Chapter 26 #2
A mustached driver in a formal black uniform—gold trim and cape—circles around to dip the brim of his hat to us.
Grinning, he hoists our luggage into the spacious buggy, then clasps our hands as we make our royal entrance.
The carriage is covered and cozy inside, plush with velvet and heat.
We are handed cold flutes of champagne. I spy a tin of buttery cookies.
“I’ve never ridden in a horse-drawn carriage,” I gush, observing, sipping. “I really haven’t. Not ever.”
“Would you believe it if I told you I haven’t either?” Mom says, lifting her glass. “You’re never too old for new things. Don’t ever forget that.”
I wouldn’t.
“I won’t.”
We clop through the streets like princesses on our way to the ball.
It’s after nightfall, so the village around us glows like the Narnia lamppost. Golden, vibrant, enchanting, set against Alpine snow.
Restaurants, bars, boutiques, and cheese shops.
Vintage chalets and old farm buildings. Tourists roam, several stopping to take our picture, because our transportation is just that Instagram worthy.
Or will be in a few years, anyway, when it really takes off.
“Thank you,” I repeat to my mom. “This is unreal, already.”
“I’m so proud of you, Sutton,” she says. “Your new job, your birthday—the young woman you are. Everything you’ve accomplished. This trip is about celebrating you. The final hurrah before you begin your career.” She winks. “I know this one’s going to stick.”
I flush, a little self-conscious. There was no bite to her comment, but the truth pricks.
I’m like a gypsy here, wandering. Actress, traveler, onetime teacher.
Check, check, check. I both love the explorations and find myself craving stability, more than ever.
I’m so wildly thankful to my younger self, to Amber Allister, once again, for providing it through this incredible opportunity—for taking a chance on me and my spotty résumé.
For finding a way to make it all work, in a whole other lifetime, for seeing the best in all versions of me.
I clear my throat.
“This adventure isn’t just about me.” I tip my champagne flute to hers. “It’s about us. I love you, Mom. To women . . . of a certain age,” I say with a wink.
If she only knew.
“Age is just a number,” she says. “I still feel twenty-six, you know.”
“I believe you.”
I do.
When we reach our destination, the charm and magnificence of this world outdoes itself once again. I gasp at the splendor. “Mom!”
“Welcome,” she announces, “to the Palais des Neiges. That’s ‘snow palace,’ in French.” She pauses. “Romantic luxury’s dalliance with the great outdoors.”
The hotel honors its name: a true palace sprawling against the mountainside.
Cream-colored, the structure stands ten stories high, each window adorned with brown shutters, each room with a wrought iron balcony.
I imagine red flowers when winter melts.
The rooftop silhouette resembles a wedding cake, the points of frosting and candlelike spears.
Across the street from us chimes a clock tower.
I can’t stop gawking and don’t try.
Not as we enter the warmth of the opulent lobby with its layered yellows, pine finishes, and glittering chandelier.
Not at the effusive hospitality of Natalia at the front desk, with her charming German accent and old-fashioned heavy metal room keys.
And not when I sink into the sofa of our room—sumptuous in both fabric and sensation—wrapped in my cocoon of hotel-robe bliss.
I behold the welcome basket on the coffee table.
It’s lush with chocolates, coffee, nuts, bath salts, and lotions.
I admire the Bon Anniversaire card from the staff.
Mom let me have the first shower, so here I sit, curtains open to our balcony window, which supposedly features magnificent views of the mountains, of the thirty-eight peaks within sight of the pedestrian village. Thick clouds shroud tonight’s visibility, but I know she’s waiting, the Matterhorn.
I tear into a bag of mixed nuts, candied and decadent.
Chewing and savoring, I know this birthday will be hard to beat.
With a sigh, I pull up my knees and think of my other twenty-sixth birthday, the one I already lived.
Back in the days when Reid accepted each of my birthdays as a new assignment to outdo the last, treating each one like the biggest deal of his career.
I blow out another breath, but there is no candle. At twenty-six, the first time, we both knew it would be my last birthday before we had kids, so Reid planned a trip to Paris. Paris!
“We can’t!” I gasped. “That’s way too extravagant.
We need to save our money for the baby. And for a house.
Plus, look at me.” I held out my puffy hands.
My body showed pregnancy early and fast, especially for a twenty-five-year-old.
Stomach ripe at six months along. Ankles thick, sciatica shooting, nausea unrelenting.
My heart was elated, but physically I was miserable.
“Neither of us has ever been to Europe, though!” he countered. “And when will we go again? I found a killer deal through Costco. It’s cheap, I promise. But also, you know, won’t feel cheap.”
He palmed my belly and kissed my lips and begged, “Please!”
I smiled and said okay.
