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I couldn’t believe how easily Maman and Angélique convinced Micki. Maman didn’t even have to suggest that she go. Yannick arrived at the opportune moment with the phone. Micki didn’t hesitate, just took advantage of his presence and left immediately. I should be furious with her, but instead I’m heartsick. The world is a different, and worse, place.
My phone rings. I look at the dashboard screen. Yannick.
“Just the man,” I tell him before he can get a word out. “Meet me at Caffè Cittadella.” I leave him no time to disagree, ending the call before he can answer.
I pull in and park with no idea whether Yannick will already be there or not, but wherever he is, I know he’s coming. After all, I’m his boss, although I like to think that as my oldest friend he’d come anyway. In the shadow of a modern glass-walled office building, the 1894 house, rehabbed into a two-story café, could be right out of a San Francisco street scene. Micki would love this place. My breath catches. What if I can’t get her back? I clench my jaw against the flood of emotion. Then I make a fist, bang it against my chest. Osti de colon. Positivity, idiot.
WhenI get Micki back, we’ll come here for breakfast. Then again, even if I get to explain the monstrous fraud Angélique perpetrated, even if she agrees to try again, she may never agree to come back here. That leads to another thought. How will she feel when I tell her I want Maman to move to Chicago? Calisse. I need to learn how to manage relationships.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t had anything since a quick roll and coffee for breakfast at Social Services. Middle of the afternoon and the place is quiet while I look over my choices. Yannick sits down just as I have decided on tomato soup and grilled cheese with café au lait.
I expect him to say something, but he just sits back in his chair, waiting for me to open the conversation. Neither of us is willing to break the impasse. When my lunch and Yannick’s glass of beer arrive, we thank the server. I eat my soup.
Yannick glares. “You’re an ass, JL.”
Tomato soup sprays everywhere from my mouth and nose—down my shirt, into Yannick’s face, all over the tablecloth.
“Pardon?”
“An ass.” He hastily wipes off the soup before it drips down his neck and into his collar.
“Why do you think so?”
“How could you let that charming woman run back to Chicago? And what did you do to cause her to leave in the first place?
I’ve been blotting my shirt with napkins and a damp cloth the server brought over, but it may be too stained to be saved. Unless Maman… Nope, not going down that road.
Now I fix my attention onto Yannick. “Listen very carefully,” I snarl. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t let her run. It was a clever setup by Angélique.”
“I know her.” Yannick rolls his eyes. “That Angélique Rigaud has always been a schemer.”
“She made Micki believe we were engaged. That’s what made her leave. I want to explain, but she’s blocked me.”
“Why didn’t you catch her at the airport? You could have called me. I would have kept her from leaving.”
“I overslept. By the time I found out…”
“Stop. Stop. TMI. Eat your lunch and let me talk.”
I spoon up more soup.
“Let me sum up. Things happened. Then other things happened. Now you are miserable. I’m guessing she is too. In the meantime, she’s back in the danger zone and you’re here. Now you need a plan, which revolves around you getting back to Chicago ASAP.”
“Je n’ai pas besoin de tes conseils, occupe-toi de tes oignons!”
“Believe me, JL, onions aren’t the half of it. You need all my advice because you’re royally fucked.”
I scrape the last drops out of the bowl and drop the spoon back in. The noise summons our server, and she picks up the dish.
“Are you finished with that, too?” She points at my uneaten sandwich.
With one hand on the plate, I wave her off with the other. “I haven’t even started.”
She backs up, then turns around and leaves.
A bite of the now no longer warm sandwich is still satisfying. Once I swallow, I say, “Can’t fly out until Friday.”
“You need to go tonight, or at the latest, tomorrow.”
