Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Olivia
A small town in the south of France—I still can't pronounce its name right.
But I remember its sunlight. Every afternoon at three, it would slant through the flower shop's glass windows, hitting the floor in front of the register, warm and hazy with dust motes.
"You can't hide here forever."
Ella sat in the wicker chair by the shop entrance, coffee in hand, watching me.
Five years.
Five years ago, she found me in the hospital, took me away from New York, and brought me to this little town in southern France. Five years of quarterly visits, sitting in that same wicker chair, saying the same thing.
"I'm not hiding," I said, scissors in hand, trimming the jasmine on the table. "I'm just living my life."
"Living your life?" She laughed, all mockery. "Olivia, look at yourself. You open at six every morning, close at eight every night, seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days a year. You never go anywhere except this flower shop. You call that living?"
I said nothing.
The scissors clicked. A stem dropped onto the table.
"And," she lowered her voice, glancing toward the register, "at least let Leo know what his real home looks like."
I followed her gaze.
Leo sat on his little stool behind the register, head down, crayons in hand, drawing on a sheet of paper. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on his brown hair, that small profile focused and quiet.
He was five years old.
Five years ago, when I woke up in the hospital and Ella told me "you're pregnant," I thought my world had completely collapsed.
But then he was born.
The first time I saw him, that wrinkled little face, those closed eyes, so small, so light.
My world lit up again.
"Oli, are you listening?"
I snapped back.
"I'm listening."
"So what do you think?" Ella said. "Leo's about to start school. Are you going to let him go to school here? Or—"
"I'll handle it."
"You'll handle it?" Her voice rose slightly. "How? Let him go to school in this little town? Then what? When he grows up, tell him his home is actually in America, that he has a sister, and a—"
She paused.
"And a father?"
My hand stopped.
The scissors hung in midair.
"Ella."
"I'm sorry." Her voice softened. "I didn't mean it like that. But Oli, you have to face this eventually."
I set down the scissors.
"I know."
"So when are you going to face it?"
"I don't know."
Ella sighed.
She stood, walked to the register, and touched Leo's head.
"Baby, what are you drawing?"
Leo looked up, those green eyes bright.
"An airplane." He held up the picture. "Ella, look."
Ella took it, glanced at it, and smiled.
"It's really good. Does Leo want to ride on an airplane?"
Leo nodded.
"I do. Mommy says airplanes can fly really high, all the way above the clouds."
"Where does Leo want to go?"
Leo tilted his head, thinking.
"I want to go to Mommy's home."
Ella froze.
"Mommy's home?"
"Yeah," Leo said. "Mommy says she used to live in a really big city. With really tall buildings and lots of cars and a really big park. I want to see it."
Ella turned to look at me.
I lowered my head, kept trimming the jasmine.
"You will," Ella said, touching Leo's head. "Leo will definitely get to go someday."
She came back, sat across from me.
Pulled an envelope from her bag, set it on the table.
"This quarter's."
I glanced at the envelope, pushed it back.
"Don't need it."
"Olivia—"
"I said, I don't need it."
"How much does this flower shop make in a month?" Anger crept into her voice. "Rent, utilities, Leo's expenses—you do the math. Is it enough?"
"It's enough."
"Bullshit!" She lowered her voice but stayed fierce. "Look at yourself. How thin have you gotten? Last time I was here, I wanted to say something—you've lost more weight in the past six months. Are you skipping meals to save money again?"
"I'm not."
"You are." She stared at me. "Olivia, I know you want to do it on your own. But you don't owe me. This money—"
"I do owe you." I cut her off, looked up at her. "Ella, you've already helped me too much. The hospital bills, the plane tickets, these five years—"
"None of that matters." She cut me off. "We're friends."
"That's exactly why I can't keep taking your money."
She stared at me for a long time.
Then sighed.
"Fine." She put the envelope back in her bag. "You won't take it anyway. We've been fighting about this for five years."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." She stood. "I have to go. My flight's tonight, and I still need to pack at the hotel."
She came over, hugged me.
"Take care of yourself," she said in my ear. "And Leo."
"Yeah."
She let go, walked to the register, said goodbye to Leo.
"Baby, I'm leaving."
Leo dropped his crayons, ran over and hugged her legs.
"When is Ella coming back?"
"Three months." She bent down, kissed his forehead. "Leo has to listen to Mommy."
"Okay!"
Ella stood, glanced at me once, turned and walked out.
The door closed behind her.
The shop went quiet again.
