Page 8 of One Week in Paris
“I feel pretty good too,” Gabbie tells me, her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea. “I was afraid it would be tougher this time because of my age.”
I smile. “You’re only thirty-six, for crying out loud,” I point out. “You’re still young.”
“Well, my doctor calls this a ‘geriatric pregnancy’.”
I sigh loudly. “God, that’s so depressing.”
“You better hurry along,” she teases. “I know you’re only twenty-eight, but the clock is ticking. You don’t want to be a geriatric mother-to-be like me.”
I laugh. “Never going to happen,” I tell her. “You know how I feel about kids and marriage.”
She smiles. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll change your mind when you find the right guy.”
The doorbell clangs and Maeve appears, looking as gorgeous as ever. She’s always so beautifully dressed — today, she’s wearing this pretty wool jacket, with tall leather boots and a red beret, French-style. I’m so excited to see her — it seems like ages since she’s been to one of our meetings. She used to be a regular, the unofficial leader, but she’s moved back to her home town, two hours away, so she doesn’t make it out often these days.
I jump from my seat and meet her halfway. We hug like long-lost sisters. “How are things?” I ask. “How’s Blake? How’s the store?”
She beams. “Great.” She pulls from me and does a twirl. “What do you think of my jacket? It’s from my store.”
“I love it.”
As we near our table, she hugs Gabbie. “Oh, you’re so cute,” Maeve squeals. “I can’t wait to get pregnant too.”
“What’s the hold up?” Gabbie asks.
Maeve’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, way too busy right now. I need to get really settled in at the store before we even think about starting a family.”
We all sit and dig out our notebooks. I order a Camomile tea, and Maeve orders a Chai latte. We catch up while we wait for Corrie — she’s always late.
When she finally makes her grand entrance, she’s hard not to notice. She’s dressed in all white: white fur coat, white jeans, tall white boots, and matching white knitted beret, scarf and gloves. And she looks amazing. Only Corrie could get away with that — her small frame suits it.
Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. She greets Maeve first. “Hey girl, you finally made it.” Then, she gives Gabbie a big hug and rubs her belly quickly, and finally a kiss on the cheek for me.
I’m brimming with excitement too. Gabbie might have a baby on the way, and Maeve has her new store, but I’m going to Paris!
“So, I have exciting news,” I announce, full of barely contained excitement. They pause and stare at me, wide-eyed. I’m typically pretty mellow, so this is unusual for me.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Corrie asks, in that-would-be-the-end-of-the-world tone.
I laugh. “Nope.”
“You’re engaged?” Maeve says and peeks at my hand.
I smile. “Nope.”
“Well, what is it?” Gabbie asks. “Don’t leave us hanging.”
“I’m going to Paris in April. My mom’s getting married.”
“Really?” Corrie, says, surprised. “Isn’t she like, about seventy?”
I smile. “She’s only fifty-nine, and besides, there’s no age limit on love.”
“Is she marrying that Mark guy?” Maeve asks. “The rich guy?”
I take a hesitant sip of my hot tea. “Yep, and he’s paying for me and a guest to go to Paris.”
“Wow,” Maeve says. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?”
