Paris, My Sweet (21 page)

And there I was, doing the same thing thousands of miles away. I had gotten a bag of four madeleines—the way they're sold at Blé Sucré—and retreated to Square Trousseau. The limestone apartment buildings stood guard over the neighborhood park, sunlight filtering through the bare chestnut trees. A big gazebo was smack in the middle of the park. Vacant ping-pong and foosball tables—
babyfoot
to the Frenchies—were lined up like soldiers on one side. The other side was consumed by a giant children's playground. As I looked around, I saw I wasn't the only one in the park indulging in a sweet.

Seeing as it was four o'clock in the afternoon, it was
le
goûter
—the glorious hour when snacking was sanctioned. All the little rug rats were nibbling golden madeleines like mine, or
pain au chocolat
. A few humbly ate biscuits from the supermarket. But there were no fruit leathers or crackers powdered with orange “cheese.” French kids learn early the importance of good food. The climbing walls and slides on the playground echoed with cute voices, and, every once in a while, was punctuated by not-so-cute screams and cries. A public park in Paris was hardly the place to come for a respite from thinking about kids.

Perhaps it was coincidence, or maybe madeleines—
good
madeleines—really do have transformative powers. All I can say is Fabrice's moist, citrusy teacakes were at least in part responsible for lifting me out of my funk. As I sat on a park bench, savoring the wee spongy snacks, my mojo started returning. Even if I didn't like the Specialist's advice, I couldn't complain. Someone was telling me to enjoy Paris. To take advantage of living in such a phenomenal place—which was the reason I had come to begin with. It's true, I realized, I
was
lucky. Lucky to be living in Paris, on my own path in life. I simply couldn't cry over yesteryears and what might have been.

I had spent thirty-seven years following my heart and my gut. There was no point in doubting myself now. When I had been younger and in relationships, it hadn't felt right to get married and have kids. And as shaky as I had been feeling lately, I knew I didn't regret those decisions. Maybe I'd still be so lucky to meet someone who knocked my socks off and have kids like Melissa predicted. Maybe I wouldn't. But, as the crumbs from my final madeleine disintegrated on my tongue, I knew that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. Bite by spongy-sweet bite, my emotions were being reset.

So I was willing to accept the Specialist's optimistic prognosis. I decided 2010 was indeed going to be the year I profited by being in Paris. I had a belly full of pastries. The winter sun was warm and gentle. And it was a new day in Paris. It may have started out pretty crummy, but things were starting to get that golden glow again.

Now, I've…had…the time of my life…and I owe it all to yooooo-uuuuu…”

Ah, America. It was good to be back. JFK was as bustling as it always was. The
Dirty
Dancing
soundtrack blaring from the speakers reminded me of the summer afternoons in high school I used to spend cruising around my Connecticut beach town in my little silver Jetta. Kim Kardashian and Lady Gaga blanketing every magazine cover reminded me how woefully out of touch I was with
le
smut
du
jour
. Babies were screaming from their thousand-dollar strollers, cell phones were bleating like an electronic symphony, everyone—even barely walking three-year-olds—was tugging those little wheelie suitcases behind them, creating a candy-colored, movable minefield as I made my way from the Air France terminal to U.S. customs.

This was the same sensory overload that had appalled me when I made my first trip back home only a few months earlier. But now, surrounded by people sporting velour tracksuits, fake tans, and tattoos—such a long, long way from the slim jeans, ballet flats, and perfectly painted lips back in Paris—it was like a big, warm, chubby hug from America. This time, I wasn't complaining.

Maybe it was just the new outlook I had adopted since the Specialist: be happy and grateful for what you have, and watch how the world opens up to you. As proof that the universe was indeed trying to be more cooperative and supportive, the Louis Vuitton photo shoot I had to do for work had been scheduled in New York the week before AJ was getting married. I got to fly home for business and stay for my best friend's wedding. Not too shabby. Even better, we were booked at 60 Thompson, the slick boutique hotel in western Soho. Every morning I power-walked along the Hudson River Park, the narrow riverside stretch that extends from 59th Street to Battery Park and offers one of my favorite vantages of the city. In the evenings, we'd unwind in the lobby with cocktails, watching the parade of foreign guests toting their shopping bags filled with designer loot. Best of all, room service left a couple itty-bitty Fat Witch brownies on the nightstand every afternoon. I also wasn't above plundering the housekeeping carts, eschewing the Kiehl's bath products in favor of amassing a personal stockpile of fudgy two-bite treats. And “work” those few glorious days consisted of prepping for and then shooting Annie Leibovitz and Mikhail Baryshnikov—two artistic legends—for our latest campaign.
A
girl
can
get
used
to
this
, was the first thought that danced through my mind every morning when I got my sunny wake-up call from the front desk and flicked on NY1 to see what Pat Kiernan was reading in the papers.