Three days before the trip, I was ravaged with a bout of the stomach flu, on top of my already-terrible pregnancy nausea that just wouldn’t quit. That mythical twelve-week mark had come and gone, leaving me just as green.
And then, my body couldn’t stop vomiting. Reid raced me to the emergency room, and I ended up staying three nights in the hospital. My weight dropped, and so did Max’s heart rate. Medicine, IV fluids, 24/7 monitoring. Just to be safe.
Turns out it was indeed only the stomach flu, but they didn’t mess around with their pregnant women. I was grateful. Mostly grateful. We didn’t talk about the trip until the night before our scheduled flight.
“Did you cancel Paris?” I croaked through my achy throat.
He nodded. “The doctor said—”
“I figured.”
“Just glad I got the trip insurance.”
I patted my stomach groggily. “I think we’re insurance people now.”
“Yeah.” He smiled, grabbing my hand. “Hey—this birthday will still be so special. We’ll get to Europe someday.”
On my last day at the hospital, my actual birthday, Reid claimed he had a work emergency and sent my mom to drive me home, which she gladly did.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry about your trip—but thank God you and my little grandbaby are okay. You have the rest of your life to travel.”
I stared out her car window, dazed by the residual drugs in my system, startled by my own disappointment, guilty over it.
I felt a flash of frustration that my body wasn’t my own, which I didn’t know was the first of so many to come.
And what about our romance? Our time together?
What would become of us, as a couple? Not in a doomsday way, just a practical way. Max was already changing everything.
When we arrived at our apartment complex, my mother insisted on carrying the small overnight bag Reid had brought me, helping me up the stairs. She dashed away hastily when we reached the front door, though. “Feel better, sweetie, I love you!”
“Bye—”
She was gone before I finished replying, leaving me all alone.
Happy birthday, indeed.
I twisted the knob and pushed open the door, then immediately dropped my duffel.
Café melodies floated romantically through our apartment, which had been transformed.
On the far wall hung a magnificent poster, floor-to-ceiling, of the Eiffel Tower.
Our furniture had been rearranged so that a candlelit table for two now served as the centerpiece of our family room.
Fresh flowers—hot-pink peonies, white lilies, and greens—filled vases on top of our kitchen counter.
Paintings and sketches leaned on wood easels around us, summoning the streets of Montmartre, or what I always thought they would be.
A black-and-white-striped canvas awning jutted out from the main kitchen window.
I was met by the warm glow of twinkle lights, everywhere, and the buttery scent of croissants and something stewing on top of the stove.
Reid spotted me from his post in the kitchen and ran to me, with a purpose, eyes focused, stride sure. He enveloped me in a hug like he loved me madly.
Like it was the biggest deal of his career.
“Bienvenue à la maison, madame.”
My eyes dipped and danced around the room, over his shoulder. He did this for me? Through the lump in my throat, I asked, muffled, “Are you wearing a scarf?”
He stepped back, spreading his hands like a TV presenter. “And a peacoat.”
“And skinny jeans!” I finished. I couldn’t stop laughing. Or melting. He did this for me.
“I might’ve made a few wardrobe purchases for the trip. You know, I tried dressing up as a chef but felt so much like that dude who tried to kill Sebastian in The Little Mermaid. I never really thought of him as having much luck with the ladies.”
I pushed his shoulder, still cackling.
“You like it?” He reached a hand behind one of my ears and around my neck, pulling my face toward his. My stomach between us didn’t feel like a hindrance. It felt like connection. And passion.
“I like you,” I said, blinking tears. I couldn’t speak for a minute. “I love it.”
“Can I get you some champagne?” he asked, with a sneaky aside: “It’s cider.”
“Yes, please.”
I assumed my seat at the table for two, drinking him in, this sweetheart. Not yet thirty but already everything I had ever dreamed a man could be for me. When we couldn’t travel the world, he’d bring the world to me.
Back then, anyway.
With fanfare, Reid brought me “champagne” and a warm chocolate croissant, taking the seat across from me.
“Happy birthday, my wife.” He peeled off his peacoat with a wicked smile and draped it over his chair.
“It’s getting hot in here.” He reached for my hand.
“I love you so much. I hate that we had to cancel the trip. But wherever you are, that’s the only place I want to be. ”
I laced my fingers into his, studying the angles of his handsome face, the lush sandy hair, both replicating inside of me, though I wouldn’t see it fully for another few years.
Where are you now, my husband?
The bathroom door creaks me out of my trance, and I stand.
“That was heavenly,” I hear my mom say. “Divine.”
I walk to the window, cup my hands around my eyes, looking for who knows what. It’s too foggy to make out the world-famous mountain—to make out anything, really. But I remind myself to be patient in waiting, hopeful in the dark night.
Morning always comes.