Page 26 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
As I step into the yard, the symphony of my family's life envelops me—the hearty laughter of my brother-in-law at the grill, the chime of voices as they argue good-naturedly over a game ofpétanque. The air is thick with the aroma of garlic and thyme, mingling with the sweet tang of my mother'starte tatinwaiting patiently on the windowsill.
I brace myself as I approach the table, knowing the playful interrogation that's coming. My oldest sister and the mother of Léa, Marie-Christine, is the first to look up.
“So, the brother from the big city decided to grace us with his presence!” I give her a kiss on one cheek and then the other, before looking dramatically at my watch.
“And still I’m two minutes earlier than you told me to arrive.”
“You know, there's a new teacher at Léa’s school. Lovely and single!” she cries at full volume, eliciting a few chuckles from the yard.
“Not here even five minutes and you’re trying to match-make me? That’s a new record.”
My father joins in with a wink. “I just want to see little Mathieus running around this garden before my days are up, eh?”
“Hello,mon chéri.” I knew I could count on my mother to save me. She firmly grabs my shoulders and offers kisses on the cheek before looking me up and down. “You look thin.”
I throw my arms up. “Et tu, Brutus?”
“Tontontontontonton!”Tonton, the kids’ affection name for uncle, rings through the yard in a pitch almost imperceptible to the human ear.
A little body flies horizontal at me, and I mentally brace for impact since there’s no time for anything else.
He gets me in the knees. “Tonton! You came!”
“I always come! Why is everyone surprised?”
“TONTON!”
And so it begins. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground, swarmed by lovable, but unusually strong, young gremlins.
When I finally extricate myself from the pile of them, a girl in a leather jacket with fringe struts up to me.
“Léa!” I open my arms wide, but Léa holds up her hand.
“Tonton, I might still be ten years old, but first you have to tell me how grown up I look. It’s my birthday in soon, after all.”
I cross my arms and mock-inspect her. “Yes, yes. I can see it now.” I nod my head slowly.
Her eyebrows rise like she didn’t expect me to say that. “Really?”
I strut around her. “Yes, you’re taller, you’re more mature. Your shoulders are back and you carry yourself with confidence.”
“You think so?” The delight in her voice sounds so much like a little child’s that I have to hold back a chuckle.
“Absolutely. You look grown up. But you know what?”
I don’t think anyone has eyes as wide as my eldest niece. “What?”
I open my arms again. “You’re still my little monkey.”
“Always!” She gives me a massive hug, and suddenly I realize it wasn’t so much a show. My first niece really is growing up.
And I don’t like it.
“À table!” my mother calls out and the crowd of children and adults alike heads toward the table. She still has the power to make us move in a single swoop. Also, no one cooks like my mother.
As I take my seat, the table bursts into a fresh wave of conversation, this time about my life in the 'big city'.
“Mon Mathieu,” my mother begins with a warm smile. “Is Paris starting to feel like home again?”
