One Summer in Paris(81)

“You.”

“That’s it? You’ve been carrying this on your own all these years?”

Audrey shrugged. “You know how it is. You don’t want people to know. It’s embarrassing. And also you feel bad. Disloyal. And you think if she can keep up this charade, then you should, too. But I feel responsible for her, you know? And that’s awful. That’s the worst part.”

Grace had carried that same feeling for years. “She’s not your responsibility, though. You know that, don’t you? She’s the adult.”

“Easy to say.”

Grace nodded, thinking about the times she’d had to turn her mother into the recovery position. Still, at least she’d had her father even if he’d been about as much use as a log fire in a heat wave.

Your mother isn’t feeling well, Grace.

“What about your friend? The one you’ve mentioned a few times?”

“Meena? I love her, but I can’t tell her about my mum.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because her family is perfect. Maybe because when I’m with her I get to pretend things are normal.” Audrey paused. “My mother got married last month. My stepdad’s name is Ron.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I like him a lot. That’s the problem.” Audrey shifted in the chair. “I’m worried that he’ll leave. And that might de stroy her. She’s been with men before. She’s actually been married a few times, but it never lasted. Ron is different.”

“You don’t think he knows?”

“He knows she drinks, but he doesn’t know how big the problem is. And I haven’t said anything. Every day I expect to get a crisis call.” Audrey swallowed. “Is it wrong to have my own dreams? Is that selfish? Sometimes I lie there thinking please, please don’t let me have to leave Paris.”

Grace had a lump in her throat. How had she survived? Grace had at least had her father and Mimi. Her opinion of Audrey had been high from that first day when she’d rescued her bag, but now it was off the scale. She had nothing but admiration for this brave, fierce, warm, loving young woman. “You have a right to more than dreams. You have a right to live the life you want.” A tear spilled down her cheek and Audrey look appalled.

“Shit. I made you cry.”

“That word didn’t add anything to the sentence.” Grace wiped her eyes, embarrassed by her inability to control her emotions.

“Okay, darn, I made you cry.” Audrey pulled a face. “Sorry, but it just doesn’t work for me. Is there an alternative?”

Despite everything, Grace laughed. “You could try not swearing at all?”

“I’d burst. All these words would build up inside and then eventually they’d come out. It wouldn’t be pretty. Probably even worse than when I’m drunk.” But Audrey was smiling, too. “Why did I make you cry?”

“Because I think you’re a very special person.” Grace blew her nose. “And through it all you keep smiling and laughing.”

Audrey turned pink. “Life just seems easier when you joke about it. And you’re pretty special, too. You were a good friend to me last night. I didn’t know who to call.”

“I’m so glad you called me.” She’d thought that good friendships were formed over time. That the length of the relationship was what gave it depth. She’d been wrong. She’d known Monica for almost two decades and considered her a good friend, but she’d never once felt as close to her as she did to Audrey who she’d known for a matter of weeks.

It was heartening to think that new friendships could form at any stage of your life, and a reminder that stepping out of the safe, predictable circle of your life almost always reaped rewards.

Audrey gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. “OMG your date! How could I have forgotten? How did it go?”

“It went well.”

“Yeah? Did you have wild, amazing sex?” Audrey’s face went from animated to anxious. “Please tell me I didn’t text when you were in the middle of—”

“You didn’t.” Although there was no doubt in her mind that had Audrey not texted when she did, the outcome would have been exactly that. “We were on our way back to his place when you texted.”

Audrey groaned. “So I did ruin your evening.”

“No. I had a great evening.”

“Are you seeing him again?”

Grace thought about the chemistry. The easy flow of conversation. The looks they’d exchanged. The subtle touches. “I’m sure I will see him again. He’s invited me to a concert he’s playing in.”

“Cool.” Audrey picked up her fork and took a mouthful of her now cold breakfast. “I take full credit. It was the hair that did it. And the dress, of course.”

“I have a ticket for you, too, if you’d like to come.”

“Me? A classical concert? What if I don’t like it? I don’t know a single thing about music. Will you hate me?”

“Of course not. As long as you don’t make sick noises during the performance. You don’t have to know anything about it to enjoy it. How about you? Are you going to call Etienne?”

“No way. It’s embarrassing. I’m so mad at myself.” Audrey picked up her plate. “Why did I let them pressure me last night? Why didn’t I just say I don’t drink?”