French Chemistry Page 7

  “I fly out for Christmas and New Year’s every year,” he said. “It’s the only way I can see my family in person. They don’t have passports, but I do, so it’s easiest for me to go there.” He shrugged again. “I suppose I’m just used to having my ticket for Christmas just after the fall semester has started.”

  “It sounds like your family has it all covered,” Bessie remarked. “It’s good to have everything planned a couple months in advance.”

  “That’s what my father says, anyway,” Marc stated. Then, he looked at the time. “I have to go,” he said, “but I will be back around dinner time.” He grabbed his keys and a jacket before kissing her good-bye. She smiled a little as she watched him walk out of the apartment. The lock turned, and she was now all alone in the apartment.

  Christmas in France... that was quite the change. She usually spent Christmas in Castle Dale, Utah with her family instead of traveling to see friends. Even Sarah, who stayed on campus almost all year round because she was conscious of how much money went into traveling, went home for Christmas. Everyone spent Christmas with family. She supposed that if Marc was inviting her to spend Christmas with his family, then they thought of her as family. Or, at least, someone who could become family. That thought was one for the books. She had never thought she would become part of someone else’s family so quickly, not to that capacity. It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside to think that he wanted her and no one else.

  The rest of the week went as she had expected, and soon enough, the funeral had arrived. Marc accompanied her to the funeral. She appreciated this. There was nothing more to his motives than to make sure she was all right, and she knew that he cared for her. His arm barely moved from her side the entire time.

  She didn’t mind so much. It was a warm comfort, something she needed. She had been close to her mother, and having to watch as they closed the casket and put her into the ground was hard on Bessie. Marc gave her shoulder a squeeze as she felt the tears running down her face.

  Among all the extended family that she barely recognized and the family that she knew like the back of her hand, there was one person there who knew how hard it had been on her. That one person was Marc. He had gotten to see so much of her over the last three weeks... so much that she had never thought a man would ever see of her at her most vulnerable. She took his free hand in one of hers and squeezed it.

  He smiled softly, kissed her cheek, and then squeezed her hand. They played a squeezing game, with her returning the squeezes he gave to her hand. It gave her something more to think about, and a calming thing to think about. It took time to regulate the squeezes, and it helped her regulate her breathing. She wasn’t sure how this had become a thing, but she knew that it was going to be all right. She knew that there was something more to be had here, and she appreciated it. She liked it, amidst all of the hardship and sadness that had been in her life since the beginning of the semester.

  Once the casket was in the ground, and the funeral had been concluded, her father announced that they were all headed back to the hotel. They had rented out the large conference room and would be having a celebration of the woman they had just put to rest in the ground. Her mother, Bessie learned, had asked that they have one last birthday party for her.

  Bessie could only laugh a little. This was such a quintessential thing for her mother to do. She loved to celebrate. If someone got an ‘A’ on a test, they would get ice cream. A good report card meant a night out with mom. Birthdays and weddings had been large celebrations, elaborate and well-done. Her father was not the best at planning parties, but he had tried his best to honor one of his wife’s final wishes.

  “Is it custom to celebrate like this?” Marc leaned in, whispering in her ear.

  She shook her head.

  “Not usually. But my mother, she loved to celebrate anything and everything. I think she would appreciate that Dad is doing this for her, especially since he is normally not involved in planning the parties that my mother would throw.” Bessie smiled a little. “He’s doing something she loves, and he’s doing it for her. I think that is honestly all Mom wanted, was to know that he would do something like this to honor her at the funeral.”

  “As long as it is in her honor, I suppose all we can do is enjoy the party, and see to it that the tears shed are happy tears.” Marc smiled back.

  She nodded. They all went to the hotel, and her father had done the best he could with the decorations. There were streamers, crepe paper, and balloons all over the room. There was a large ice cream cake, her mother’s favorite, to be eaten. A slide show of her mother’s favorite pictures played on a small computer monitor to the side. Her father had done well.

  “Mom would be proud,” Bessie said to her father. Her sisters agreed.

  “I did it for her,” he said. “She came in with a party, and she deserves to go out with a party. To my lovely wife.” He then looked over at the monitor.

  A wedding picture had come up. Bessie looked at it, and she was surprised to see that she didn’t recognize this photo. Her mother was sitting in her father’s lap, dressed in white with the veil pulled over her head to expose her face. A small tiara sat on her head. Her father was dressed in the best tux he could find for the occasion, a small white rose in his pocket. He had an arm around his bride’s waist, and both of them were smiling as if there was no tomorrow.

  “I’ve never seen this picture...” Naomi said what everyone was thinking. “What’s the story behind this one, Dad?”

  “Your mother was exhausted from the reception,” he said. “She sat down beside me on the couch, and I pulled her into my lap. This was taken just as I had pulled her onto my lap, asking why my lovely bride was already so exhausted. She had planned the party.” He laughed a little. “She hadn’t realized how exhausting the wedding itself would be. We both laughed at her remark, and since the reception had been dying anyway, she asked everyone if they would mind going home since she and I were both exhausted.”

