forty
It’s two weeks later when I’m at Mary Ann’s farm, picking produce and fawning over her animals, that she gets a text.
Danny has been spotted in town.
“Why aren’t you taking off this second?” she nearly barks. “He’s back! Go, go!”
“Because I’m angry and hurt, but I don’t get to feel any of my stupid feelings because he’s the one who deserves to feel angry and hurt and everything else. But why hasn’t he reached out to me? He obviously still needs space, and I have to respect that. I’m just worried.”
“Shit.” She frowns. “You’re going to bruise that escarole if you keep slamming it into your basket.”
“Sorry, sorry.” I continue walking through the garden rows. It’s been soothing for me to spend most of the day here and away from my house, where I’m only flooded with feelings.
“And, ohmigod, not the radicchio too! Now, you’re pissing me off.” Mary Ann rushes ahead of me and stops me in my place. “Admit that you miss him. And let the other stuff go.”
“I do miss him. But he also hurt me by running away and not trusting me.”
“And you hurt my radicchio and escarole. I still forgive you.” Her smile is both obnoxious and wonderful. “Danny got annihilated, and he ran. Who wouldn’t? Your mom ran. It’s what people do when they’re injured and afraid. But he didn’t run fromyou. He took the break that he needed. And he came back, didn’t he? That says a lot.”
She’s right. I just hope he also came back to me. The Boston lettuce that I lift into my basket faces far less abuse.
“Just go home. Find each other again,” she continues.
At last, I give in and nod. “Okay. You make too much sense, and I’m embarrassed for not being more understanding.”
“You were simply afraid of losing him.”
She’s right. I’ve grown more attached to him than I want to admit.
“Mary Ann, it would just kill me.”
“I know. He didn’t leaveyou. None of this is about you. It’s about him and his shitty mother. So, take care of him the way he’s taken care of you.” Her hair flies in the breeze as she nudges me not so gently. “So, go. He’s probably at your house right now.”
“Okay, you’re right. Thank you for everything. For setting me straight. And for being such a special friend.”
“Same to you, love.”
Just as I shut the car door, a curious text from Nicole comes in, and so I take a drive to the crêperie, wondering what she could possibly want to see me about. Before I am halfway through the door, she is beckoning me to a table where she has a plate ready for me.
“Sit, sit! I have the crepes for you. The many mushrooms, Gruyere, spinach, fresh tomatoes, and a bechamel. The one you have first time here, yes? Is good, so you eat up,non?”
“Of course.” I have no idea what’s happening, but I’m not about to refuse one of her delicious meals.
“Du vin, oui?”
It only took that one time for me to learn that refusing wine here is a big mistake, so I nod. “Please.”
After she pours me a very large glass of a French red, she takes a seat across from me.
“I am here a long time, yes? I love serving all the crepes, the many people here.” She thumps a hand on the table, nearly toppling my glass. “But is time.”
It’s almost hard to listen to her because my taste buds are floating around in heaven. “Huh? What do you mean? It’s time for what?”
“Is time to retire. I move.” While refilling her own wineglass, she looks away.
“No, Nicole. You can’t mean that,” I protest. “We need you here. Everyone loves your food. And you!”
“And I love town here and all the peoples, but I miss the France,” she states emphatically. “Dijon, Bourgogne, Côte d’Azur. I want to travel, eat the things, see all my friends again.”
