One Summer In Paris. Sarah Morgan

a wicked woman, Mimi.” Grace took the box from her and closed it. It felt odd to not know anything about her grandfather. Was he even still alive?

      “Since when has it been wicked to enjoy oneself? And why are you closing the box? I was about to eat one.”

      “You’ll have plenty to eat in French Club. There are more where these came from.”

      “I like to enjoy the moment.” Mimi opened the box again and helped herself. She took a delicate bite and closed her eyes. “If you focus on living well in the moment, you will never have regrets about yesterday.”

      Grace wondered if she was thinking of Paris, or of the man who had brought her macarons in bed. She knew her grandmother had stories she hadn’t shared, and that there were times she didn’t like to think about. Grace understood that. There were times she didn’t like to think about, either.

      “Good?”

      “Excellent.” Mimi opened her eyes and reached for her coat and a silk scarf. Today’s choice was peacock blue. “How is Sophie?”

      “Enraged about the plans to close the animal shelter. She’s writing letters and calling anyone who will pick up the phone.”

      “I admire a person who is prepared to stand up and fight for a cause they believe in. Even more so when that person is my great-granddaughter. You should be proud, Grace.”

      “I am proud—although I’m not sure the way she is has much to do with me. She has David’s genes.”

      Mimi read her mind. “Relax. She has nothing of your mother in her.” She tucked her arm into Grace’s as they stepped out of the apartment onto the covered walkway that led to the main house. “When is Sophie coming to see me?”

      “On the weekend.”

      “And David?” Mimi’s expression softened. “He popped in yesterday and fixed the broken handle on my door. That man is perfect. He has time for everyone. And did I mention that he gets more handsome by the day? That smile.”

      “I know.” She’d fallen in love with David’s smile. “I’m lucky.”

      Mimi stopped walking. “No, honey. He’s the one who is lucky. You went through so much and yet you have a family like this—well, I’m proud of you. You’re the glue, Grace. And you’re an excellent mother.”

      Her grandmother was her biggest supporter. Grace hugged her in full view of anyone who happened to be watching. It was only when she held her grandmother that she was aware of her frailty. It scared her. She couldn’t imagine a life without Mimi.

      “I love you.”

      “Of course you do. I’m the buttercream frosting on the stale cake that is life.”

      Grace let her go. “Twenty-five years today. Had you forgotten?”

      “I have creaking bones and varicose veins, but my memory is fine. I know what day it is. Your anniversary! I am happy for you. Every woman should love deeply at least once in her lifetime.”

      “You didn’t. Were you never tempted to get married? Not even when you discovered you were pregnant?”

      Mimi flipped the scarf around her neck and slid her arm through Grace’s. “I wasn’t the marrying kind. You, however, always were. I hope you’re wearing your sexiest underwear to celebrate.”

      “I refuse to discuss my underwear with you, but I can tell you that I’ve booked dinner. And that’s when I’m giving him his gift.”

      “I’m envious. A whole month in Paris. Sunlight on cobbled streets, and the gardens… Paris has a special atmosphere—do you remember that? It slides under your skin and permeates the air you breathe…”

      Mimi seemed to be talking to herself and Grace smiled.

      “I remember—but I have only been once, and just for a short visit. You were born there. You lived there.”

      “I did. And I really did live.” Mimi was never so animated as when she talked about Paris. “I remember one night we stripped off our clothes and—”

      “Mimi!” Grace paused at the door to the dining room. “You’re about to appear in public. Don’t scandalize everyone. We don’t want to shock them with your sinful stories.”

      “Boredom is a sin. You’re never too old for a little excitement. I’m doing them a favor.” Mimi snapped her fingers in the air. “Pierre! That’s it.” She looked at Grace, triumphant.

      “Pierre?”

      “The man who bought me the macarons. We’d made love all night.”

      Grace was intrigued. “Where did you meet him? What did he do for a living?”

      “I met him when he came to watch me dance. I have no idea what he did for a living. We didn’t talk. I wasn’t interested in his prospects—just his stamina.”

      Grace shook her head and adjusted her grandmother’s scarf. “You should go back.”

      “To Paris? I’m too old. Everything would be different. The people I loved—gone.”

      Her grandmother stared into the distance and then gave a shake of her head.

      “Time to dance.” She opened the door and sailed into the room like a prima ballerina making her entrance onstage.

      They were greeted by a chorus of cheery voices, and Grace unloaded her bag onto the table. She’d stopped to pick up baguettes from the bakery on Main Street. They weren’t as crisp and perfect as the ones she’d eaten in France, but they were the closest thing she could find in rural Connecticut.

      While the staff helped prepare the tables Grace selected the music.

      “Edith Piaf!” Mimi glided gracefully to the center of the room and beckoned to Albert.

      Several other people joined them and soon the room was filled with people swaying.

      When they sat down to eat, they bombarded Grace with questions.

      Did she have everything in place for David’s surprise? How exactly was she going to tell him about the trip she had planned?

      She’d shared her plans with them, knowing how much they enjoyed being part of a conspiracy.

      It had been David’s idea not to buy each other gifts for their anniversaries, but instead to treat themselves to experiences. He’d called it their “Happy Memory Project.” He’d wanted to fill her memory bank with nice things to cancel out all the bad experiences of her childhood.

      It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.

      The previous year she’d booked a weekend at Niagara Falls. They’d had a good time, but Grace had been determined to go bigger and better this year.

      The afternoon passed quickly, and she was clearing up when her friend Monica arrived to teach a yoga class.

      Grace and Monica had met when pregnant. No one understood the anxieties of parenting like another mother, and it was good to talk to Monica, even though her friend often made her feel inferior.

      Monica was obsessed with living a healthy lifestyle. She blamed red meat for at least half the wrongs in the world. She juiced, grew her own vegetables and taught yoga. She insisted the whole family were vegetarian, although David swore he’d once seen Monica’s husband devouring a sixteen-ounce bone-in rib eye at a steak house in the neighboring town. They’d only socialized once as a couple—a dinner consisting almost entirely of lentils, after which David hadn’t been able to leave the bathroom for twenty-four hours.

      Never again, he’d yelled through the bathroom door. She’s your friend.

      Grace, whose own stomach was listing like the deck of a ship in a storm, had