“What was it like growing up in LA?” Aubert asks her.
“Good! Normal, I guess.” She shrugs. “What I love about LA…and I felt it even more when I was working in Philly, is diversity. Food. People. Professions. Socio-economic statuses. It’s such an eclectic mix.”
Aubert stretches out, leaning against the couch, arms behind his head. “Parisisdiverse…except when you climb the social circles, then it’s old and white.”
My son and I have never discussed race, so it’s interesting to hear his perspective on it.
“In the US, wealth isalsoold and white,” she reminds him.
They both look at me, and I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’m old and white. And like they say in America,so sue me.”
The morning turns into afternoon and then evening.
She tells us stories about visiting herabuelain Mexico City. About growing up with her sister, Marisol, who sounds like a delight. I learn more about her life because of Aubert’s curiosity—things Tara and I haven’t had time to discuss, given our short time together.
“I want to tour Mexico. Go backpacking. Is it safe?” Aubert asks.
“Yes! Well, as safe as any place is. You have to be as careful in Mexico and in LA as you have to be in Paris.”
We order takeout in the evening because we’re hungry. Greasy Chinese because Aubert insists.
All day, I can feel her questions.
She doesn’t understand why I let her meet my son when I won’t acknowledge her to the world. I trust Aubert. I can lie and say that’s the reason, but the truth is, I want my son to meet the woman I’ve fallen in love with.
She’s not justsomewoman in my bed; she’s in my apartment, on my rug, talking with my son.
Aubert takes selfies of the three of uslaughing like loons. It feels normal, like we are a family. An ease that we don’t have with Simone.
I ask him to send me the pictures—something to treasure, keep with me,aftershe’s gone.
The one I love most is the photo where Tara is leaning back against my knee while I’m looking down at her, smiling. It isn’t posed. In another, my arm is around her, and Aubert leans in between us, his grin wide as Tara stretches her hand out to capture the perfect selfie.
I have a car take her home. I had wanted her to stay another night, but she told me that’s a bridge too far for her with Aubert here.
She’s also not ready to make this more than it is.
And I can’t fault her for it. After all, it’s what we decided.
No promises. No illusions.
Only three and a half months, slipping through our fingers.
I close the front door and lean against it for a moment, exhaling.
Aubert is waiting for me when I get back to the living room.
“Cognac?” I ask.
He nods. We take it to the porch that’s still wet from the rain, even though the skies have cleared.
He warms the amber liquid in his hands. “She’s lovely, Papa.”
I take a sip of cognac, nod. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention her to anyone.”
His gaze shifts to me. “Of course.”
“She’s not a secret,” I explain. “Not to you. But it’s not for public consumption.”
