Page 63 of That Weekend in Paris
I walk to the far end of the orchard, letting the pureness of this place infuse me with a desire not to go to the deep dark place. Not letting thoughts of Riley ruin the start to a beautiful day. I think of the place I had been in when I arrived in Paris, of how I had absolutely no desire to continue the career I had thought was everything I wanted in life. I honestly don’t know if that’s true anymore or not, but something about these last few days with Dillon has made me want to care again. To know what I want to come next. And even though I don’t have an answer for that right now, I at least have the desire to try and figure it out.
Dillon
“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”
?Virginia Woolf,A Room of One’s Own
I WAKE TO sunlight streaming into the room. I hadn’t bothered to close the curtains last night. As I have done my entire life, I wake to the light. I slide out of bed, deciding to call room service for a pot of coffee before I get in the shower. When it arrives, my hair is still wet. I answer the door to a kind-faced older man holding a silver tray.
“Bonjour, madame,” he says.
“Good morning,” I say and step aside to let him in. He places the tray on the corner of the bed and leaves with a polite wish that I have a good day.
I pour myself a cup and take a gratifying sip, wondering if Klein is up yet. I haven’t heard anything from the other room, so I decide maybe not, take my cup into the bathroom and dry my hair. Once I’m ready, I decide to go downstairs and see what there is to do during the day here. Just as I step out the door, I see Klein walking down the long hallway.
“Good morning,” I say, suddenly awkward with memories of last night.
“Good morning,” he says. “How did you sleep?”
“Great,” I say. “You look like you’ve been up a while.”
“I have, actually. I decided to take a walk down to the orchard again. It’s incredibly beautiful there.”
“It is,” I say. “Do you want to get some breakfast?”
“Sure. I had a little coffee earlier, but I’m starving.”
We turn then and head downstairs to the restaurant where we’d had dinner last night. A different waitress leads us to a table, this time close to the terrace doors where we can appreciate the view of the enormous lawn off the stone terrace.
The smells coming from the kitchen are genuinely mouthwatering, and I open my menu. “Do you think they would bring me one of everything on here?”
“It is tempting, isn’t it?” Klein says.
We place our order within a couple of minutes. I decide to splurge on the blueberry pancakes. Klein opts for an omelet. The waitress brings us a mouthwatering basket of pastries that appear to have been made in the château kitchen. We both dig in as if we haven’t eaten in a week, and I force myself to stop after the second croissant. “I’m not going to have any room for blueberry pancakes,” I say.
“If I stayed here too long,” Klein says, “I’m pretty sure I would put on twenty pounds.”
“Do you ever wonder why the French people aren’t fat?” I ask.
“Actually, I have wondered,” Klein says. “I did a google search on that when we were in Paris, because it occurred to me that if you just went by the foods they eat, they should be, but they’re not.”
“Fast food isn’t on every corner, for one thing,” I say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Definitely that. And then there’s the fact that people here tend to walk more every day than Americans in general. Then there’s the whole red wine thing.”
“Resveratrol,” I say.
“Did you google the same article?”
I laugh lightly. “No, but I’ve read a few things here and there about the topic. Snack foods don’t seem to be as prevalent here. It seems like people emphasize meals and sitting down to eat more, whereas the American lifestyle is a little more about rushing here and there and eating fast food to go in the car. At least I’m guilty of that.”
“I think we all are more than we should be,” Klein says. “But I’m going to try to make one of my takeaways from this trip, making some changes on all of that.”
“Me, too.”
Just then, the waitress brings our breakfast, and despite having eaten bread in advance, I still cannot resist my blueberry pancakes. “This may be the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” I say, looking at Klein with a smile of pleasure. “Would you like a bite?”
“Actually, I would. I’m having a pretty serious case of pancake envy.”
