29. Tarte à l’Oignon #2
“I don’t know. What’s your plan, Lea?” I snarked back, though I felt horrible when my sister flinched like I’d slapped her. “I’m sorry. That was just mean.”
“It was,” she agreed. “And you can’t hide in Paris forever.”
I turned off the stove and started spooning the onions into the crust. “I have enough money saved that I can stay here for another week, until Lucas and I were supposed to be back in New York anyway. After that, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. But I’ll figure it out.”
“You could come back to London,” Frankie said.
“Or go to Italy to see Nonna,” Joni suggested.
“Or come back here,” Lea said. “I could make room.”
“We have an extra bed too,” Joni put in.
“Thank you.” I started whisking eggs, cream, and spices for the filling. “When I decide, I promise I’ll let everyone know, okay?”
My siblings didn’t seem to love this solution, but to my surprise, no one argued. It was as if the whole story had taken the fight out of them.
Frankie showed off Lucy’s new crawling skills while Matthew held up his and Nina’s eight-month-old son, Mateo. The babies were only a month apart, and watching my siblings with their children made my chest squeeze with a new yearning.
The truth was, I’d imagined that future for myself only a few nights ago.
Not with Daniel, but with Lucas. Just for a moment, when I was drifting off to sleep in his arms, I was convinced we had something real.
I had closed my eyes and seen a house that was a cross between the shabby home in the Bronx where I’d grown up and the extravagance of Prideview.
Children had skipped outside onto a front lawn bordered by a stone fence.
Kids with his storm-gray eyes and unlikely smiles, and my dark hair and love of good food.
A vision I’d foolishly thought was a dream when it turned out to be a fantasy.
“We love you, Mimi,” Joni called through my thoughts.
I shook my head as I realized my siblings were getting ready to sign off. It was morning in New York, and they had to go about their days. “Oh, right. Thanks for talking, everyone. I love you too, and I’ll keep my phone on, I promise.”
With varying renditions of “you better,” they each signed off, one by one, though a quick text message kept Frankie’s screen live.
“Can I talk to Xavier?” I asked her once everyone else was gone.
“Sure. Hold on.”
A moment later, Xavier replaced Frankie’s face on the screen. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, as direct as ever.
“I…” I paused as I finished pouring the custard mixture over the onions, feeling Xavier’s eyes appraising every move. I slid it into Louis’s temperamental oven, then stood up straight and slung the dishrag I’d been using as a potholder over my shoulder.
Why was I so nervous?
Because you want this , Lucas’s voice came to me, unbidden. Jerk.
But the voice was right. Something had occurred to me late last night. Something that might have only occurred to me had I not been fully wrenched out of my fantasies concerning any man with the last name of Lyons and forced to examine my life on my own.
What do you want, Marie ? Lucas had asked me.
Finally, without him or Daniel or anyone else, I thought I might have an answer.
“I have an idea,” I finally blurted, “for a restaurant. And since that’s what you do for a living, I wanted to propose it to you.”
Xavier’s brow lifted over one of his piercing blue eyes. “Go on.”
“Outside Paris, but not too far. In a village or commune people can reach by train.” I took a deep breath.
“We’d serve classics. Comfort food. But also, things no one has eaten.
It would be a place where young chefs can come to try out new things in a low-stakes environment.
Hone their craft before they move on. Like young artists in residence, but for chefs. ”
Xavier rubbed his chin as he considered. “You want to do this in France?”
I opened my mouth to say it it could be anywhere—outside New York, London, wherever Lea was planning to move.
But, no, I realized. That wasn’t what I wanted.
France was the place I’d discovered who I was outside the scope of my family and Prideview. It was the place I’d returned to when I felt lost again.
“Yes,” I found myself saying. “I want to do it here.”
Once I got started sharing my ideas, it wasn’t hard to keep going.
I knew the restaurant would be in a village, the kind where I could get to know the residents and the people I cooked for.
It would be close enough to a large market to get the ingredients I needed for seasonal dishes, but far enough from the city to have reasonable rent and a cozy atmosphere.
