Page 11 of Reeling in Love

The trip was overall not great. But the highlight for me was that I got to make out with a really hot girl. It was my first kiss ever.

What with my changed mother who seemed to worry about me even less than she had earlier done, constant fights at home, enough money for us to splurge how we wanted, and the newfound confidence that a middle-school boy gets after he kisses a beautiful girl, I was a changed person.

I went to France a young boy, and I came back a young man. At least in my head, that’s how it played.

I became a hero among the girls in my class and the envy of boys. I learned to be the perfect gentleman, opening car doors, pulling out chairs, helping the girls with their coats, laughing at their jokes, listening to them rant. I think the only girl I ever really listened to was Nora. With the others, it was fake, only to get them into bed, which after some time became quite easy.

But there it was, the six-month-itch, that has been as real as life itself, even though I keep denying it.

The ringing of my phone brings me back.

“Are you on your way?”

It’s Mom. Trust her to make sure I do what she wants me to. She’s never called before an exam or an interview to see if I was on time.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “Don’t worry. I won’t be late.”

I pull myself up, take a quick shower, and change into fresh clothes. I double-check the hotel where I need to pick up Sophia and start the drive, praying for the day to just end. Mom sent me her phone number too. Not wanting to wait around, I text Sophia to meet me at the entrance as I’m about to arrive.

When I pull up, I see a woman in a sleek white dress.

She leans in. “Gabriel?” I smile and nod. Before I can unfasten my seatbelt and get out to help her, she opens the door and gets in. “Hi, I’m Sophia. Your mom and grandma have told me a lot about you.”

Her accent doesn’t hint at her French background. She flicks her wavy hair back and regards me with her large hazel eyes. She’s stunning. Would it be weird if I took her home with me? It wouldn’t, right? I mean, I’ve already broken up with Paula.

I smile at the thought. Something good finally came out of Paula coming over unannounced and breaking up a few hours earlier than I’d planned.

“Mom told me a bit of you. Not much, unfortunately, so I’m eagerly waiting to hear more about you during the dinner. Shall we?”

“Sure. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

We reach the restaurant. It’s a very high-end French restaurant, Mom’s favorite place. A liveried man marches up and opens the door for us, someone escorts us to our reserved table, another one materializes to pull out our chairs before we sit. Mom has apparently already ordered the wine which they serve soon after we take our seats.

We place our orders, and then it’s on me to act as the perfect date. I smile and nod as she tells me she’s studied at Harvard and has stayed in the States for a few years before that with an uncle of hers. No wonder her accent is as American as it gets.

The food is served and it’s presented so beautifully that I don’t feel like spoiling it by putting my fork into it. Nora would have loved to take a pic.

“And what are you doing now? What brings you to Boston?” I ask, finally digging in.

“After graduation, I joined my family business. We’re based out of France, but we also have an office in Manhattan and another one in Boston. We’re planning to expand this Boston office. That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s great,” I reply, looking into her eyes. “I hope you decide to go ahead with your plans. I can get to see you more often then.”

She blushes a little but maintains her composure. “So, do you often go to France?”

“Sometimes. In fact, I was there this past week. Just returned earlier today.”

“Ah, interesting. You visited Madame Bardot?”

I give her a confused look. “Your grandmom,” she says, arching her brows and smiling.

“Ah. She’s always Mamie, so y’know.” I feel so foolish. “But no. Not this time. I was there for work.” I don’t want to tell her I rarely visit any of my family unless Mom travels with me.

“She’s a lovely person, Madame Bardot, your grandmom,” she says, examining me with a twinkle in her eyes. “I believe you never got to know your granddad. He was quite a strict man.”

“How do you know I never knew him? Have you been trying to find out details about me?” I say with a wink and a slight tilt of the head.

“It seems you don’t remember me, Gabriel. We met at your granddad’s funeral. We sneaked out during the service. Ring any bells?”

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