Page 7 of Enemies to French Kisses
“That's not what I mean.” Gina climbs out of her bunk and lands on the floor soft as a feather. “You only drop like that when you've had a rough day.”
“That's true.” Jessica pops her head out from the bathroom. “Spill the beans, Laura-girl.”
I am definitely about to experience a Sage-tervention. When Natalie rounded the six of us together back in our hometown, I didn’t think her arguments were going to work on all of us. Gina is a home girl, super close to her parents and shy, though no one would believe it once they get to know her.
Jessica and Chrissy are a different story. Identical twins, Chrissy is a nanny, or as they call it here, anau pair, for a rich single dad involved in international politics. Jessica is taking a course in art preservation, and I’ll be darned if she isn’t running the Smithsonian one day. She is nothing if not determined, headstrong and—some might say—feared as a force of nature. Chrissy has the bunk below me, and Jess sleeps on the clic-clac because they both have a difficult relationship with heights. We’ve known it ever since we all went camping together and there was an awkward situation involving a racoon and a ladder.
Finally, there's Annelise. Nothing surprises Annelise. Not the beauty of Paris and not the simplicity of Sage. She is an old soul in a young woman's body. Loyal to the ends of the earth, and she is the one who keeps us grounded to our small town values. We don't always appreciate it, but one thing is for sure—when we're feeling homesick, Annelise is the one bringing in the Texas. She flutters about from job to job waiting to find the thing that fulfills her. But with standards as high as hers, I'm not sure she's gonna find it during one year in France. Unlike the rest of us, she’s been working since she was fourteen and has enough savings to get her through the year here.
“Let's hear it.” Annelise stands up from the sofa that doubles as her bed. She folds her magazine, one of the thousands she seems to read on a weekly basis, and inspects me over the rim of her glasses. “We can't be headed out for a night on the town with whatever you've got on your mind.”
“It's just work stuff.” I wave it off.
The room fills with a collective “Mm-hmm.”
“It's good news,” I say, feeling my nose crinkle.
“Good news doesn't require grimacing,” Jessica tosses her hips to the side. “What's thatGuimauvegot for you now?”
Guimauve is the nickname my girlfriends baptized for Guillaume. In French, it means marshmallow. The way Guillaume can command a room with a single piercing stare all the while with a smile that invites you in makes him anything but a marshmallow. But that makes the nickname even funnier.
“He's put together a team. Just three of us for this massive new portfolio with the Netherlands.” My heart begins to race at the thought of it. Finally, a chance to forget about you-know-freaking-who and savor the glory of this professional-future-defining opportunity.
“That's amazing!” Natalie runs and bounces on the clic-clac beside me.
“Hey! My bed!” Jessica moans.
“Oops, sorry. But that'sso good, Laura-girl!”
“I can see it now…” Gina’s voice trails off. “Laura Dowling of the Dutch Domain. Domain is what you call it, right?”
Ugh, it sounds weird when someone else says it, but I do love the sound of ‘domain’ in my own head. Like I’m the Queen. There’s something about beingLaura Dowling of the Dutch Domainthat has an awfully nice ring to it.
“Hold up…” Annelise narrows her eyes. “What aren't you telling us?”
That girl.I can’t put a thing past Annelise. It’s like she has eyes filled with truth serum.
“Could we just leave it at ‘great news from work’ for now?” I’m pleading. Not my best look, but it’s been a long day. “The rest isn't as awesome. For tonight, I'd rather bask in the streetlights of Sacre Coeur and celebrate my new Dutch domain.”
“That sounds fair.” Annelise concede? I hardly believe it. “Speaking of which, I'm next in the shower. We leave in twenty.”
Sneaky. She knew it was my turn next. But I’ll let her have this win.
* * *
I lovethe way the wind flies through my hair from up here. Even with my eyes closed, I know I’m not in Sage. The sensations are different. I love my hometown, and more so, I love the people in it, but my relationship to small-town Texas is complicated. With this breeze and the sounds of the magical city floating up, I know that when I dare to open my eyes again, I’ll be greeted with a view that represents just how far I’ve come.
Music behind me blends with laughter and conversation and children squealing as they play between the dancing adults’ legs.
This is a traditional ball, or as they call it here, abal trad.
Even though I’m thousands of miles from Sage, the music and laughter and children’s feet could be the sounds of home. I could be at the honey festival or someone’s grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Strangely, the thought brings a tinge of homesickness into my belly.
“Laura?”
Just a little longer. I want to stay here with my eyes closed, feeling both far from home and as close to home as possible.
“Laura?” The question is gentle and soft.