Xavier listened with clear-eyed patience, with none of the interruptions I was used to from my family members.
“It’s a good idea. And I like the idea of nurturing future talent,” he said after I finished.
“But you need more experience working in a restaurant and with the business side of things too. I can’t invest in a new chef without that.
If you’re serious about this, you should stage in Paris for a while.
Learn the business side, not just the cooking.
I’ve a friend who can help you get a visa. ”
It wasn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for, but it wasn’t a no either. “I—that won’t be necessary. I’ll want to find my own place.”
“You want to prove you can do it without connections.”
“Yes.”
“That’s admirable. And stupid.” But he was smiling slightly.
I shrugged. “Nevertheless. Let me try first.”
“What about the Lyons family? They’ll expect you back, won’t they?”
“I suppose I’ll be sending in my letter of resignation, along with a formal request for an excellent letter of reference given the circumstances.”
“Cutthroat. I like it. Just what you need to run a restaurant.”
After he signed off, I sat in Louis’s tiny kitchen, waiting for my tart to finish baking. The apartment smelled like caramelized onions and melted gruyere—a comfortable start to my plan.
For the first time since I’d fled London, I felt like I could breathe properly.
The sound of keys in the lock jangled me out of my thoughts as Louis entered.
At first glance, my best friend resembled a pirate, with his sooty black hair and dark eyes paired with a dangling silver earring that took his otherwise chic daytime appearance to something a bit more dangerous.
Intimidating until he smiled and transformed into one of the kindest people I’d ever met.
“You say pirate,” he had teased on the day we met. “I say Prince.”
To his credit, he later dressed up in a pitch-perfect Prince costume for a Purple Rain tribute show.
Now he looked up from where he had just set down his oboe case, and his face split into a grin that ruined the piratical effect.
“ Et voilà, la cheffe est de retour !” he cried when he saw the mess I was cleaning up. “You are cooking. This is good. No more tears, n’est-ce pas ?”
“Only from chopping onions,” I confirmed. “ Tarte a l’oignon for dinner. To say thank you for putting me up and cheering me up. I talked to my brother-in-law. He had some ideas for getting started. As soon as I find a job to help me get a work visa, I can start looking for a place to live.”
Louis poked around the produce I had set out to make a salad. “ Bien s?r . Of course, you can stay with me for as long as you want to cook. But it is a little small.” He waved around the garret, which was, admittedly, approximately the size of a shoebox.
“We’ll make do. You’re the best.”
“You can also thank me by coming to my show tonight and applauding very loud so that everyone else follows, okay?” Louis suggested with an impish grin. “It’s a new club, and I need the moral support. So, you get out of the apartment and no more crying over the stupid rich man, d’accord ?”
My eyes bugged out. I’d never gone with Louis to one of his drag performances in Pigalle, only watched him rehearse from the safety of this apartment. The idea of a crowded nightclub had always felt like too much, even after a year of living here.
“Louis, I don’t think I’m ready for?—”
My phone buzzed on the counter. A series of messages from Lucas lit up the screen. Most of them I had seen and ignored, but the newest was sent just a moment ago.
I sighed and picked up the phone. It was time to face this reality as well.
Marie, please call me. I can explain.
Where are you? I’m worried.
A leave of absence? Really?
I’m going out of my mind. Just tell me you’re safe.
And so they went. They were probably just damage control, part of whatever plan his family had cooked up to manage this situation, but they still affected me. The concern in his words, the desperation, felt real, even though I knew they weren’t. Couldn’t be.
The last hit me where it hurt.
Please. Don’t make me beg.
I typed out a single response:
I know you were only trying to keep me away from your brother. I need the week. Please don’t contact me until then.
I took a deep breath and then turned to Louis, who was watching me with sympathetic eyes. “You know what? You’re right. Let me be your fan club tonight.”
Louis’s face lit up. “ Vraiment ? You are ready to have some fun?”
“I’m ready to remember who I am in Paris,” I said firmly. “The me that existed before Lucas Lyons turned my world upside down.”