Page 101 of Host for the Holidays
The conversation starts in English, which makes me feel guilty because it’s obvious that it’s a struggle, and if I weren’t here, everyone would be completely at ease, speaking French.
“You don’t have to speak English on my account,” I say after a couple of minutes. “Hearing you all speak will help me with my French.”My French. That makes it sound like I have any grasp whatsoever of the language. These people all speak much better English than I do French.
They take me at my word, though, and I immediately lose track of the conversation as it bounces around the room in the fastest French I’ve ever heard. Rémy leans over to translate for me as they discuss the improvements André’s mom is making. I could kiss him right here for being so sweet, but I also feel guilty for being a burden on him. It makes it hard for him to participate in the conversation when he’s busy trying to keep me up to speed while I occupy my hands and mouth with the deliciousamuse-bouches.
“They’re talking about Christmas traditions,” Rémy says to me in a low voice. “The Garniers usually attend a midnight service after theRéveillon.My mom and I have always gone on Christmas Day.”
“What do you do for Christmas Eve at home, Madison?” Rémy’s mom asks me in English.
I try to quickly chew the food in my mouth. “Oh, um, our Christmas Eves have always been kind of mellow.”
Her brow furrows, and I realize she might not know what that last word means.
“Low-key,” I try. It doesn’t help. I look at Rémy for assistance because every synonym formellowhas completely disappeared from my personal thesaurus.
“Discret,” Rémy offers, squeezing my hand.“Calme.”
I smile my gratitude at him. “Yes. Those things. My mom usually works, so the past few years we’ve just done take-out.” I may as well have just told her I use a baguette as a curling iron.
“Oh,” says Madame Garnier. She’s trying. I’ll give her that. But she just can’t figure out what to say.
“It would be nice to have a break from all the preparation and cleaning, wouldn’t it?” Rémy says with a smile.
That earns a laugh, and then Rémy’s mom invites us all to move to the dining table while I let out a breath that’s half-relief half-bracing myself for the next time I have to open my mouth and inevitably betray how culturally depraved I am.
Rémy’s mom asks for his help bringing things in from the kitchen, leaving me on my own with the Garniers. Élise smiles at me from across the table. Her hair is pulled back in a smooth chignon, revealing pearls in her ears and a long, feminine neck. I can’t say I’ve ever noticed a neck before today, but immediately I know Élise has the neck I should want.
“It is good to see you again, Madi,” she says. “When Rémy’s mother told me you were coming to dinner tonight, I said, ‘How quickly things change!’ I have known you almost as long as Rémy has.”
I try for a laugh, even though her words feel a bit . . . pointed. “I guess that’s true.” Strictly, it may be. But I met Élise for all of five minutes when she came to the apartment. I’ve barely spent five minutesawayfrom Rémy in the past few days.
Despite that, her comment can’t help but lodge itself inside my brain like a catchy but annoying-as-all-get-out song.
“When did you meet Rémy?” Madame Garnier asks politely.
I take a drink. “A little less than two weeks ago.” Okay, a week and a half ago, but everyone knows you round up. I’m trying to be a glass-half-full woman.
She blinks. I’ve surprised her again. Oh joy.
“And how long do you stay in France?” Monsieur Garnier asks.
“I fly home January 2nd.” I can’t decide if this conversation would be better or worse with Rémy here. I’m not loving the focus on how short a time I’ve known Rémy or how the clock is ticking on our time together. I’m kind of wishing Christmas Eve wasjustRémy and me.
Everything feels so easy when it’s just the two of us, but here . . . I’m getting overwhelmed with how utterly out of place I am, how little I know of Rémy, and how much separates us. I hate the feeling.
Monsieur Garnier’s phone dings, and he pulls it out, then confers with his wife beside him.
Élise leans toward me. “Would you like some advice, Madi?”
Can I say no to that? I don’t think I can. It doesn’t matter, though. Élise doesn’t wait for an answer.
“Rémy tends to forget how he feels about women who stay away too long.” She raises her brows. “Take it from someone who knows. One day you are kissing him, and the next time you see him, he is with somebody new.”
Okay, there’s a definite message in there. I just can’t decide if it’s a warning with a dash of resentment or an actual threat.
Rémy and his mom enter with two platters—one offoie graswith freshly sliced baguettes, the other with oysters. I look at him, and he catches eyes with me as he sets down the plate. His lip curls up at the edge in a little smile meant just for me.
It makes my heart race, and I smile right back at him as he comes over to sit next to me, even though my stomach is unsettled.
