The Hole in the Middle (30 page)

I look up. “Hi, A.J.,” I say. His hair is longer than it was in April, and it's curlier than I would have guessed. He looks determined, in freshly pressed khakis and a blue dress shirt, open at the neck, and holding a bunch of orange tulips. Everything about his arrival is unexpected. A.J. never mentioned that he was coming to Paris this summer. And it's such an odd coincidence that he should turn up, tonight of all nights.

I'm about to ask him what he's doing here when he hands me the tulips and says, “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” I say. “Of course.” I stand up, come around the table, and give him an awkward hug. “It's great to see you.” I check behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to see you,” he says.

“These are for me?” I ask. He nods. I bury my nose in the flowers to buy myself a few seconds, knowing perfectly well that tulips don't smell like much of anything. My brain feels sluggish, though, and I'm having trouble keeping up.

“It's your birthday,” he says. “I didn't want to come empty-handed.”

“Ah,” says the waiter, “here he is. You shouldn't keep a beautiful woman waiting like that, mate. You'll have to make it up to her.” He fills A.J.'s glass and hands him a menu.

“Do you have steak frites?”

“Of course,” says the waiter.

“I'll have that,” says A.J., handing back the menu.

“A man who knows what he wants,” says the waiter.

“That I do,” says A.J., looking at me.

“How long are you in Paris?” I ask, leaping into the silence that has followed his last remark.

“I'm not sure,” he says. “I have a job starting in a couple of weeks, so I'll probably stay as long as I can afford to and then fly back standby. I thought I'd make it for the full two weeks, but I got in this morning and I've already way overspent my daily budget. The town is crazy expensive.”

“I know,” I say, happy to be back on safer ground. “I've been sleeping on Zoe's floor and cooking at her place, and I'm still going through money like mad. Where are you staying?”

“On the Left Bank,” he says. “Not too far.”

“Congratulations on your job,” I say. “What is it?”

His face lights up. “It's amazing. It's for a little company that's building photovoltaic systems.” He sees my bemused expression and hastens to add, “That convert solar energy into electricity. They're experimenting with new types of batteries that store the energy. It's an incredible area. If we can make the technology more cost-effective, everyone will want to adopt it.” His face falls. “Sorry. I don't mean to be boring.”

“You're not boring,” I say, and I mean it. “Where is it?”

“About five subway stops from Lil's house,” he says. “I'm going to stick around for another year or so.”

“That's great,” I say. “It'll be nice to have you in town.”

The waiter arrives with our meals. “Another bottle?” he asks.

I shake my head, but A.J. says, “A bottle of Veuve Clicquot, please.”

“Very good, sir,” says the waiter.

“A.J.,” I whisper, “we can't afford that.”

“I can,” he says. “I've been working all summer.” I open my mouth to argue, but A.J. holds up a hand. “I came a long way to do this,” he says. “And you're going to let me, OK?”

“OK,” I say, and I tuck into my dinner while A.J. tells me about the cast of characters from his summer internship at the water filtration plant; I, in return, tell him about the Bridezilla sisters, their equally awful mother, and the two weddings that ate my July. The food is wonderful and so is the champagne, and when the waiter comes back with
the dessert menus, I'm ready to tackle the profiteroles. But A.J. says, “Let's walk for a bit. I've got another plan.”

“I'm supposed to meet Zoe here at nine,” I say.

“I called her,” he said. “She's going to meet us for dessert.”

“I'm in your hands,” I say. I should put a stronger effort into putting the pieces of this evening together, but my head is cloudy with unshed tears and I'm exhausted from whipsawing between despair and something that feels more like hope. For once in my life, I think I might just let things unfold around me. Out on the street, A.J. holds out his arm and I take it. We walk through the Palais Royal gardens and past the Louvre and down to the Seine. “We cross here,” he says, pointing to the Pont des Arts. “Not much farther, I promise.”

“I don't mind,” I say, and I don't. I'm more than a little tipsy, but A.J.'s arm is steady and the night air is warm and silky. Given how horribly the evening started, I'm frankly thrilled to be doing anything other than sobbing on Zoe's floor. Walking across the Seine arm-in-arm with an attractive male acquaintance may not be my perfect-world scenario, but it's a long way from the worst case. “I never asked you,” I say. “Why did you take a year off school?”

A.J. looks surprised, but he says, “My mom got sick, really sick, with cancer. My family thought . . . we weren't sure what was going to happen. And I was too far away to see her as much as I wanted to. I could have transferred schools, but I decided to work for a year instead.”

“Oh,” I say. “That sounds awful.”

“It was,” he says. “But we were lucky. She beat the cancer and now she's fine. And I got some work experience, too, which probably made me more employable than the other million engineers that I graduated with.” We're on the other side of the river now, and A.J. turns onto a narrow street. “Just one more block,” he says.

“This must be some dessert,” I say, as we stop outside an ancient gray building festooned with trailing geraniums in window boxes. Plumes of cigarette smoke and gales of throaty laughter ring out from the café tables on the sidewalk, and the bright blue signs declare that we have arrived at Café Laurent.

“She's here,” shouts a voice I recognize, and Zoe springs up from one of the tables and wraps me in a hug. “Surprise!”

“Happy birthday, my dear Sophie,” says another voice, and when I extricate myself from Zoe's embrace, I see Lil, smoking a cigarette from a long black holder and regarding her surroundings with the bearing of a queen surveying her lands and subjects. “Do be a darling,” she says to A.J., “and tell the waiter that our party has arrived, won't you?” A.J. disappears into the restaurant.

“What are you doing in Paris?” I ask Lil.

“Miss a surprise party in Paris? Moi?” says Lil, grinning. I kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you so much,” I say to both of them. “I don't know what to say. I'm overwhelmed.”