I kept trimming the jasmine.
"Mommy."
Leo's voice pulled me back. I looked down—Leo had appeared beside me, looking up at me.
I touched his head. "What is it, baby?"
"I can eat one less piece of bread for breakfast." His face was serious. He thought for a moment, then added with difficulty, "And I won't eat my afternoon snack either."
I froze, then frowned, crouched down to check him over. "Why not? Are you feeling sick?"
He stood still, let me rub his little belly, said in his small voice, "Because we're too poor. We need to save money."
My hands stopped. I realized he'd overheard my conversation with Ella and come up with this "brilliant idea."
I relaxed, torn between crying and laughing, tapped his little forehead. "I'm not so poor I need to cut your meals."
He covered his forehead, those green eyes looking at me skeptically. "Really? Mommy can't lie."
I held up three fingers. "I swear. I absolutely am not lying to Leo."
Only then did Leo smile, satisfied, and bounced back to his seat to finish his masterpiece.
I stood, watching his little figure.
Ella was right. Five years.
These five years, she came every quarter. Every time stayed half a day. Every time left an envelope. Every time I pushed it back.
And I never went back to America. Never saw Sophie. Never saw anyone connected to my past except Ella.
I thought that was enough.
I thought if enough time passed, I could bury all of it.
But every time Leo looked at me with those green eyes, the memories came flooding back—that manor, that door, that man's face.
And those eyes.
Eyes exactly like his.
I took a deep breath, turned to organize the flower racks.
The door chimes rang.
"Welcome—" I turned my head, the rest caught in my throat.
Sebastian stood in the doorway, holding a bag of bread.
"Hey, hope I'm not interrupting?" He smiled, handed the bag to Leo who cheered and threw himself at him.
"You're always welcome."
I turned to Leo, who was excitedly picking through the bread. "Leo, what do you say?"
Leo didn't look up, just shouted loudly, "Thank you, Uncle Seb!"
"Leo!"
"It's okay." Sebastian walked over, ruffled his hair. "My name's too long anyway. This is fine."
I sighed. "You're going to spoil him, sweet mommy."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, teasing. "No, don't call me that. You know I don't want to be his mommy."
Meeting his smiling gaze, my heart skipped a beat. I quickly looked away, changed the subject awkwardly. "Are you in town for business?"
The moment I said it, I regretted it. I shouldn't have asked.
These five years, Sebastian kept showing up like this.
Every month or two, he'd "pass through" this little town, "drop by" to see us.
Sometimes he brought gifts, sometimes just came empty-handed to sit awhile.
He'd fixed Leo's toys, fixed my leaking pipes, blocked a drunk customer who wouldn't leave me alone on the street.
He never asked too many questions. Never asked why I lived in France alone with a child, never asked who the father was, never asked about my past.
He just appeared, helped, then left.
I knew how he felt.
But all I could do was politely keep my distance.
Sebastian turned, looked at me, those brown eyes so gentle.
"No, just passing through," he said. "Going to Nice for business. Made a detour."
"How many kilometers out of the way?"
"Not many." He said seriously. "A hundred or so."
I couldn't help but laugh.
He laughed too.
That smile—gentle, harmless, the most ordinary and warmest sight I'd seen in five years.
"Stay for dinner?" I asked.
He froze, then his eyes lit up.
"Really?"
"Just kidding." I turned toward the back kitchen. "Leo, go wash your hands."
Leo cheered, dropped his crayons and ran to the back.
Sebastian stood there, looking at me, his expression complicated.
"What?" I looked back at him.
"Nothing." He followed me inside. "It's just... this is the first time you've invited me to stay for dinner."
My hand paused.
Was it?
I guess so.
He'd come many times these five years, but I always made excuses—the shop was busy, Leo needed to sleep early, maybe next time. I didn't believe those excuses myself, but he never pressed, just nodded and said, "Okay, next time."
"I'm in a good mood today," I said without turning around. "Ella just left."
"She still comes every quarter?"
"Yeah."
"That's nice," he said. "Having a friend like that."
I said nothing.
The kitchen was tiny, barely room for two people to turn around. Leo had already climbed onto his special stool, sitting nicely waiting for food. I opened the fridge—still had vegetables from yesterday and a little meat.
"Something simple?" I asked Sebastian.
"Anything's fine."
I nodded, started cooking.
He leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching me. Leo chattered away about how Ella came, what presents she brought, how his drawing got praised. Sebastian listened carefully, asking a question or two, like a real uncle who cared about this child.