Page 109 of Host for the Holidays
“Merry Christmas. Oh, and Mads? Make sure Ratatouille is better than the last guy.”
And then he’s gone. How he manages to balance the protective brother vibe with the couldn’t-care-less-about-your-love-life vibe is truly impressive.
My mom shakes her head with a smile. “Okay, sweetie. Now tell me about Rémy.”
So I do. And whether it’s because of Jack’s comments or because I need someone besides Siena to reassure me that I’m not crazy, I don’t hold back—not about how amazing Rémy has been, not about how fast my feelings have developed, not about how scared I am beneath it all.
“Oh, Mads,” Mom says after I’ve dumped all my words onto her. “He sounds perfect for you.”
I swallow. He does. Rémyfeelsperfect for me. Not perfect. But perfect forme. “But, Mom, what if Jack’s right? What if I’m right back here in two months? Or in two years?”
“Impossible.”
“Mom . . .”
“I mean it, Madison. Even if things ended between you and Rémy, you wouldn’tberight back here. You’d have learned and grown. You’d be in a new place. Life’s a journey, and sometimes all we get to decide is who we take with us and for how long. But we’re never back at square one, even if it seems like it.”
I let that sink in. “I just don’t see a clear path forward for us, though. We live in different countries, for heaven’s sake.”
“Who said the path has to be clear, sweetie? You think your father and I were skipping along the yellow brick road together? We cleared away our fair share of bushes and debris. It’s not what the path looks like. It’s having someone who’s willing to do the work to clear itwithyou. Better a dedicated partner on a rough road than someone sleeping at the wheel on a straight stretch.”
My mom is right. I know she is—she and her Chicken Soup for the Soul wisdom.
FORTY-FIVE
MADI
I’m goingthrough my mental shot list as I get off the metro at the Trocadéro stop. Not only did I come here on my own, I had to make a metro line change to do it.
It’s wild how far I’ve come in my comfort level on the metro since first arriving. There’s a powerful sense of satisfaction that comes with being able to navigate the system and get where I need to, all on my own. Sure, it took a little (literal) handholding to get me here, but I’ve done a lot of things in Paris that scared me, and it’s shown me that many of my fears are conquerable with the right support and the right mindset.
Which brings me to Rémy. Every time. Always to Rémy. And to what my mom said about him. We haven’t known each other very long, but Rémy has shown in every way possible that he will stick with things—withme,especially when I need him most.
I wish he was with me right now. I’m glad he’s with his mom, though. As easy as it would be for me to monopolize him all day, there’s a special bond between a single mom and her child.
The weather is overcast, which makes it a bit warmer than usual. I’m not complaining. It sure makes my job easier. I’m always a bit jittery before a shoot—you never know what clients will be like—but today even more so. Since talking to my mom, I’ve been thinking about changing my flight. Again.
But this time, I’m thinking about pushing it back, and the money from these shoots might just make that possible.
I reach the corner of a wide, open area set between two tall, columned, symmetrical buildings. This is the Trocadéro, and I pause to admire the view. It’s a straight shot ahead to the Eiffel Tower, and I can absolutely understand why Ashleigh Jo would want this location. There are people here, sure, but if I get creative, I can keep most of them out of my shots. Any of the pesky ones I can’t keep out of the frame can be forced out with Photoshop if needed.
I pull out my camera and take some test shots, using a suit-clad gentleman with his back to me as my involuntary test subject until I’m satisfied with my settings.
“Madi.”
I whirl around, sure I’m hearing things. But Rémy’s jogging toward me. My heart does a wacky little dance at the sight of him there, wearing his Christmas mass sweater in a way that, quite frankly, makes it hard to remember the reason for the season.
“What’re you doing here? I thought mass didn’t start until three.” I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s only 3:30, and it takes about thirty minutes just to get to his mom’s.
It also means Ashleigh Jo and her fiancé should be here any minute. I try to give my clients a thirty-minute grace window to show up before I call it and leave. I’ll probably give them more today because it’s a lot less skin off my back to hang out by the Eiffel Tower than it is in a studio back at home. Also, I need their money.
“It didn’t,” he says, a little breathless as he stops a couple feet away from me. “I just . . . I wanted to come help with the session.” He holds my gaze. “I wanted to be with you.”
Mom said she and Dad cleared away a lot of bushes and debris from their path. As I stare back at Rémy, trying to breathe, I realize I will wield a flipping machete if that’s what it takes to see where the road with Rémy takes me. I’m hoping the road doesn’t require that, though, because the thought of me with a machete is frightening.
“What about your mom?”
He smiles slightly. “She’s the one who told me to come.”
