“Tickets to what?” Justin asked.
I read the words out loud as goose bumps broke out all over my body. “A fashion show.” I looked at Mom. “Oh my gosh. She wanted us to come and see one of the fashion shows she worked on.”
Tears filled Mom’s eyes. All she could manage was a quiet “Wow.”
I reached into my messenger bag and pulled out the next note. I had to see what she had to say about this latest “gift.” I read it out loud, so everyone could hear.
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE PARIS, PART 6
Isn’t it something, all of those artists in one place? I hope you enjoyed your time at Montmartre.
I’m sure you must love your painting. Frederic does beautiful work. And what about your latest surprise? Tickets to a fashion show! This is one of Paris’s biggest events of the year, and as an assistant designer to Francesco Pike, I’m always so honored to be a part of it. I hope you are excited to be my special guests. Won’t it be fun to tell your friends about attending a fashion show in the fashion capital of the world?
You will have fantastic seats, close to the runway. The outfits I’ve provided for you will be perfect for the occasion. Please arrive an hour before showtime at the Grand Palais. I will have my assistant, Celine, meet you by the main elevator and take you to your seats. Unfortunately, I will be busy before the show, but will look forward to meeting up with you later. Of course, we can talk about all of this when I see you later today as well. I just wanted to make sure it was all down in writing for you. You know what they say—better to be safe than sorry!
I’m feeling a bit sad that this treasure hunt is almost over for you. I hope you and your mother have enjoyed yourselves. Until next time …
With love,
Grandma Sylvia
“Wow,” Justin said. “You two are going to have such a good time.”
“If we decide to go,” my mom said.
I looked at my mother like she’d just said macarons taste like tree bark. “What do you mean, ‘if we decide to go’? Why wouldn’t we go?”
She sighed. “I’m afraid it will be strange for us to be there. We were supposed to be her guests, honey.”
“And we can still be her guests,” I argued. “We have tickets, with seats assigned to us. If we don’t go, those seats will stay empty.”
“Nora, you know, we don’t even know if the fashion show is still going on,” Mom said. “Her death may have … disrupted things.”
“But she wasn’t the main designer, just one of his assistants,” I argued. “And if we want to be sure, we can call and ask, can’t we? Please?”
“If it’s still on, she would want you two to go,” Justin said, his arms crossed over his chest. “You know she would.”
Mom bit her lip and looked at the ground for a moment before her eyes met mine again. “I suppose she would. I guess I’m afraid it will be too upsetting for us to be there without her.”
“You will probably feel both happy and sad,” Frederic, who had been quietly sketching while we discussed the tickets, said.
“Frederic,” Mom said, “let me pay you and give you our address, and then we’ll leave you to your work. We’ve probably overstayed our welcome as it is. Thank you so much. For everything.”
“It is my pleasure,” he said. “Truly.”
They finished up their business and then Frederic gave my mom the traditional French two-cheek kiss. “I believe you should go to the show. You would regret it someday if you did not go.”
Mom replied, “You might be right. I’ll give it careful thought.”
I didn’t understand what there was to think about. Why did she have to make this more complicated than it should be? All I could do was hope she would realize what a waste it would be to not use the tickets.
Frederic pointed to the painting of Grandma. “Remember, she will be with you in spirit. Like always.”
“Thank you again,” Mom said. We all waved and then began walking away from the square.
I let Justin and my mom walk ahead of me as I pulled out my phone and the tickets. I dialed the phone number that was printed on them. A woman answered in French, and I simply asked if the Francesco Pike fashion show was going on as scheduled. She told me that it was. I thanked her and hung up.
Mom must have heard me, because she turned around and gave me a funny look.
“The show is still on,” I told her matter-of-factly.
“I need some time to think about it, honey. For now, let’s just enjoy the rest of our day.”
Like it was just that easy. If only.
When I woke up Friday morning, I lay there for a while, thinking about the day before. After a morning of walking, we’d spent much of the afternoon on a blanket, people-watching while we had another picnic lunch. It’d felt good to soak up some sunshine. Later, we’d had the best dinner of our entire trip. We’d found a little bistro tucked away on a quiet street and ate chicken with supreme sauce and roasted potatoes. For dessert, we’d had lemon cake that was both sweet and sour and so, so good.
Sweet and sour. This whole trip seemed to be like that lemon cake. All of the wonderful things we’d gotten to see and do, and yet, without Grandma here to enjoy it with us, everything wasn’t nearly as sweet as it might have been.
On the way home, I’d asked Mom if she’d made a decision about the show yet. She’d said, “I’m still considering everything, Nora. Please, just let me think on it a while.”
It hadn’t been the answer I’d wanted. How much time did she need, anyway? The rest of the night, I didn’t speak to her. I couldn’t believe skipping the fashion show was even an option in her mind. It was like she didn’t care what I thought about anything. All that mattered was what she thought and felt and wanted.
Finally, I got up and started moving about, and Justin and Mom woke up. We took turns in the bathroom, getting ourselves ready. While Justin was in the bathroom, I sat on the bed, flipping through the television channels.
