Chapter Twenty-Three
Piper and her mom had wandered around the Marais until their feet hurt, and then they’d parted ways with a promise to meet back in their hotel room at seven for dinner at La Nouvelle Seine, a restaurant inside a barge permanently docked opposite Notre Dame.
Piper’s mom wanted to meet the guy she had kissed to come clean with him about her diagnosis, so Piper had texted Nicolas to ask if he had a bit of time before dinner to meet up. He responded instantly that he’d see her in her hotel lobby at five and would take care of everything.
Piper let herself out of the room and headed downstairs, her heart heavy with worry for her mom. She was so lost in thought about how exhausted her mother looked that it took her a few seconds to register that Nicolas was already there waiting for her.
“Bonjour,” he said, standing as he spotted her. “I was off a little early, so I walked over. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, it’s perfect,” she said, but when she tried to smile at him, she could feel her eyes filling with tears.
“Piper, what is it?” Nicolas crossed to her quickly and pulled her into his arms. “Is your mother all right?”
“No,” Piper said. “And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“That isn’t true. You are here, in Paris, helping to make a magical experience that she—and you—will always remember.”
“But it won’t save her life,” Piper said, pulling away just far enough to look into Nicolas’s eyes. “How is any of this enough?”
“It isn’t,” he said. “But it’s never enough, is it? When we’re children, we think the moments will be endless. But in the end, they slip through our fingers before we know how much they mean.”
She stared at him. “How come you always know just the right thing to say?”
He looked at her for a moment. “ ‘For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you,’ ” he said slowly.
“What?”
He smiled. “It’s a quote from ‘Song of Myself,’ and, Piper, I think it means that we’re all connected to one another.”
“I can’t believe I’m in Paris with a French guy quoting Whitman to me,” she said with a small smile. “My professors would be so proud.”
“Happy to help.” He grinned. “But would you prefer to stay with your mother right now, Piper?”
“Believe it or not, she has a date.”
“A date? Oh la la. This really is the city of romance.”
Piper laughed and then sobered. “I actually think she’s going to get hurt, and I’m afraid it’s my fault.”
“Your fault?” Nicolas prompted gently.
“She met some guy, and I got upset and told her she needed to be honest with him. I think I made her feel like she needed to do that before she was ready.”
“But she owes him the truth, doesn’t she?”
Piper shrugged. “Does she, though? Maybe she deserved to just make a memory and to do it in her own way. And now she’s going to get her heart broken.”
“But then you will be there to help.”
“I guess.” But the weight still felt heavy on her shoulders. She knew she’d pushed too hard. “Anyhow, I’m sorry. What should we do for the next two hours?”
“Are you hungry?” Nicolas asked. He reached down and grabbed a large canvas bag she hadn’t noticed earlier, which had a long baguette protruding from it. “I know you don’t have much time today, but I’ve packed a little picnic for an early apéro.”
“Apéro?”
“It is a tradition here—drinks and a bit of food before dinner to whet the appetite. I just thought we might enjoy being outside now that the rain has let up.”
Thirty minutes and one RER train ride later, they were in the Champ de Mars, the huge rectangular green park that stretched from the Eiffel Tower down to the imposing école Militaire. The morning rain had given way to a crisp late afternoon with an impossibly blue sky and light the color of lemons.
Reaching into one of the canvas bags, Nicolas pulled out a waterproof picnic blanket, which he unfolded, laying it out on the still-damp grass.
He gestured for Piper to sit, and then, as she watched in astonishment, he unpacked a small array of cheeses along with the baguette, a bottle of champagne, and two plastic cups.
“When did you even have time to pack a picnic?” she asked. No one had ever done anything like that for her before.
“I went on my break today to the rue Mouffetard,” he said with a smile. “The market street near the café. I hope that’s all right. Everyone who comes to Paris should experience apéro, and where better to enjoy a glass of wine?”
She was speechless as he popped the cork on the champagne and poured them each a plastic cup.
“Santé,” he said, touching his cup to hers and taking a sip of his wine. “To you and to your mother.”
“Why are you being so nice, Nicolas?” she asked before she could stop herself. “I’m only here for a couple more days.”
