Running Back

Her voice softened. “Do you remember when you were little? And I used to take you to Sherri’s and she would do both of our faces?”

“That was weird, Mom. I was way too young.”

She didn’t respond.

I shifted uneasily. “You know what I mean. I didn’t want to do any of that stuff. The makeup or the dresses.”

“I know. I just thought... You were so beautiful.”

“You’re my mom. You weren’t supposed to think I needed makeup to be beautiful.”

“Oh, Natalie. Oh, I don’t.”

“I know. I just... And then it’s so weird here.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.” I pressed my fingers to the corners of my eyes and tried to soak up the water. “And ruin all of Carl’s work?”

“Will you send me pictures?”

“Pictures?” I laughed shakily. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to see you. I bet you look all grown up.”

“I am grown up.”

“I know.”

“Anyways.” I cleared my throat. “How are you?”

“Good. Good. Nothing new.”

“How’s Dad?”

“He’s working.”

Dad was always working. “Are you being social? Have you got lunch with Linda or Janice lately?”

“Linda and I are meeting tomorrow, yes.”

A silence fell, and I took a deep breath, trying to suck it away, tired of all the silences that always formed. “Mom, I’m really sorry if I didn’t appreciate it when you took me out. I know it was how you bonded. I just—I didn’t know that then. I wanted to play catch.”

“I know. You always wanted to be one of the boys. I never forgave your father for not including you more.”

“Carl was talking about how happy you were here, and I guess—I don’t know, I want you to be happy. Mike’s mom has some—weird issues with her late husband’s old girlfriend, and they’re all messed up, and I don’t want us to be messed up, and I’m sorry if I was judgmental and a bad daughter.”

“Natalie. Natalie, slow down. You’re not a bad daughter.”

“Are you happy? Were you really happy here?”

She was silent for a minute, and when she spoke she sounded far away. “I remember Paris with rose-tinted glasses, so what do I know? But what I remember was wonderful. And that’s enough for me.” She cleared her throat. “Sometimes I worry you like that feeling too. But so much that you move around quickly, so that you can always be looking back at something with fondness.”

I bit my lip. “I’ve been sort of thinking about that. And I was thinking that if this works out—I really like it in Kilkarten. Of course, it’s impossible to know anything until it happens, but I think I would be happy to have that and New York. I don’t think I would need anything else. Right now, I don’t even want it.” I saw the clock. Almost dinner. “I should go. But Carl said to tell you to come visit. He said you were missed.” I paused. “I miss you, Mom.”

“I miss you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you in two months.”

* * *

I clicked off and went downstairs. Mike sat in the miniscule courtyard, eating rolls dotted with large sugar crystals like popcorn. I dropped down in the wicker chair beside him.

“Thank you for taking me here.” I felt light. Whole. Like I’d shed some weight, the burden of misconception and worry and anger and guilt. “I’ve never understood my mother. I always thought it was so horrible, being wrenched away from your family at such a young age and living where she didn’t even speak the language. And I know Mom always talked like she liked it, but I thought that was some weird, messed up psychological thing, because how could you? But maybe she really did. I think I have a hard time admitting other people’s points of view are okay when they’re radically opposed to my own. Maybe I never even listened to her.”

“So you made a conclusion about your parents and might have been wrong.” He gave me that crooked smile I loved so much. “Must be crazy.”

I tilted my head back and saw that same black cat still perched on the turret. “I think my mom’s a lot smarter than I give her credit for.”

He started laughing. I straightened, startled.

“Join the club,” he said, and kissed me between bursts of laughter. “Join the fucking club.”

Chapter Twenty-One

We had dinner on rue Cler, a pedestrian street made of cobblestones and tourists. We ate outside, a candle on our table, a flower shop on one side, a chocolate shop across the street. I could have sat for hours watching all the people go by: the speeding locals, the chatting shop owners, the tourists who looked from their guidebooks to one restaurant and then another.

Instead, I watched Mike.

He ordered one of every appetizer, and then talked animatedly, hands waving, eyes sparking. He told me about his friends, his teammates, the last season and his hopes for the next. They’d drafted two players that were supposed to be amazing. They’d also traded for a new linebacker.

He made me so happy.

We laughed all through dinner, and then flagged the waiter down for dessert. He looked at us with exquisite boredom. “You will take the creme caramel?”

I ventured a quick glance at Mike. Did something about us say creme caramel? “Um—I was thinking the chocolate cake.” I looked to Mike for confirmation, and he shrugged agreeably.

The waiter’s nostrils flared. “Americans always order the creme caramel.”

Then I definitely didn’t want it. “The cake.”

He raised his chin and left.

Mike was already on it. “Whoa.”

I leaned forward, trying to read his phone, and he flipped it my way. “The president had the creme caramel here.”

“What? He came here?” I spun my head after the waiter. “Maybe we should also get the flan.”

Mike grinned. “I thought you didn’t like being a tourist.”

I kissed him quick. “It’s Presidential Flan. There are exceptions for everything.”

* * *

We walked back to the hotel hand in hand. It made my heart fill, like too much had been poured into it, like it couldn’t contain all this happiness. And then we reached our street and a view of the Eiffel Tower. It started sparkling, dancing bursts of light, and I couldn’t help it, I just reached out and started kissing Mike as though I needed him more than oxygen.

“We don’t really need to go to this party,” he said.

I laughed. “But look at my war paint! And my armor should’ve been delivered by now. We have to go.”

The hotel had left the dress on the bed, but I ducked into the bathroom to put it on. Tiny spangles made the dress shine and sparkle. I spun and watched the dress flare. Good thing I’d brought spandex.

I really did look like my mother. I made her face, pursing my lips and letting a tiny sneer crinkle my nose as I widened my eyes at the mirror.

It was so spot on that my giggles carried a hint of shock.