Zoe pulls me off to the side. “Are you all right?” she asks in a low voice.

“I'm not sure yet,” I say. “Did you know that Will wasn't going to show?”

“I didn't know for sure,” she says. “If Will had been at the restaurant, A.J. would have brought both of you here.” She squeezes my hand. “I'm so sorry, Sophie.”

“Me too,” I murmur, and then raise my voice and ask very casually, “Lil, you haven't heard from Will lately, have you? We thought he might be in Paris this weekend.”

“I spoke to him this morning, as a matter of fact,” she says. “I thought he might like to join us. But he's on Mykonos with a group of friends, no doubt getting into all kinds of trouble. Too bad! He would have been a fine addition to our merry band. He sends birthday wishes.”

“Thanks for passing the message along,” I manage. “Are the toilets in the back?” I saunter to the rear of the restaurant, blinking rapidly, and barricade myself inside a toilet stall for a few minutes, until I feel more composed. In one way, I suppose I should feel grateful for the definitive information that Lil has just handed me. I won't be able to persuade myself that Will forgot, or got the date wrong; he decided not to come, unlike the three people sitting and waiting for me outside. And I am not going to make them sorry that they went to all this trouble to give me a perfect birthday.

I return to the table at the same moment that A.J. appears with a waiter bearing a bottle of champagne and four glasses.

“I'm not sure it's a good idea to drink any more champagne,” I say.

“It's always a good idea to drink more champagne,” says Lil. “You just need to soak it up with some dessert.” And on cue, another waiter appears with a tower of cream puffs held together with spun sugar and impaled with lit sparklers. Zoe leads the other patrons in a round of “Bon Anniversaire,” and I take a bow to general cheering.

“Now,” says Zoe, swallowing a mouthful of whipped cream, “are we still going dancing?”

“Of course you are,” says Lil. “It's Paris! Life begins after dark! In fact, there used to be a famous nightclub on this very site, Le Tabou. The Existentialists adored it. They were quite the partygoers—not nearly as dreary as history suggests. I'm going to bed, but you should make the most of the evening.”

“Where are you staying?” I ask.

“Here,” says Lil. “Hotel d'Aubusson is attached to the café. I always stay here. You're staying here too.”

“I'm staying here?”

“You and Jesse both have rooms here for the next four nights. Yours is a double, so Zoe can stay too, if you want a roommate. I've got a big agenda planned starting at eleven tomorrow morning. It's my birthday present to you, sweet girl.”

“I don't know what to say. Thank you so much.” I process the rest of Lil's last statement. “What did you call A.J.?”

“Jesse. He doesn't like being called A.J., apparently. Well, who can blame him? It's a ridiculous name for anyone over the age of ten. I don't know why he didn't mention it earlier.”

“Oh,” I say, turning to A.J. “Do you want me to call you Jesse?”

He smiles shyly. “I'll understand if it's too weird for you to make the switch, but I prefer it. A.J. was just a camp nickname that followed me to university. The important people in my life call me Jesse. I'd like it if you did, too.”

“Surprise!” The room erupts as Jesse and I make our entrance. There must be a hundred people here, some of whom I haven't seen in ages.

“Smile,” Jesse murmurs, and I oblige.

Zoe bounds over. “Were you surprised?”

“Absolutely,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for doing this.”

“You know how much I love throwing a surprise party,” says Zoe.

“That I do,” I say.

The speakers suddenly crackle to life and Lil appears on the stage with a microphone in her hand. “Good evening, friends. Welcome to Sophie's fortieth birthday party! Come on up, birthday girl.” Amid general cheering, I am pushed up to the stage, where Lil beams at me.

“Sophie and I have been friends for many years, and it is a great honor to be able to celebrate with her tonight. I'm sure you'll all agree with me that she makes forty look fabulous.” Riotous applause ensues, including a few wolf whistles that I recognize as Jesse's. “As you may know, Sophie is a big eighties fan, so we have another surprise for her. Please welcome our special guests, the Legwarmers, to the stage!”

Chelsea Moss and her band appear from the wings; Lil hands over the microphone and we climb down as the first set begins.

“You're completely ungovernable,” I tell her.

“You're not the first to say so,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “Happy birthday, my dear.” She glances over my shoulder. “Perfect timing,” she says. “I wanted to have a chat with Jesse. Entertain the guest of honor for me, Will.”

“Yes, ma'am,” says Will. “Care to dance?”

“Is it a good idea to dance with your boss?” I ask.

He looks surprised, laughs a little. “Is that what I am to you now?”

“Don't underestimate it,” I say, smiling. “You're the best boss I've ever had. I'm glad I accepted your offer to come to the foundation, Will. It's been amazing.”

“You're amazing,” he says. “But for tonight, why don't we call it a dance with an old friend, instead?”

“Is that what I am to you now?”

“I like to think so.” Will pulls me onto the dance floor and we move together, stiffly at first, more like seventh-graders than grown-ups with a history. “Are you having a good birthday?”

“Better than the one I had in Paris,” I say. “Although you weren't there for that one, as I recall.”

“Ouch. I was hoping I'd been forgiven by now.”

“I'd have considered it if you'd ever offered an apology or an explanation,” I say mildly.

Will steps back and sighs. “You still want one?”

“You bet. And I'm the birthday girl, so I get my wish. Cough it up.”

He waits, and then says, “I lost my nerve.”

“What?”

“I was planning to come and meet you. But I got cold feet. I knew what you wanted from me, but I didn't think I could deliver. And then I got an offer to go to Greece, so I ran.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I wish it were a better story. I'm not proud of it. But that's what happened. And I'm sorry.”