Page 14 of Moonstruck at Midnight
Worrying him unnecessarily about my emotional state was something I tried to avoid at all costs. That’s why I kept the full-on, gut-wrenching theatrics to myself.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Everything okay?” he asked, cupping my chin upward.
“I’m sorry I just missed you, and with Easter tomorrow, my birthday today, and mom and—” My throat burned. I couldn’t keep talking, not without preventing any further tears from turning into sobs.
My father hugged me again. “I get it, kiddo. I’m so sorry. I know it’s—challenging sometimes. Some days are harder than others. You know I’m always here for you, though. I love you.”
I brushed the tears away.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said. We got in the car, and he immediately held my hand.
“Where are we going?” I was feeling a little more like myself after shedding a few tears.
“We’re only a few minutes away, you’ll see.” He tapped my knee twice.
We finally approached the museum, and I figured out what the surprise was.
“Louvre?” I guessed.
“I can’t have you leave Paris without seeing it one last time.” Taking me there was the perfect birthday gift—he knew me so well.
A considerable number of tourists were queued, making their way slowly through museum security, but with the help of Miss Laurent, who was part of the museum staff, we breezed through and made our way to the Denon wing.
“Expect theSalle des Étatsto be a bit crowded today. You know how tourists congregate around the Mona Lisa,” Miss Laurent said as a friendly reminder.
There were enough people for the room to look packed, but Miss Laurent informed us the Mona Lisa had seen far more congested scenes. Luckily, the crowd didn’t overlap the painting I had gone to see—the one right in front of the Mona Lisa.
Nozze di Cana. Louvre’s largest artwork depicting Jesus’s first public miracle: The transformation of water into wine.
I thought I’d bored my father to death as I rambled on and on about the painting and why I loved it. But he was genuinely interested and entertained with what I had to say about it.
“Now, the million-dollar question, kiddo,” he said, grasping my shoulders. “Where do you think this painting should be?” I’d explained how it had been stolen from Venice by Napoleon’s troops.
“Hmm. If you were Veronese, would you rather have your painting be where it was intended to be, which is in a monastery in Venice, or would you prefer to have it displayed here with over eight million people walking by it every year?” I asked. “Now, I don’t know how Veronese would feel about most people seeing his paintingaccidentallyafter visiting the Mona Lisa behind us.”
“It’s complicated. But I think this painting has found a home,” my father replied. “It’s been torn and re-sown. Restored and moved around. Theconflicthas also been settled with the exchange of the French painting. And you’ve told me how it has endured a couple of accidents here at the Louvre. Some things are fragile enough to be better left untouched.”
“Averydiplomatic response.” I snorted and smiled.And an interesting one,too. “I also believe it should remain here.”
Without hesitation, the painting reminded me of my mother, whose faith was unbreakable, and the importance of finding one’s place in life. Sometimes you were meant to be in a particular place, but ultimately life puts you where you belong. It’s about learning how to deserve that new place, which might be very different from what you expected but perfectly designed for you in every way.
Although I did not share my mother’s religious beliefs, she used to tell me the transformation of water into wine suggests how great things can surge unexpectedly and enhance our lives by changing them for the better. I could agree to that any day.
The room was getting crowded, which was our security team’s cue to suggest we better start moving out. Miss Laurent was waiting for us right outside the room.
“If you ever need a tour guide, Miss Laurent, you can always hire my daughter,” my father joked. I chuckled under my breath with embarrassment.
We thanked Miss Laurent once again and made our way back to the car. Caleb opened the door for me, and a small present with a red bow was waiting on my seat. I squinted at my father, who was standing behind me. “That’syour second gift, kiddo.”
I was already delighted with the Louvre visit, and honestly, having my father’s time was a gift enough for me.
I held the small box in my hand, wondering about its content. My father climbed in the car beside me and jerked his chin at the gift, encouraging me to unwrap it. There was a key inside it. I turned to look at him and silently inquired about the meaning of the present.
“It’s a symbolic key to your new apartment.” He grinned. “I’ll replace it with the real one once we get to New York, yes?” My wide-eyed expression spoke about my inability to respond to such a gift. “What do you think?”
“Thank you. This is—so unexpected. How? Why?” I kept fidgeting with the key. That was such a big step for him to take. For me, as well. I’ve lived my life surrounded by so many people like Embassy employees, house staff, drivers, and guests, but I always felt lonely.
“You’re welcome to come to visit me or stay in your old room as many times as you wish,” he said. “I bought this apartment a few years ago as an investment, and I’ve been renting it for a while. But last January, Mrs. Sullivan, my real estate agent, told me the family living there was not planning on renewing their lease, so I got thebrilliant ideaof having you live there instead.”
