“Oh?” She paused. “How late?”
I looked at the clock, knowing I was still at least twenty-five minutes away. “Go ahead and order, Mom.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll wait.”
I exhaled. “Mom, please. Order.”
“Take your time, sweetheart. I’ll just chat up Philip while I’m sitting here.” To anyone else, she would’ve sounded completely content, but I knew better. She hated it when Philip, the host, tried to make conversation with her. He asked too many personal questions about her job and her dating life. “Hang up the phone, Avery Ann. You’re driving.”
“Fine. I’ll see you soon.”
I didn’t rush but not because she’d said not to. I never sped, even when I was in a hurry. Zayn had always insisted on driving because he said I drove like an old lady, but in my experience, you could never be too careful.
There were no available parking spots outside of the restaurant, so it took me an extra five minutes to find an open space around the block. Downtown San Francisco was always packed, even on the weekends.
I was breathing hard from speed-walking when I walked through the black French doors. Philip stood in front of a long glass case, stuffed with at least ten different kinds of croissants; personal-sized desserts, covered in glazed fruit and chocolate. The aroma of fresh-made bread filled the air.
He greeted me with a wide grin, flashing his golden back molars. “Ah! Miss Fox! Your mother is at her usual table. May I walk you over?”
I shook my head, but Philip disregarded me and led the way to the back corner of the restaurant, where we always sat. My mother preferred a seat away from the windows because of the inconvenience of the sun.
Philip asked me what I wanted to drink in French, as he always did, and pulled a light wooden chair out for me.
I sat, feeling my mother inspecting my appearance before I could look up at her. “Coffee, please? With sugar and cream?” I didn’t have the energy to practice my French today.
Philip nodded. “Anything else I can get for you, Dr. Fox?”
My mother shook her head and waved him off with pursed lips.
I fixed my dress. “Sorry I’m late.”
My mother cleared her throat. “That was rude, Avery.”
I looked back and forth, and then at her. “What was?”
“Philip and you always exchange in French. He looked so confused when you didn’t.”
“He knows English too.” I shrugged.
“I’ve always said, if you don’t use it, you lose it. That’s why I don’t remember anything. I spent a year working at that hospital in Switzerland. But as soon as I came back to the States, nothing. I had no one here to practice it with. You’re lucky to have an opportunity like this.”
I caught Philip’s attention after he was done seating a group next to us, asking him to send the waitress over—in perfect French.
There. Happy?
My mother sat upright in her seat, the wrinkles in her upper lip smoothing out with approval. “So? You overslept?” she asked, concerned.
I fiddled with a small tear in the white tablecloth covering our round table. “I was studying.”
“Studying at night is the worst time—you know that. You can’t retain as much information. You’d be better off not studying at all if you’re not getting enough sleep, sweetheart.”
I inhaled slowly, wishing I had come up with a different lie, but I couldn’t tell her what had really kept me up—Liam.
“What are you studying right now?” She put her hand on mine, trying to stop my fidgeting.
“Pulmonology. I have an exam next week, and I missed my group study yesterday afternoon.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
Her head tilted to the side. “Missed it?”