But he didn’t look like he was judging her.
“The world is small, Piper. Who knows what the future will bring, and in the meantime, you can call me whenever you need someone.” He began to unwrap cheeses, naming them as he went.
“A Bleu d’Auvergne, a Camembert from Normandy, and a Tomme de Savoie from the French Alps.
” He handed her a cheese knife with a smile and gestured to the baguette.
“I went a bit overboard—usually apéro is smaller—but these were all things I wanted you to try, in case you hadn’t had them yet in France. ”
Piper felt like she was in a trance as she wedged off a bit of runny Camembert, spread it on a torn piece of baguette, and took a small bite. “Oh my God, how is it this good?” she moaned, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, Nicolas was smiling at her.
“I see you like the cheese. Now you must try the rillettes.”
“Rillettes?”
He pulled from the tote bag a red container that looked like a tub of margarine.
But when he opened it and began to spread it on a piece of baguette for her, she could see that it was some sort of paté.
He handed it to her and reached into the bag once more for a jar of small pickles.
“Try it with a cornichon,” he said, opening the jar and holding it out to her.
Tentatively, she took one of the pickles, placed it atop the meat spread, and took a bite.
“Well?” he prompted as she chewed, her eyes wide.
“That might actually be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” she said.
“Ah, then you will definitely need to return to France,” he said with a laugh. “There are so many more things to try. Go on, taste the other two cheeses.”
As she sampled the blue cheese and the tomme, moaning again with each heavenly bite, he unpacked some sliced saucisson, too, as well as a small bag of potato chips.
“I can’t believe this,” she said when the entire spread lay before her. They were in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, eating the most beautiful cheeses she could imagine, and drinking champagne. She never wanted to leave this moment; it was like something out of a dream.
“Is there really not a man back in America waiting for you to come home?” Nicolas asked after they’d eaten in comfortable quiet for a moment.
Piper shook her head. “There’s no guy back home.
There… there never really has been.” She couldn’t believe she’d admitted something so embarrassing aloud.
She was nearly twenty-four years old, and she’d never had a serious boyfriend.
“I mean, I’ve gone on dates,” she clarified quickly.
“But nothing has… stuck.” She snuck a look at him, expecting to see judgment on his face. Instead, he was nodding thoughtfully.
“Because you needed to care for your mother?” he asked.
She hung her head. “Maybe I can blame a bit of it on that. But before that… I don’t know.
I just never really met anyone who felt right to me.
I feel like I watched my friends pair off one by one.
It felt like some kind of race to a finish line I couldn’t see, you know?
They were always dragging me on double dates with their boyfriends’ friends, and some of them were nice enough, but every time I thought about making a commitment like that, it felt like my world was getting so small, I could hardly breathe.
” She stopped abruptly. “I know, I sound like a lunatic.”
“No,” he said gently. “You sound like a woman who knows what she wants.”
“But that’s just the thing. I have no idea what I want. How am I supposed to choose someone else when I don’t even know who I am yet?”
Nicolas took another sip of wine and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “But I think you do know who you are. You’re a woman who isn’t done becoming herself. And I think you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
“Sitting in a park in Paris eating cheese?”
He laughed. “Actually, yes. I think you are meant to be here. With me. With the whole world in front of you.” He swept his hand out wide, encompassing the Eiffel Tower, the park before them, and all of Paris spreading out beyond.
“Right now, your life is about your mother, as it should be. But when the time comes, the world will be yours. And you’ll get to choose. ”
“Choose what?” she asked in a small voice.
“Everything. You were right to think that your world might have become small if you had chosen one of those boys in university. All of the paths you could have walked would have narrowed to one—which would have been fine for the right person, but not if you’d settled for a wrong one.”
“What if the right one lives thousands of miles away from me?”
Nicolas held her gaze. “When something is right, it has a way of working itself out.”
She turned to look at the Eiffel Tower for a moment, soaking it all in, before looking back at Nicolas, who was watching her. “It’s all so beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said, taking her hand. “It is.” He didn’t look at the tower at all as he leaned in and kissed her, his lips soft on hers as he handed her the possibility of a future she couldn’t see yet but knew she wanted just the same.