”
Brooke’s snort had her smiling again. “Sorry, you know I love you, but we New Yorkers don’t care about the middle states. I’ll see you soon. The others will start rolling in shortly. Dean could beat me, in fact, but that depends on traffic. The Second is a nightmare. I’ve never seen so many tourists around the Louvre in August.”
“Wait!” Thea cried out as a new thought struck her. “You didn’t tell everyone else about me quitting, did you? Nanine should be our focus right now.”
“My car is here, sweetie. Gotta go.”
The call ended. Thea worried her lip. She didn’t want her other roommates to know about her issues just yet. They’d always considered her a little sister, the nice small-town girl who needed looking after. Okay, some of that had been true when she’d arrived fresh-faced with only two years of high school French to carry her along.
She’d been so unprepared then, and maybe she wasn’t much better off now. But she didn’t want her roommates’ pity, and she sure as heck didn’t want anyone to think her problems were on par with Nanine’s heart attack.
Thea dropped her phone back into her purse, her spirits better after talking to Brooke. Her friend had more confidence in her little finger than Thea had in her entire body. Such confidence could be catching. That was an ingredient she desperately needed for herself.
She headed back to her table, already looking forward to her café. Brooke was right. She had to have it. A coffee in Paris was not a regular event. Sawyer used to say a single cup was filled with existential meaning, decadent pleasure, and toe-curling comfort. But that was Sawyer for you, always thinking deeper than the rest of them.
As she watched for her waiter to reappear, she opened her recipe book to the photo of her and her roommates at Christmastime ten years ago. They were all drinking champagne at Café Fitzy’s after opening presents. Brooke’s short bob still looked stylish even though she’d been blond back then. Dean was making a funny face for the camera. Sawyer had on his very studious-looking glasses and was trying not to laugh. Madison wasn’t smiling, but her golden eyes were bright with happiness. And Kyle was as beautiful as ever, being the golden boy he was, and he had his arm wrapped around Thea. Then there was Nanine, sitting in the middle of the group, her elegant long gray hair trailing down her shoulders.
Thea’s heart warmed. That was still the best Christmas she’d ever had. She touched the photo. Soon she was going to be back with them all.
Coming back here was one of the best decisions of your life, Thea Rogers.
Then Antoine stepped outside and her chest welled with nostalgia. He was here! He held a pack of cigarettes in his weathered hand and walked across the cobbled pedestrian street to where she’d just been standing, lighting one and taking a deep drag. His oblong face had a pronounced chin and an insouciant straight nose that worked with his usual tourist-directed scowl. The sun-kissed lines around his dark eyes were a stark marker of his joys and sorrows while his hair was almost pure white now, making him even more distinguished. She’d known him when it was silver, and while he had a few more age lines, he was very much the same.
“Antoine!” She broke into a smile and waved like an American before she caught herfaux pas. The French did not wave.
He took another drag on his cigarette and stared at her with narrowed eyes. Then he blinked, as if coming out of a dream, and darted over after letting an unsteady cyclist ride by. “First Course!” he called enthusiastically in French, leaning over and kissing both her cheeks in greeting as he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the small table.