  “So, why did Mom never show us this photo before?” Bessie furrowed her brows.

  “She said it was the first moment she knew that I was always going to care for her. She said there was something so intimate about the photo that she didn’t want to share it until anyone got married. Since no one has, yet, I thought the story would be appropriate to share now. She wanted you all to see it, but... she didn’t get the chance to share it.”

  Bessie had to wipe a tear away. That was her mother, to a ‘T’. She would always share what she had, to know the story behind that photo made it even sweeter. “It’s beautiful.”

  Chapter 12

  After the party, Marc took her aside. “I know this is not the best time to say this, but I’m failing school, Bess,” he said. “If I could have waited any longer to tell you, I would have, but... my father wants to fly me home as soon as he can. He’s changing the date on the ticket for Christmas, and he’s given me two choices. Either we can both fly out to France now and we can send you back to Utah, or you come for Christmas break as we originally planned.”

  “I’m not in school right now, Marc,” she reminded him. “I have nothing but time. What day is he thinking you’ll fly back to France?”

  “This coming Saturday,” he replied.

  Bessie mentally counted the days. That was only three days away, and she wasn’t sure she could handle that. “I... how cold will it be later this year?” She didn’t know what else to say. “I don’t have any of my winter gear, and it’s getting cold, even here.”

  “I know. Do not worry about it all. We’ll get it all in France; I’m sure my sister has a few things she could spare,” Marc said. “It’s all so last minute that it’s going to be hard to get you anything here, or get you home to get things you have there.”

  She nodded slowly. “So long as you are willing to accept that I’ll need some winter clothing once we get there, I’ll come now,” she said. “Let me talk to my family about it first, though. They may want me back in Utah for a
while.”

  “All right. I’ll tell my father to change the tickets to Saturday if we can make that happen. I would rather we are on the same flight if we’re going together,” Marc said.

  Bessie agreed with that sentiment. She wanted to make sure they were on the same flight, too, and there was nothing more she could do about it than to talk to her family. Her father came out to find her. Since this was the hotel everyone else was staying at, it made sense that the party was dying little by little as people needed to leave.

  “Bessie, there you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I have something for you, from your mother.”

  “Before you give me that, Dad, I have something I want to tell you,” she said. “Marc’s family wants to fly me out to France with him on Saturday. He’s made the decision to go to school in France or wait while I get my degree here, but he’s not finishing at Charleston Law.”

  “Is this true?” Her father looked to Marc. Her boyfriend nodded.

  “Well, if that is the case, how long will you be in France, Bess?” Her father seemed resigned about the idea, but he probably knew there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Why do you ask like that, sir?” Marc frowned, furrowing his eyebrows.

  “I need to go through my wife’s things when I get home... and there were quite a few things she wanted to leave Bess,” her father replied. “She needs to be there for the reading of the will, at least...”

  “When will that happen?” Bessie frowned.

  “We’re thinking it’ll happen sooner rather than later when we get to Utah. Before the end of the month.” Her father looked over at Bessie. “Please. You need to be there at least for the reading of the will. Everything she bestowed to you, we can leave in your room.”

  “I’ll tell my father to schedule both tickets for the beginning of next month then,” Marc spoke up. “And I’ll tell him one needs to be from Salt Lake airport.”

  “Thank you, Marc, but you can go Saturday if you need to. Our tickets home are for Friday,” her father spoke up. “Bessie included.”

  “I would rather deal with a two-hour time difference than an eight-hour time difference,” Marc said. “I think Bessie would be grateful for that, too.”

  Bessie could only nod. How he understood that she would rather have a smaller time difference, or not have to worry about one at all, boggled her, but she was glad that he understood that.

  “All right. Then, I suppose we will be there to pick you up, Bessie, Thursday night. Our flight is early Friday morning. We’ll land in Salt Lake at like seven in the morning.”

  “Oof.” Bessie sighed. “All right. Then, I suppose we have tomorrow together, and that’s it.”

  “Tomorrow and all of Thursday,” Marc said. “We’ll make it work, Bess. Just as we did for that one week, and I promise, it’ll all get better and easier to handle.”

  “I’ll be in my room if you need me, Bess,” her father said. “The party, as fun as it was, hurt a little to attend.”

  “I understand that, Dad; go on,” Bessie said. “Thank you.”

  He nodded softly and then left. Bessie turned to Marc.

  “Can we go get pizza?” She smiled a little. “I think it would help.”

  “Of course, Bessie,” he said.

  They walked towards his car, and she was suddenly very thankful that he was willing to wait with her here in the United States. They would probably meet in the Dallas airport, and then fly to France together, on the same flight, and sit together. That sounded like the best plan, to Bessie.

  Before Marc started to drive, he put his phone on speaker as he called his own father. They spoke French, and Bessie could not follow the conversation easily. It was not the same kind of French she had heard in school; it was faster. The perils of dating a native speaker, she supposed. She caught something about airplanes, flights, and dates, but that was about it.

