That evening, we stayed awake until two in the morning, arguing in French over old restaurants and drawing a map on a napkin.
Claire later told me she stood on the stairs and cried because she had never seen that version of me.
Hélène and I did not become friends immediately.
But on the final morning, she joined me on the deck.
“I would like to know the woman who lived alone in Lyon at twenty-two,” she said. “I don’t believe Claire knows her. I’m not certain you know her anymore either.”
“I’m getting to know her again,” I replied. “You may come along.”
Claire and Luca married the following spring in the Finger Lakes.
Philippe provided the wine. Hélène helped me choose my dress through several video calls, gently correcting my French like someone who had decided to care about me.
During the reception, Philippe gave part of his toast in French.
