“Maybe, but then Eileen will come home. At least we had this weekend.”
“I thought by the time kids were this age, it was easy.”
“No, it’s harder. There’s more to do. When they’re little, you put them to bed at seven and that’s it. They don’t do science projects and Latin homework in nursery school.” But he hadn’t done that with them either. Eileen had done it all with them for years.
“I guess we just have to deal with it till she gets back,” Olivia said with a sigh. “How about boarding school for three months?” She seemed to be adjusting to it, and he was relieved. “Just don’t sue her for custody, or if you do, move them to the city.” It was the commute that was killing them as much as the kids, and not having live-in help. But Eileen never wanted that and liked doing it herself. Having to juggle three children had certainly taken the romance out of his relationship with Olivia. They hardly had time to make love now, and sometimes he was so tired, stressed, and rushed, he didn’t even want to. Olivia complained about that too.
* * *
—
In Paris, Eileen’s experience was the opposite of Paul’s. She found each class fascinating, each teacher demanding, but she learned something new every day. She understood the equipment better now, the tools of the trade. She had already learned to make sauces that had always been a mystery to her. She studied each lesson avidly, and each recipe, and made copious notes.
Her work partner in class was a young English boy, Hugo, twenty-three years old, whose parents owned a well-known restaurant in Nice. He was determined to get them three Michelin stars one day.
They went to restaurants together and tried to decipher the recipes. They worked well as a team, and when Eileen got home at night, she had hours to herself for the first time in eighteen years. It was a luxury for her. She could read a magazine or a book, or study recipes. She went for long walks along the Seine or in the Bois de Boulogne on Sundays. She had found a charming apartment in the Seventh Arrondissement her first week there, and the guardian brought her fresh croissants every morning. She felt like a free woman again, instead of Supermom and Wife, and she didn’t have to take care of anyone but herself.
“Are you married?” Hugo asked her one day at lunch, as they ate what they’d cooked that morning. It was sea bass in a delicate sauce.
“More or less,” she answered, and he laughed.
“That’s not an answer. Are you married or not?”
“Are you planning to propose?” she asked him, and he laughed again.
“Definitely not. I’m gay, and I have a boyfriend in Nice. Jonathan. He’s American. He paid for me to come here. It’s always been my dream, but my parents couldn’t afford it.”
“It’s been my dream too. I’m married, but we’re separated.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Me too. But I’m getting used to it. I’m going to file for divorce when I go home. To tell you the whole sad story, my husband left me for another woman. It sounds pathetic.” But she was in good spirits, and loving her time at Le Cordon Bleu.
“You’ll find someone else. You’re beautiful, and smart and funny.” She liked him. He was very earnest and hardworking and talented. Everyone in the class was. They were serious chefs. She was taking the professional course.
“According to my mother, I’m so old no one will want me. I’m forty. And I want to open a catering business in Connecticut, where I live.”
“Do you have kids?”
“Three. I miss them like crazy, but I’m really enjoying this. It’s the first thing I’ve ever done for myself.”
“Good on you.” He smiled at her. He liked her and they worked well together. The days were flying by too quickly.
They continued going to restaurants together, and enjoying their classes. They made friends with two other men in the class, both of them French. Eileen was shocked when six weeks had flown by, and they got their break, and her children were arriving for their ski week.
She asked Hugo where he was going to spend the break, and he said with his boyfriend in Nice. They had a villa in the hills. He had come to Paris for a few weekends, and joined them for dinner. He was about Eileen’s age. He was from LA and very good-looking. They both were.
“My children are coming. I can hardly wait.” She had taken three rooms at a small hotel on the Left Bank because her apartment was too small for all four of them.
She went to the airport to pick them up, and they looked tired and disheveled when they came through customs. She had rented a van and driver for them and their luggage, and their eyes were wide with wonder as they drove through Paris. The driver showed them the Champs-Élysées and the Place de la Concorde, made a quick tour of the Place Vendôme, and they drove past the Cordon Bleu building in the Fifteenth Arrondissement. Then they drove back across Paris to the Pont Alexandre III to the Left Bank, past Les Invalides where Napoleon was buried, and to their hotel nearby. It was cozy and quaint, and she took them out to dinner that night, at La Fontaine de Mars, one of the best bistros in Paris, in the Seventh, after they explored Paris some more. They had had a snack at Aux Deux Magots, one of the oldest bistros in Paris, and an ice cream at Berthillon, the best ice cream in Paris.
They loved the food at La Fontaine de Mars, and she caught up with all their news. But they had been FaceTiming every day so she knew most of it. Pennie was getting nervous about the answers to her college applications. They were only a month away. And she was working hard on the yearbook, at the homeless shelter every weekend, and helping her father with the twins.
“How’s Dad doing?” Eileen asked cautiously. He had said that everything was fine in all his emails and texts.
“I think we’re driving him a little crazy,” Mark admitted. “He can’t do all the things you do.” It didn’t surprise her. “He argues with his girlfriend a lot. He doesn’t have much time to see her, except on weekends. She complains about it. I hear them fighting on the phone at night.”
“I’ll be back in six weeks,” she said quietly. The time had flown so far, but she was learning everything she needed to know to run her catering business. They had even made a wedding cake. She had learned to make chocolates, and discovered she had a talent for delicate sugar work. Their professor was a master who had won many culinary awards.
“Have you had fun, Mom?” Pennie asked her. It had been hard having her mother away during her senior year, but it was a sacrifice they were all trying to make for her. She deserved it. “How are you going to run your catering business?”
“I have had fun, to answer your question. A lot of fun, and I’ve learned a lot. I’m going to hire an assistant to help me, and we’ll subcontract out the rest, all the china and crystal rentals, tents, and staff for parties. I want to do high-end parties in Greenwich.”