29. Tarte à l’Oignon
TARTE à L’OIGNON
*true caramelization cannot be rushed.
JONI: MIMI WHERE ARE YOU
A s I climbed the four flights of stairs to Louis’s apartment on Rue de Vincent Compoint, my phone buzzed insistently from the bottom of my bag.
I had turned it off upon boarding the Eurostar from London four days ago and had kept it off until today, when I’d finally crept outside to visit the nearby Barbes Market.
It was a little dicey getting there sometimes, but the produce was unparalleled in the Eighteenth Arrondissement.
The second I looked at the messages, I knew it was a mistake. The “Bad Bambini” group chat—otherwise known as the Zola kids in overdrive—was blowing up.
KATE: Seriously, we’re starting to worry
LEA: Marie answer your freaking phone!
I tucked the phone back in my back pocket and continued up the remaining flights of stairs, hauling my bags of produce and sundries.
It wasn’t like I’d gone completely off the grid.
Before leaving London, I’d sent a brief email to Robbie and another to Frankie, thanking her for the apartment and letting her know I was going to Paris for a few days.
Since then, I’d been holed up in Montmartre’s familiar chaos.
Louis had welcomed me with open arms when I’d appeared at his door with red-rimmed eyes and my suitcase.
Still wearing his bright pink boa from last night’s show, he had pulled me into his attic flat and made space for my heartbreak among his costumes and musical instruments.
FRANKIE: If you don’t respond in the next hour I’m calling the police
I sighed and let myself into the apartment, then set the groceries on the floor of Louis’s tiny kitchen, which consisted of a miniature stove, a fridge that rose to my hip, and a butcher block counter the size of my laptop.
The French making the best food in the world in the smallest kitchens would always be the height of irony.
MATTIE: Marie Annetta Zola. Call right the duck now or I’m getting on a ducking plane
Using my full name. Autocorrect or not, my big brother meant business.
I stowed the produce in the fridge, then fetched my laptop from the little couch that had been my bed for the last three nights.
Then I set up a video call on the counter while I unpacked the rest of the ingredients for dinner: onions, shallots, Gruyère, eggs, cream, butter, flour—everything I needed for a proper onion tart.
If I was going to face my family’s interrogation, I might as well keep my hands busy.
The call connected to a grid of Zola faces with dark hair, green eyes, and varying levels of concern and annoyance.
Joni was clearly in her and Nathan’s apartment, her hair up in a messy bun and Nathan visible in the background, working.
Frankie was back in her living room in Mayfair, Lucy on her lap while Sofia was playing dolls in the corner.
Kate was obviously in her shop, surrounded by men’s suits, Lea was in her kitchen in Belmont, and Matthew was in his home office in Boston.
My heart squeezed looking at them. When was the last time we were all in the same room? It used to be every Sunday, and now…who knew when the next family dinner would happen?
“Finally,” Lea snapped as she started peeling a potato. “Marie, we’ve been worried sick.”
I pulled out a bowl to measure flour for the crust. “Why? I’ve been out of touch for all of four days. And Joni knew where I went.”
“Probably because we’ve all been getting calls from your scary boss wondering where you disappeared to, and no one knew if we were allowed to tell him,” Kate said as she examined a bright red tie. “Mattie, do you want this?”
“Yeah, put it aside for me,” Matthew replied. “Marie, what did you do to Lucas Lyons? Or maybe we should be asking what he did to you?”
I avoided the camera as I started pinching butter into the flour. “He did nothing. Like I told Joni, I’m in Paris. I took some time off to think.”
“Think about what?” at least three different voices demanded at the same time.
Joni was the only one who giggled.
I shot her face a glare. “Don’t, Jo.”
“I just don’t get it. You sounded so happy when you called me about—” She stopped abruptly, glancing back at Nathan, who was shaking his head behind her.
“You told him!” I screeched.
Joni shrugged. “I had to tell someone.”
“Tell what?” Frankie wondered. “What did she tell Nathan and not us?”
Joni was already wearing the expression that meant she was about to spill the tea, whether or not I wanted her to.
“Joni—” I reached out with flour-covered fingers, like I could silence her through the screen.
“Marie gave it up to the scary boss,” she announced cheerfully.
“JONI!” I nearly dropped the bowl.
“Come on, Mimi. They would have figured it out eventually.”
“Not unless you told everyone!”
To my surprise, my other siblings had nothing to say for several long moments, all of them entranced while I poured some ice water onto the mixture and started the process of bringing the dough together.