“Nora, I feel like you’re upset with me. It’s our last full day in Paris. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves, all right?”
I glared at her. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Honey, I know you want to go to the show tonight. I’m just afraid it will be too sad. For both of us.”
“I think she wanted this trip to bring us closer. For you and me to understand each other better. That’s why she made sure to tell the people they couldn’t give us our gifts unless both of us were there. But it’s like you don’t want to understand me at all. How can we go this far with the treasure hunt and stop now? There’s still one more envelope to open. Don’t you want to know what’s inside?”
“You can open the envelope now, if you’d like,” she said, sitting down next to me. She patted my leg. “It’s all right if we do the last one a little out of order.”
I turned off the television. “I don’t want to do that. I want to go to the fashion show, and I don’t understand why you don’t feel the same way.”
She sighed. “I’m not sure I can even explain how I’m feeling. Fashion was her life. Her love. It feels so wrong to go and watch something she should be a part of. The unfairness of it all just seems like too much to take in.”
“But it’s like Justin said yesterday, after we found the tickets—she would want us to go. And Mom, I want us to go. Can’t you see how much it means to me?”
She nodded as she stood up. “Yes. I do. But, Nora, I just don’t know if it’ll be good for either of us. You know what, we need to get out of here. Some fresh air will do us good. I just need to think on it a little while longer. I promise I’ll make a decision soon.”
I was starting to argue some more when Justin walked out of the bathroom and said, “I’m hungry. Are we ready to go?”
“We’re ready,” Mom said as she grabbed her purse. “We’ll get a quick bite before we make our way to a church I want to see. It’s on the right bank, called Saint-Merri.” She smiled like there wasn’t a problem in the world. ?
??You’re both going to love it. Just wait and see.”
I reached into the pocket of my jeans as we made our way out into the hallway. I’d chosen an antique metal button with the head of a Roman soldier on it. He wore an old-fashioned helmet, and it looked like he was ready for battle. It was kind of how I’d felt when I’d woken up that morning. Hopefully, the soldier would help me win this fashion-show battle I found myself a part of.
* * *
We ate some croissants at a café and then hopped on the Métro to get across the river. The church was on the busy Rue Saint-Martin. When we arrived, Mom got out her guidebook and looked up Saint-Merri. She told us it was built between 1500 and 1550. It did look old, but it also looked so pretty, like something out of a fairy tale. I could almost picture a princess standing on the balcony, waving at the crowd below. Mom continued reading and told us the bell in the bell tower is the oldest one in Paris, cast in 1331.
“It survived the French Revolution,” she said. “Isn’t that incredible?”
We walked up to the front door to see if we could go in, and an older man standing nearby motioned us in. The church had very high ceilings and was filled with stained glass windows and large, detailed paintings on the walls. We wandered around for a while, and as I went off on my own, to look more closely at one of the paintings, I thought of my grandma.
Our family isn’t very religious, and we don’t go to church, except on holidays. But as I stood in that old, beautiful church, a peaceful feeling washed over me. Okay, honestly, in that moment, I felt more religious than I had my entire life. Maybe it was God or an angel or Grandma’s spirit—who knows—but it seemed like someone was telling me everything would be all right and I must remember I wasn’t alone.
When we walked out the church doors a few minutes later, I felt strong, like when Phoebe had been helping me, going along with me from place to place. I was more determined than ever to get my mother to agree to go to that fashion show.
And if she didn’t want to go with me, well, then I would just have to go alone.
I think we should go to the Eiffel Tower,” Mom said. “How can our trip be complete without a ride to the top?”
“You’re not scared?” Justin asked.
“A little bit,” she said. “But I want to do it anyway. The Panthéon was certainly worth it, right?”
So, we went. And I have to say, it was really great to see the Eiffel Tower up close. It’s so pretty. While we waited in line to take the elevator to the top, I decided to see if I could get Mom to talk about her previous trip to Paris.
“Did you go to the top when you came here the first time? When Grandma brought you as a little girl?”
She tucked a wisp of her brown hair behind her ear. “I’m sure we must have, but I don’t remember.”
“How old were you?” Justin asked.
“Eight,” she replied. “Mom and I came with my grandma, Grandma Claire. Just the three of us. It was the first time for all of us. The only things I remember very clearly are riding a carousel, getting caught in a really bad rainstorm, and wandering the Louvre for hours and getting bored.” She smiled. “Kind of funny when you think about how much I love art and museums now, and that I made a career out of it.”
My grandma had shown me some pictures from that trip, but my mom hadn’t talked much about it with me. It was kind of strange. Maybe she didn’t like remembering, because it was a happier time, when she got along with her mom. I could see how that would make her sad, in a way.
“How come you never came back?” I asked.
“Well, your grandma didn’t start traveling here for work until much later. After I’d moved out. And by then I was busy with my job and having babies and all of that fun stuff.”
Finally, it was our turn to board the elevator. On the ride up, I thought of my mom here years ago with her mom and grandma. We could have had a trip like that, three generations together, if Grandma hadn’t died. Once again, it seemed so unfair.
