“You had just turned four,” Irene said. “I came to Paris for your birthday. The cherry trees were in bloom, and every day the two of us would go out to the park near your father’s apartment and collect fallen blossoms—just the ones that were undamaged. Then we’d bring them home and press them into our collection.”
“What happened to them?” Margot asked.
Irene glanced at Vance. “I’m not sure.”
“I have them,” Vance said. “I kept all the art projects you did with Mémé.”
“Where are they?” Margot asked.
“In storage. When our house is ready, we can choose which ones you’d like to hang,” Vance said.
“I’d like to see them,” I said. “So I can plan where to hang or display them.”
“Remember that Lila’s decorating our house?” Vance said. “The one I grew up in with Mémé.”
“Can I see it?” Margot asked.
“Maybe you can come to the set on Monday for a few minutes,” I said. “Vance and Mia could bring you.”
“If I’m not in the way,” Margot said.
“You’ll be with me, so we’ll make sure we don’t bother anyone,” Mia said.
“Okay,” Margot said, smiling up at Mia.
Irene and the girls sat at the table while Vance and I plated the food. When we were all settled, Irene asked if she could say a prayer.
“Of course,” I said.
Everyone bowed their heads, and Irene prayed. “Thank you, Lord, for this incredible food and for bringing Margot back to us. And for Lila and Mia coming into our lives when we needed them most. Amen.”
We dug into the food, everyone exclaiming over how good it was. Mia declared it her new favorite meal, and Margot echoed the sentiment.
“Now we all have a shared favorite,” Irene said. “Isn’t that fun?”
She told stories about Vance as a boy. “He was an unusual one. When he was eight, he started watching all these cooking shows—taking notes and everything.”
“Did he make any of the recipes?” Mia asked.
“Oh yes. He was always cooking up something good,” Irene said. “Which I was grateful for. I was always so tired after teaching all day.”
“I wasn’t the greatest cook at first,” Vance said.
“And he was busy in high school with sports,” Irene said. “So he didn’t cook as much for a few years. But I knew he’d end up in the food business. I hadn’t thought about wine, but, when he told me he was going to try to become a sommelier, I remembered what a keen sense of smell he had. And a discerning palate, apparently.”
“What’s that?” Margot asked, picking up her glass of milk.
“It means I can tell you where the wine was made, what year, the region, and the varietal—just by tasting,” Vance said. “It’s a unique but strange gift.”
“He was a big shot in Paris,” Irene said. “Did you know that?”
Margot shook her head, her eyes wide.
“Everywhere we went, people knew him,” Irene said. “I was quite proud.”
“Did they know my mom too?” Margot asked.
“This was before he knew her,” Irene said. “Before you were born.”
