Pining for Paris/Jim Halpert

Chapter 1: Somewhere Between Army Green and Hazel

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

-James Fenton

I was born in Paris in August, the most horrid month to be in labor. My mother was Margaux, and she was beautiful — she had this long, auburn hair and these enchanting blue eyes. I knew her for three days before she died; there I was, a tiny newborn who wasn't even the weight of a bowling ball, in my father's weak, tired arms, motherless.

My father is Robert Vance, all-American refrigerator extraordinaire. He visited Paris when he was in college on a study-abroad program for engineering, which is where he met my mother. They bumped into each other in a little cafe in northern Paris, where he spilled coffee all over her Italian dress. They fell in love instantly, according to my father. It's something I can vividly imagine: my father's clumsy hands, my mother's graceful movements like the dancer she was, her laughter at his inept nature. Paris was where my parents fell in love, where my mother died, where I was born. So of course, my dad immortalized my parents' love by naming me, their child, after their beloved city of stars.

After her death, my father was all alone in a foreign country. He quit school to take care of me and moved back to Pennsylvania where he grew up so his mom, my grandmother, could help out with the baby. Sometimes I feel weirdly guilty that he dropped out just to take care of me, but I'm comforted by the fact that he eventually went back to college and finished his degree as well as started his own business, Vance Refrigeration. It's locally successful, and at dinner parties and fancy adult soirees, random people I meet love to tell me that they bought their refrigerator from my dad.

"Vance, you say?" They exclaim excitedly, "I bought a fridge from—"

"My dad, Bob."

"Yeah!"

It's exhausting, but it's as close to fame as we'll ever get, so that's a plus.

I liked my father's workplace. He let me hang out and do my homework, as I was working on my PhD at the University of Scranton. To keep me busy on slow days, my dad often gave me administrative work, receptionist stuff. Filling out forms, light cleaning, organizing the office. I found it relaxing, even though my dad didn't love it when I hang out there too much.

On this particular day, (while I didn't mean to) I was driving my dad a little crazy. I don't know why, I supposed it was because he couldn't take care of me and work at the same time, which is ridiculous because I was a whole 26 year-old full-functioning adult.

Anyway, my dad was getting stressed with me being around, so he called his new girlfriend Phyllis Lapin to show me around her office upstairs. I'd met Phyllis before, only once really, and I liked her. She was sweet and cute, and had good taste in music. She showed up at the door to our office, knocking quietly and containing her excitement.

"Phyllis! Baby, thank god," my dad exclaimed. "You remember Paris, of course, my daughter."

"Of course I do! Nice to see you again, Paris."

"Hey, Phyllis."

She clapped her hands excitedly. "So your dad was thinking maybe you'd want to see where I work, my office upstairs?" As she said that, I realized there was literally anything I would rather do than tour her office, but I smiled and held in my distaste.

"Sure, sounds great," I said, "What do you do again?"

"Oh I sell paper at Dunder Mifflin Paper Company," she said enthusiastically.