Page 106 of Host for the Holidays
I smile. “No, it just means you’re afraid.”
She lets out a huge sigh of relief. “You’rethe only thing making me afraid. Don’t scare me like that.”
“Just helping prevent future miscommunication. Your photoshoot is at the Champs de Mars?”
She grabs her phone and swipes and taps a few times, then reads something. “No, it’s at the . . . Trocadéro?”
I nod. “Opposite side of the tower from the Champs de Mars. It’s a great view of the Eiffel Tower, but it’s a busy place. It might be hard to get photos without people in them. But maybe it’ll be calmer today. People will be busy with Christmas activities and all.”
“If it’s crowded, I’ll work my magic and move us elsewhere. A key skill as a photographer is the art of convincing people to accept my vision of their session rather than theirs.” Her mouth draws up in an evil smile, like she’s about to skin a hundred and one dalmatians rather than ensure her clients are happy with the photos she’s going to take of them.
I can tell by the way she’s obsessing over the cleaning of her equipment that she’s excited for this session. Only Madi can spend Christmas day taking photos of strangers and be thrilled about it.
We agree to meet afterward, and I make my way to meet my mom for mass. We’ll be catching the last of the day’s services.
* * *
I stand outsideof the church, saying hi to familiar faces from the neighborhood until my mom walks up. Her eyes scan the area around us, which is full of bare bushes, and I raise my brows.
“I thought Madi would come,” she explains.
“And that she’d be hiding in a bush? She thought you and I could use some time together.”
My mom doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she’s secretly impressed. She should be. Madi is thoughtful and kind and fun and all the best things. I’m confident my mom will see that with time.
“I really like her, Mom.”
“You barely know her.”
“I know it seems like that. We’ve spent a lot of time together, though. And I want to keep spending more time with her.”
“And how do you plan to do that? She’s leaving.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I don’t know yet.”
I’ve got to find a way, though.
My mom says nothing, and I glance over at her as we walk inside the church. She’s not the type of woman who lets her face betray her, but I can see by the tilt of her chin that she’s fighting some emotion. I think I know what it is.
We sit down, and after a few seconds, I put my hand over hers.
She looks over at me, eyes alert. She’s not the touchy-feely type.
“Mom, you know I’ll always be here, right?”
Her eyes stare into mine, and behind the strong, determined woman, I see a wisp of vulnerability peek through.
“I owe everything to you. And I promise I won’t forget that.” I take in a deep breath. I wasn’t really planning on doing this right now, but maybe it’s a good time. Maybe saying what I need to say before the service starts will give my mom some time to let it settle in. “Sometimes I get the sense that you’re disappointed in me—whether that’s my interest in English, my job teaching it, my lack of motivation to try for the position at Monsieur Garnier’s school, or my dating Madi. Maybe I’m wrong, but if itisbecause you feel like you might lose me, that I might choose those things over you, I promise you I won’t.
“I don’t know what’ll happen with Madi and me. I know what Iwantto happen, but I don’t know whatwillhappen. And if I’m being completely honest, I also don’t know that I’ll take the position at Bellevue even if it’s offered to me. I love where I am now, and I don’t really want to leave. But none of that has any bearing on you and me.” My mouth tugs up at the corner. “You’re stuck with me forever.”
She squeezes my hand, which, for my mom, is the equivalent of running at me full speed and hug-tackling me. “I just want you to be happy, Rémy. I don’t want you to go through what I went through.”
“I know, Mom.”
She looks down at our hands for a minute while we both let things sink in. She starts to fiddle with my hand in hers. “Madison cleaned my dishes perfectly.” She looks up at me and smiles softly.
My mouth pulls up in a grin because that is a major compliment from Sylvie Fortin—and I know what it means, even if she’s still a bit too proud to say it: she likes Madi a little bit already.