After the shock wore off, however, they all started talking at once.
“Was it good?” Kate wondered.
“Jesus, I don’t want to hear about that, Katie!” Matthew sniped.
“Please tell me you kept it out of my bed,” Frankie put in, followed by Xavier’s voice off-screen: “They didn’t shag in the onsen, did they?”
“I thought she was in love with the younger brother,” Lea added.
“Isn’t the pool chlorinated?” Kate wondered. “It’s probably the most hygienic place to lose your V-card. Automatic clean-up.”
“Ew!” shouted at least two other sisters along with a booming “what the fuck !” from Matthew.
“Tell me you used a rubber,” Lea interjected. “You’re too old to be playing hide the salami without a wrapper, capeesh?”
That actually made me look up. “What does that even mean?”
Matthew turned, clearly speaking to his wife, also off-camera. “Doll, why do all my sisters go for assholes I gotta punch in the face?”
“Oi! Not all of us deserved it.” Xavier, who had been a recipient of said punches, popped onto Frankie’s screen.
Matthew scowled. “He’s your boss, though, right? Say the word, and I’ll drive to New York today with charges of sexual harassment in the workplace.”
“Oh my God, I literally asked him for it!” I exploded, my face burning as I hurled the ball of dough back into the bowl hard enough that the metal clanged on the counter.
I scowled at it too. You weren’t supposed to over-handle pate brisée ; otherwise, it would shrink and weigh down. Now that my family had essentially forced me to use the dough like a stress ball, my crust wouldn’t be flaky. Jerks.
Everyone continued with unintelligible commentary—Joni defending my choices, Kate asking for details, Lea worried about contraception, Matthew threatening legal action, and Frankie trying to shush everyone while her daughters climbed all over her.
I waited for the chaos to die down, methodically rolling out the crust, then pressing it into a pie pan. The familiar rhythm of cooking gave me something to focus on besides their yammering.
“Mimi.”
Only when everyone was quiet enough for Joni’s voice to break through did I finally look up after putting the crust in the oven to parbake.
“Yeah?” I asked as I started cleaning up the flour.
“How…how did it happen? With him , I mean. We thought you were crazy about the younger brother.”
To my surprise, everyone remained quiet.
I sighed. I should have known that would be the question they were all interested in. Not whether I was okay or if I was safe, but how, exactly, a man like Lucas would ever want to sleep with someone like me.
“It just…happened,” was all I could manage. “We’d been traveling together for weeks. We got close.”
No one looked convinced. I also heard more than one snort off-camera that told me their respective partners felt the same.
“Hold on,” Matthew said, holding up a finger while he leaned off camera. There was a murmuring that was undoubtedly his wife, Nina. When he reappeared on screen, he was frowning. “Yeah,” he told her. “I’ll tell them.”
“Tell us what?” Kate asked.
“Just that Nina’s family has known the Lyonses for years. They ran in the same circles.”
“You mean Upper East Side rich people circles?” Lea put in.
Matthew nodded. “Nina says Lucas Lyons doesn’t do anything by accident. Nothing just ‘happens’ with that guy, kid.”
I sighed. It was clear from the five sharp-eyed expressions on my screen that there were only two ways out of this conversation: confessing or fleeing.
For simple want of company, I chose the former. “Okay. Here’s what happened.”
Twenty minutes later, my crust was finished, the onions were cooking merrily, and my family, including Nina, Xavier, and Nathan (who had crept their way on screen), was well and completely stunned after I had narrated the tale of the last few weeks—minus the more salacious bits.
“So, yeah,” I finished as I continued stirring the onions, which were sizzling nicely.
“I saw those texts, and I…I had to leave. Now I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know if I can continue working for him or his family anymore, but they paid for my education, so I feel like I owe them something, you know?
“You don’t owe him shit,” Lea said firmly.
Every other head on the screen nodded with her.
“I’d say you repaid him with that cookie anyway,” Joni added with a wicked grin.
I rolled my eyes amidst several moans.
“I’ll leave for New York today.” Matthew was moving into action even though Nina was trying to calm him down. “He makes one move to fire you after this, and I’ll tie that bastard up in court so fast he’ll think he’s fuckin’ rotisserie chicken.”
I sighed and set the wooden spoon down. “Mattie, stop. I don’t need you to rescue me here, all right? I don’t need any of you to solve this problem for me.”
Not one person looked convinced.
“I don’t!” I insisted.
“Okay, but what’s your plan?” Lea pushed.