The view from the top of the Eiffel Tower was nice, but not as spectacular as the one from the Panthéon.
“Things look so different from up here, don’t they?” Mom said as we looked out (we stood far away from the edge).
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Gives you a different perspective,” she said. “Which can be a good thing.”
I thought of the two of us, and how the entire trip had been about seeing things differently. Most of all, each other.
“Mom,” I said as I crossed my arms, trying to stay warm. “We really should go tonight.”
She winked at me. “That’s your perspective.”
“And I know it’s different from yours, but I was thinking, she probably worked on some of the pieces they’ll be showing. How can we miss that?” I brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Because of Grandma, we’ve gone to some amazing places this week and met some wonderful people. Tonight will just be more of that.”
Mom didn’t say anything for a while. I waited, hoping the beautiful city might work its magic one last time.
“I’m just … scared,” she said quietly. “That I’ll feel worse about everything.”
I reached for the soldier button in my pocket. As I rubbed it, I realized something important: I really didn’t want to fight with my mom. In fact, it didn’t even make sense for us to fight. We were on the same side! I just needed to get her to see that.
“Mom, we are so much alike. Do you know that I feel scared about almost everything?”
She gave me a little smile. “But we came up here anyway.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “What was it that Alice said? About magic?”
“Magic usually happens outside of our comfort zone,” she said as she turned her eyes toward the view again. She took a deep breath before she looked at me. “You really think it will be fun and not completely depressing?”
“Mom, it’s a fashion show in Paris. It will be amazing and exciting and everything else that made Grandma love fashion.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I wish she was here.”
“I know,” I said as I moved closer to her. “But even if she isn’t here, some of her work is. And I want to see it.”
Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “You are wise far beyond your years, you know that? I see so much of your grandma in you.” She wiped her fingers beneath her eyes. “All right. We’ll go.”
“Yay!” I said as I reached over and hugged her.
Justin stepped back from the edge then and looked at us. “So you’re going tonight?”
“Yes,” Mom said, “and I’m so sorry we don’t have another ticket for you, Justin.”
“It’s fine. Fashion isn’t really my thing, anyway.”
“You like dolls much better, right?” I teased.
Justin laughed. “Oh yeah. Totally.”
We took a cab from our hotel to the Grand Palais and arrived a little early to make sure we were in the right place to meet Celine. We stood by the main elevator, like Grandma had told us to do, watching all of the beautiful people arriving for the show.
“I can’t believe we’re really here,” I whispered to her.
“I have to admit,” she replied, “it’s pretty incredible.”
We waited and waited as the place got busier and busier.
“Mom,” I said, “what if Grandma never got the chance to tell Celine that we were coming?”
She bit her lip as she considered this possibility. “You know, you may be right. We should probably get seated. The show will be starting in a few minutes.”
We found an usher who led us to our seats. “Here you are,” the older man said with a thick French accent as he handed the tickets back to Mom.
She took them and checked the numbers. “This can’t be right. She said we’d be near the runway, but I don’t think we’re supposed to be sitting in the front row.”
He checked the numbers again. “It is right,” the usher said. “Ça va?”
“Merci,” I told him. He left
and then I grabbed Mom’s hand as I whispered, “Oh my gosh, front row. She got us front-row tickets!”
We made our way to our seats just as a man came out onto the runway.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Francesco Pike and I would like to welcome you to tonight’s show. Please know I’m extremely proud of the collection you will see tonight. However, it is bittersweet, for this collection would not be what it is without the work of someone who is not with us tonight. One of my very talented assistant designers, Sylvia Parker, died unexpectedly in January. I worked with Sylvia for many years, and she always provided wonderful feedback on my designs and was a talented designer in her own right. And so, it is with a proud but heavy heart that I dedicate tonight’s show to Sylvia.”
As everyone applauded, Francesco Pike looked directly at my mother and me. “Sylvia’s assistant, Celine, just told me backstage that Sylvia’s family members might be in the audience tonight. At this time I would like to invite them to stand, so we can show them our appreciation for all of Sylvia’s work and dedication.”
I looked at my mother in disbelief. I could tell she was trying not to cry. She reached over, grabbed my hand, and we stood up.
The applause was so loud it was almost deafening. Mom waved at the crowd across from us, on the opposite side of the runway, and so I turned and waved at the people behind us.
After what seemed like forever, the applause died down and we took our seats again.
“All right,” Francesco Pike said. “Let’s start the show. Enjoy!”
“Are you okay?” I whispered in her ear.
She gave me a little smile and nodded. There wasn’t time to say anything more, as the music started and all eyes turned to the runway.
Model after model stepped out, and oh, the things they wore.
Fancy dresses, crazy dresses, and simple dresses. Pantsuits and shorts. The women strutted and smiled, and it was all just completely dazzling.
My grandma had invited me to attend her shows in Manhattan a couple of times when I was younger, but I’d told her I wasn’t really interested. She hadn’t made a big deal out of it at all, and simply told me that if I ever wanted to go, I just had to ask. Now I couldn’t help but wonder what I might have missed. Thank goodness she hadn’t let my earlier attitude stop her from inviting me to this particular show.