CHAPTER 17. A FRENCH THANKSGIVING
[Chapter 18 will be available on December 1, 2015]
Paris shop that features American food products |
Vanessa
was torn between raging with anger, crying with humiliation, and
feeling sucker punched by what
she felt was
her mother's betrayal. With a sea of emotions storming inside her
she could only gape helplessly at Jack.
His
face looked drained of blood and he whispered,
“I am appalled at what my family has done to you. I
am abject with horror that I was an unknowing party to this travesty
they visited on you.”
The
formal solemnity of his apology was the straw that tipped the camel
over and Vanessa giggled. Jack's eyes widened. She thought he
looked pop-eyed and her giggles became guffaws. He backed towards the
door. “It is bad, but you must not lose control. Stay calm.” He
continued
to retreat, speaking softly as if soothing
a child with a temper tantrum.
At
this, she threw herself on the bed, shaking and roaring with
laughter. It felt good. She'd been tightly strung for twenty four
hours, worrying about the contest, suffering the disappointment of
losing, and as the coup
de grace
(as the French would say), hearing the family's confession. Her cup
had definitely runneth over.
Jack, alarmed, muttered, “I will call a doctor.”
“No,
no.” Vanessa got
a grip on herself and reduced her output to a few snickers. Jack
c+ontinued to look wary. She took a deep breath. “I am not
hysterical. I just find I no longer care and I can look at this
whole….affair? would you say? as a comedy of errors. If I saw this
in a movie it would be funny.”
Jack
squinted his eyes.
“What
do you mean, funny? I don't see anything funny about my family
setting us up for a romance.”
“Well,
you're a man and your pride has been hurt.” Vanessa smiled, her
eyes twinkling.
He
crossed his arms across his chest. “My pride has not been hurt.
But I can find my own dates.”
“Yes,
I hear you've done very well in that department.”
Glowering,
he asked, “Are you laughing at me?”
“Of
course not. But you do look cute when you're mad.”
“I
am not mad. And I do not appreciate your condescension.” He put
out his hand. “I came to apologize and we have gotten sidetracked.
Please forgive my family for their idiotic behavior.”
She
put her hand
out to shake his, but
instead he grasped her hand, gave her a long look and pulled her to
his chest, quickly putting both arms around her to hold her.
“What
are you
doing? Are
you crazy?” she muttered, her face pressed into his white shirt.
He
stroked
the top of her head, “Your hair is very soft. I've wondered what it
would feel like.”
Despite
her shock,
Vanessa
felt herself melting into him. It'd been a long time since she was
this close to a man. And although he was irritating as a speck in
the eye, he was cute, even when he wasn't mad. Just
as he bent his head to brush her lips with his lips, the door flung
open.
“Vanessa!
I have arrived.” It was her mother, wearing a pink and green silk
dress that +skimmed her slim figure. Obviously made to order in
Bangkok.
Vanessa
shoved Jack away. Her mother was not going to think her wretched
plan had succeeded.
Planting
her fists on her hips, she glared at the happily smiling woman.
“What are you doing here? You have some nerve trying to set me up
with this egotistical cook.”
Jack
growled. “I am not a cook, I am a chef.”
Her
mother waved her hand towards Jack as she continued to face her
daughter. “Have you forgotten what next Thursday is?”
“Don't
tell me it's your birthday, because I know it's
in July. I
could never forget that since you're
the quintessential Leo. And
next Thursday is
still November.”
“Yes
but it's
the fourth Thursday of the month. It's Thanksgiving.” Her
mother turned to beam at Jack. “and
I'm here to help
my good friend, Michelle Sevigny, celebrate.”
Jack
muttered. “This is France. We don't celebrate Thanksgiving.”
“Well,
you will next week.”
“Americans!”
Jack shook his head and left mother and daughter to it.
Vanessa
and her
mother hugged. Mrs. Tippett then asked her daughter to tell her
everything she'd left out of her emails and phone conversations.
Although
she still thought her mother should have been more honest with her,
Vanessa was relieved that she had someone, besides Sylvia, to help
her deal with the maddening Sevigny family. She went over everything
that had happened since she arrived in France, including the
terrifying dog-napping of Charlie and the humiliating lavender cooking
contest. “How could you do this to me? Don't you love me anymore?
And by the way where's Dad?”
“Of
course I still love you. You're my only child and I want the best
for you. I've known Jack all his life and he's a good guy. Michelle
and I thought we'd just give you both a little push in the right
direction. Like all men, though, he has his rough spots. Which
speaking of, Dad's at the local barber. His hair and beard grew a
little too au naturel in Thailand. I thought he should get spiffed
up before he showed up at the Chateau.”
“This
has been a very upsetting day for me and now you drop in like a
punctured blimp.” Vanessas
wasn't about to let her mother get off with just a nice hug.
Her
mother frowned. “A punctured blimp? Punctured maybe, but I resent
being compared to a blimp.”
“I'm
sorry.” Her mother'd just flown thousands of miles from her Thai
adventure to spent Thanksgiving with her. She should appreciate the
effort. Although the lavender cooking contest was outrageous,
Vanessa admitted that her mother did have her best interest at heart
and told her so.
At
dinner that night, an effervescent Lucy told them amazing stories
about American attempts to have a traditional turkey
dinner in France.
Once an
ex-pat couple invited French friends for such a dinner at five
o'clock in the afternoon, the time they'd always had it back
in America.
Their guests had thought the invitation was just for early cocktails
and were surprised to learn they would be eating so early, since they
had just finished a regular, four
hour,
French lunch. Another American ordered a twelve pound turkey but
with the language confusion got a twelve kilo, or twenty seven pound
bird that would not fit into a
small French oven.
Lucy
added,
“However, Americans in Paris no longer have to worry abut the
proper ingredients. An
enterprising young woman now runs 'Thanksgiving,' a store
dedicated to American food products, including,”
Lucy made a face, “canned cranberry sauce.”
Mrs.
Tippett
said, “I'm sure we won't have any disasters with Jack as our chef.
And with me giving him precise instructions.”
Jack,
who'd been persuaded to join them at the dinner table that night,
looked like thunder. Vanessa
thought his
dark look did not bode well for the coming
Thanksgiving dinner.
To be Concluded December 1, 2015