Letters to Audrine

26- You're a Good Muse

I don't know how the week goes by so fast. One second, I'm sitting at Silas's kitchen table reading through Audrine's letters and next thing I know, I only have a week left until I'm supposed to be home. I'm starting to feel crushed under the deadline of telling my mom, wondering if maybe I should just cave and tell my dad instead.

Now that I think about it, I could just tell Trevor and then he could tell our parents. He's only seven, so they wouldn't really get mad at him for being the messenger.

"Okay, we need two eggplants," Silas tells me as we're standing in front of a vegetable stand at the market. I ask for the two eggplants from the merchant in my best French. I'm feeling very confident in my language skills, but my accent still needs a lot of work. It's come a long way since the beginning of the summer though.

"What are you making with eggplants?" I ask him curiously as we continue through the market. I've been doing all of the communication with the merchants, just to get some more practice in, and I feel very proud of how well I'm doing. Not one of the merchants has looked confused about what I'm saying at all.

"Vegetable risotto," he says. "It sounds a lot fancier than it is, but it's really good."

"Is there an occasion?"

"No," Silas shrugs. "Just felt like making a nice dinner tomorrow night. Have you been looking into schools?"

"Not yet," I sigh. "But I think art school would be nice for me. I'm worried about the language barrier though."

"What barrier?" he scoffs at me. "You're proving today that you have no problem speaking French. Besides, Nice is a big city, so I'm sure most of your professors will also speak English."

"I'm just nervous," I admit to him. "It's a big decision."

"You're right, it is," Silas agrees with me, taking my hand in his as we're walking together. "And you should spend the time thinking about what you really want. Maybe take a gap year or something."

"I know I definitely can't get in anywhere for the fall, but maybe I can try in the spring," I suggest. I have been so stressed about buying the property and having to tell my mom that I'm not coming home; the thought of my future has been at the bottom of my list of priorities lately. "I actually don't even know if that's how French schools work, honestly. I've done zero research."

"I'll help you research," he assures me. "And even if you don't want to go to school, that's okay too."

"This summer is the first time that I've ever considered what I want for myself," I remind him in a small voice. "It's so hard to rediscover myself, what I want for myself without thinking about what my parents want. I feel kind of lost without their guidance, honestly."

"It's scary, I know," Silas continues to reassure me that I'm not being irrational. "You have all of the time in the world to figure it out."

"I probably wouldn't even get into art school," I tell him. "I don't have any formal training, I don't know any of the proper techniques."

"They'd be stupid not to take you, Maisie, you're so talented. Whether you're using the right techniques or not, the end product is really all that matters," he says with a lot of confidence, as if he knows anything about the acceptance criteria of art schools.

"Yeah, maybe," I sigh as Silas stops us at another stand of vegetables.

"How do you feel about ratatouille?" he asks me randomly.

"It's an iconic movie," I say with a shrug. "I don't have very many feelings about it, I guess. Are you about to tell me that you're such a good cook because you're controlled by a rat?"