But even though the workweek was decadent and exciting, it was also draining. When my team took off for the airport at the end of the jam-packed week, I heaved a happy sigh of relief and migrated uptown. I was home! In New York! My best friend was getting married, and we were going to have the time of our lives!

“A, you look stunning!” Of course every bride looks beautiful, but AJ was truly radiant. And she wasn't even in her gown or makeup yet. It was the night before the wedding, and instead of having a traditional rehearsal dinner, AJ and Mitchell were hosting a casual open house in a Brooklyn Heights brownstone. It was the perfect representation of them as a couple: unfussy, fun, and all about home, family, and friends.

“Merci, mon amie,” she replied, giving me an unguarded smile that made her blue eyes light up and her nose crinkle. It was like she couldn't contain her joy; this was the happiest I had ever seen her—even happier than when her braces came off in tenth grade. It was so crazy to think that when I had left New York not even a year ago, she and Mitchell had only just met. Now they were mere hours away from exchanging wedding vows. You never know what—or whom—life is going to bring you.

As the house filled up with guests, the energy progressed from relaxed to celebratory. It was a special occasion for me too—a chance to see so many people from years past and reminisce with my best friends from high school. Ben was about to sign a new band, Julie was convinced her daughter was going to be even naughtier at sixteen than she was now at four, and Elisa's husband was producing a new show on MTV. I caught up with AJ's aunts and uncles, most of whom I hadn't seen since I went to Iowa with AJ as a thirteen-year-old, severely obsessed with how high I could tease my bangs and just when I would have enough to fill out a training bra. Little cousins and children of friends, amped up on M&Ms, excitedly ran around the spacious parlor rooms; Van Morrison, Alicia Keys, and Coldplay shuffled on iTunes; and the buffet table was slowly being depleted of its cold cuts, crudités, and cupcakes.

At the end of the night, instead of rallying for a nightcap with the rest of the crew like we normally would have, AJ and I taxied back to Manhattan. She wisely wanted to get a good night's sleep. I was her Best Girl, there to ensure her wedding weekend worked out exactly as she wanted. Besides, my feet were aching from standing all night in the new Charles Kammer lace-up heels I had bought in Paris for the wedding.

“How are
you
doing, Aim?” she asked once we were snuggled between the starchy sheets and down blankets on opposite sides of the king-sized bed of her bridal suite. AJ's compassion and sincerity had always—for lack of a less hokey term—warmed my heart. After these past few months of so little empathy or connection in my life, they were especially welcome. I was relieved to let my guard down.

“I'm good,” I told her. “It's definitely been a rough couple of months, but I'm hanging in there.” I listened to the taxi horns and police sirens echoing in the cavernous avenue twenty stories below, blessedly muted through the double-pane windows. A door slammed somewhere down the hall, another reveler's night coming to a close.

“I never even knew I could feel as depressed as I did last month in Paris,” I continued. “I hit a new low. But, who knows? Maybe the ovarian cysts were the best thing to happen to me.” AJ was looking at me quizzically, waiting for me. “It's been unsettling and…crappy,” I went on. “And I really don't like thinking that there's a possibility I can't have kids. But at the same time, I also sort of feel like I've been given a second chance. I've had to really think about things—what my priorities are and what I want to achieve in my life—instead of just cruising along, you know? It's like a not-quite-midlife opportunity to decide what I want to do and where I want to go from here.”

“It's so true, Amy. I mean, look at you,” she paused for dramatic effect. “You're living abroad in the most beautiful city on earth. You work on Louis Vuitton's advertising. You're traveling every month. You're surrounded by all this great fashion, and fabulous people—”

“And don't forget the mind-blowing sweets!”

