Never or Forever (from 3rd book in the Year of the Chick series)

Chapter Two

Soon after my first Parisian faux pas, I took great care to legitimize my presence, by finding a nice café where I could sit on a terrace and watch the world go by. I even chose a quiet side street, to avoid the noise of traffic and the sight of the Starbucks logo. To top it all off, there was a beautiful church to my left just waiting to be admired. It was the perfect view, but the hazard of turning your head on a terrace to catch the perfect view is that nine times out of ten, someone’s cigarette smoke will blow right into your face. In this case, the smartly-dressed twenty-something woman had no reaction to my over-exaggerated coughing when her cancer fumes slid down my throat. I wanted to tell her how impressed I was that cigarettes were keeping her skinny, but that didn’t mean I wanted to join her in an early death. Besides, I enjoyed being a cigarette-free size six.

Unfortunately I didn’t know how to say all of this in French. At least not coherently.

Instead I flipped my long dark hair in her direction and said, rather loudly: “Excusez moi!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oui?”

Did I just start a conversation? Oops. “Oh, nothing.” She rolled her eyes at my English and blew more smoke in my face.

Dying of smoke inhalation wasn’t on my list of goals, so I finished up my café crème and hurried out of there, continuing my day as a total outsider in Paris...

***

A few hours later, after buying the basic groceries and putting another checkmark next to the goal of being a grown-up, I surveyed both my suitcases. One was lying open but empty with my clothing strewn everywhere, and the other I hadn’t even touched. It was a tall order, to slowly unpack a year of your life.

Slow, tedious...but nothing that couldn’t be solved with a bottle of wine and a dance party of one.

Before my solo dance moves could begin, my laptop buzzed to life with a Skype call from my parents.

“Ugh, already?” I combed through my hair with my fingers, examined my jet-lagged face in the camera, almost gagged at my own reflection, and at last accepted the call. My father had his face right up to the screen, which gave the impression of a giant brown floating head.

His smile had a melancholy glow. “Sixteen hours ago you were right here. And now? Too far away!”

I sighed. “It’s okay, we can chat every day if you want!”

I glanced out my window, wondering what I’d possibly have to say to my parents if we chatted every day. My gaze settled onto the gothic church across the street, complete with creepy gargoyles and all. I turned my attention back to the screen, but now it had gone all black. I assumed I’d lost my connection, until suddenly the black blob moved, eventually turning into colours and a human form. She settled into a seat beside my father, and my breath immediately stalled in my throat.

“Well? Don’t you say hello to your mother?”

She frowned in her usual way, but just for a second it felt like she couldn’t hide a smile. The momentary smile was shocking, since my mother hadn’t even said goodbye before I’d left. I couldn’t have been that surprised, since not getting married, quitting a corporate job, and moving to Paris to write were not exactly plus points on the “Indian-Canadian” scale of motherly approval. But now, with her barely-concealed smile, it almost felt like the whole thing had never happened. The entire saga was in line with our family tradition of never talking about our feelings.  

I waved awkwardly.

“Were you sick on the plane?” she said. “Your face looks very bad!”

I smiled in spite of the comment. Thousands of miles away, but I finally have my mother back....