  However, his father’s voice sounded like it belonged to a man in his late sixties or early seventies. She wondered how old his parents were. He didn’t speak of his mother very much at all, and she had only heard of his father texting or calling him...When he was finally off the phone, she posed an interesting question.

  “Why do you never talk of your mother?” She looked at him as he drove. “You tell me all about your dad, but I’ve never heard anything about your mother.”

  “My mother is a very quiet person, Bess,” he said. “She wanted to meet you before you heard any stories about her. I personally don’t see what the big deal is, but that is what she has wanted, so I have held back from telling you any stories of her.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s not the best way to approach that, but that’s what I’ve done.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she said. That did answer some of her question, but it didn’t make sense to her. She wondered what kind of mother would not want to be known to her son’s boyfriend, but that was all right.

  “My mother is a sweet woman, though, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble being liked,” Marc continued. “I’m glad to see that your family seems to approve of me.”

  “My father has told me how much he approves of you before, Marc,” Bessie admitted. “I can only hope that your parents will do the same after I leave for the next semester.”

  “Are you still going to go to school?” Marc looked a little surprised.

  “I did put in a deferment. I’m so close, Marc... and you have a bachelor’s already. I think the best course of action is for me to finish my chemistry degree. It’s not like I’m going into something I don’t love,” she said. “Besides, if I can finish my chemistry degree, I can then go to work in many areas. It won’t be that hard to find a job that will utilize my degree.”

  “If you’re coming back after Christmas, then I will too. I’ll take a job near the university teaching French,” Marc said. “I can probably start looking now, too.”

  “You don’t have to stay here in the United States if you don’t want to, Marc. I’d hate to see you stuck in a dead-end job,” she countered.

  “Bessie, I want to see you happy. If you want to finish your degree, I will support that.” He didn’t want to let the topic go without telling her why he wanted to support her. “My father taught me that you put your spouse first when you get married. If you want to finish your degree that badly, I’m willing to hold off on finishing my law degree.”

  “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t finish, Marc,” she countered.

  “Bessie, I want to go to law school. Not understanding English well enough to do that is only a small bump in the road,” he said. “Besides, if I can get some practical experience in English as a teacher, perhaps I will be able to pick up at Charleston Law again.” He shrugged. “I’m rather excited for a chance to get better at English.”

  “If you say so...” Bessie wasn’t sure what else to say.

  He pulled the car into the pizza place’s parking lot. “Well, here we are,” he said.

  They had their pizza, and they decided – together – that Marc would find a job in Utah after they returned to the United States. She would finish her degree. They started to look at jobs nearby the next day, and then, Bessie returned to Utah with her family.

  They read her mother’s will a week later, and in it, Bessie was surprised to learn that her mother had left all four of the girls something special. She had taken part of the lace sleeves of her wedding dress and put them into a necklace for each of the girls. Bessie knew how much her mother had loved that wedding dress; she had never been allowed to play dress-up in it. Her mother used to play dress-up in it, though. Any time Bessie had asked why the sleeves were missing fabric, her mother would say she would understand when she was older.

  In addition to being left a necklace with the lace, Bessie had been left the writing desk to use should she ever need it and a few other mementos of things that her mother had thought important to Bessie. Among those mementos was the tiara her mother had worn at her wedding.


  She had been the only girl to show an interest in it, and when that was read aloud, Naomi, Jessica, and Marie all agreed that it would look best on Bessie. She looked the most like their mother, and they all agreed on that.

  Then, came the packing. They had decided to donate all of her mother’s clothing to thrift shops and local consignment shops. The wigs were donated to a local hospital where her mother had received many treatments. However, Bessie came across her mother’s favorite pair of shoes as she was cleaning out the closet. They were a pair of red heels. She used to put them on when she was having a rough day and felt like the cancer was beating her.

  “You put on what you feel best in...” She repeated her mother’s words to herself as she took her socks off. Her mother had once let her borrow the red heels for a dance on the condition that if she got them scratched or dirty, Bessie would clean them. She put on the heels and stood up. It had been a while since she had worn heels, but these were her mother’s heels...

  No one minded if she kept them. In fact, Marie had a few ideas of how to style them for a date that made Bess laugh. At least she could keep her mother close, especially now that she was leaving home for a few months to go overseas.

  Chapter 13

  The flight to France was long. She had been with Marc’s family for two weeks now, and he had been right to warn her that his mother was an incredibly shy but sweet person. She was only now starting to open up to Bessie, but Bessie still struggled with her French. Marc often had to play translator for her when she could not find the words to express her thoughts in French.

  However, she did enjoy the time she was in France. Two weeks had been enough to teach her that she could wear pretty much anything she wanted and no one was going to make her feel bad about it. So, today, she had decided she was going to wear her mother’s heels. She paired them with a denim skirt with a white shirt and a red belt. Color pops, as Marie would have called them. Marc was taking her to a pastry shop so she could have professionally made macarons.