“Seriously. It's pretty amazing.”

“I know, it is.” I rolled on my back and gazed up at the ceiling, letting this moment of affirmation settle over me. I thought of the trips I'd taken in recent months—to London to spend time with my brother and his family, and to Nantes and Lille, two cities on opposite sides of the country that both had incredible art, architecture, and,
bien
sûr
, sweets. I thought about how fulfilling my new friendships with Melissa, Michael, and Jo were, and also how much more I now valued the connection with my friends and family back home. I was also excited about the new community of bloggers I was becoming part of and even the fondness I had for my colleagues. I'd experienced the lowest lows and the highest highs of my life, those past months in Paris.

Thank God I had decided to slog through my loneliness and fear and not run home with my tail between my legs when things started getting hard. I had been ready to quit everything and go back to New York's comfort and familiarity. But by doing so, I would have walked away from the best career run I'd had in my life. I never would have seen so much of the French countryside. I wouldn't now eat duck, rabbit, herring and sardines, and about eighteen varieties of cheese and wine would be woefully unknown. Only weeks ago, I was convinced I belonged in New York. Now I felt I belonged in Paris.

While there were still questions—how long did I want to stay, where should I push my career, would I actually fall in love and have kids—I also knew that finding the answers required effort and patience. But finding those answers was why I was in Paris. “I mean, it sucks that I haven't met anyone and I still struggle with the language and meeting people,” I continued my mini-therapy session with AJ, who was propped up on her elbow. I turned and mirrored her. “But everyone has their issues wherever they are. And I'm just trying to focus on the positive and believe that what's meant to be, will be.” I paused. “And it will, I really believe that. Do I sound crazy new-agey?”

“Not at all. I think you have the right attitude. We never know what tomorrow will bring, so just enjoy your time in Paris, Aim. You're lucky to have the freedom to be doing what you're doing and enjoying so many cool things. You should be proud of yourself,” she cheered me on. “It's not easy moving to a foreign city, where you know no one.”

“Thanks, A,” I said. “But enough about
moi.
This is it! You're getting
married
tomorrow. It's crazy, isn't it?”

“I know, married. It doesn't seem real.” AJ got sucked into a mini-reverie, her eyes going glassy. Then she looked at me. “We've had so much fun.”

“You and Mitchell?”

“No! You and me! Remember all the nights at Passerby?” she asked, referring to a tiny Chelsea bar with a flashing
Saturday
Night
Fever
dance floor. Inevitably, it was where we ended up during our single years, boogying until the wee morning hours.

“Yeah, and kir royales at Pastis…”

“And hanging out with Warren and Eddy at Bond Street…”

“Oh yeah, I had forgotten about them!” I confessed. After all, our nights had tended to be anchored far away from Noho in the circus-like Meatpacking District and dark, meandering streets of the West Village. “And remember the parties we'd throw at Craig's apartment? Those were
so
fun.” We might as well have been talking about our sweet sixteens or senior prom with the amount of nostalgia we were dredging up.

AJ started laughing. “Remember how you did your demo of side crow in your purple party dress? Those pictures are
awesome
.”

“Yeah, and then of course Craig has to upstage me by doing full crow into a flying headstand.” We were both cracking up at the image of me and our good friend doing yoga moves at various cocktail parties throughout the years. Don't ask me why we did it, but we did. It happened once and then became a regular party trick. “And remember Giles? Remember that night we met him and Gino and went back to their apartment and were up all night, dancing to the Bee Gees?”

“My God. When was the last time you saw the sun come up?”

“Uh, that night,” I shuddered. “I think it took me about a week to recover.”

This was it: our last single girls' night together and instead of tearing up the town, we were giggling like schoolgirls, remembering all the previous nights in the city that we had made lifelong memories—and, on occasion, fools of ourselves. But at least we had gotten the most out of our time together in New York. Although I knew AJ and I would always be this close, I also knew we were saying good-bye: to our old lives, to a time when we were young and wild and free in New York City. With me in Paris and AJ going to the altar, we were officially entering a new phase, a time when banana cupcakes and late-night cocktails would be more occasional than
de
rigueur
. Soon even a modest pleasure like sitting at Billy's would be a rare event.