AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sure, I could have waited a few more years before becoming a parent. And navigating pregnancy without my own mother or any kind of rulebook terrifies me to the core.
But that doesn’t mean I should be caving in.
I stroke my thickening tummy, saying a silent prayer of gratitude.
Surveying glossy hardwood floors and designer furnishings in the elegantly converted studio space, I inhale the rich aroma of hot chocolate, mixed in with the one of coffee.
I run my hands over my dress, checking the fit. Viv's sharp eyes trace the self-conscious gesture before knowingly meeting my gaze.
“How far along are you now anyway? Twenty weeks?” She keeps her tone neutral.
“Yep.”
Viv chuckles, patting my hand. “So, when are you gonna tell Jack? Hopefully before the summer? Once the baby pops out, you should have that conversation behind you already.”
I shift uneasily. Even an ocean away, the Whitmore empire still looms.
“Let's just say his family has oppressive expectations around heirs. Plus, baby daddy sees me as a flakey child playing dress-up.”
Viv smooths back my hair like she did when I was a girl. Her touch is soothing, so similar to my mother’s. “Yet this flakey child is launching an international business. I'd say you have a few life lessons to teach those arrogant suits.”
“That’s right, Auntie,” I say, straightening up. “Fuck the Whitmores.”
At that, a giggle escapes her. She stands up, waving me off. “You already did that, girlie,” she chides jokingly. “So, what are we listening to today?” she asks, turning up Billie Holiday. “Does this hit the mood?”
The bluesy melodies mingle with the muted bustle outside, and I nod as I turn back to my laptop. She works best with music playing in the background, and I’m cut from the same cloth. We both lose ourselves in our projects. I go over several logo mockups for my website, and then research Instagram hashtags. The hours flow by productively while my dream inches into a tangible shape. My hand distractedly strokes my abdomen, anchoring a fierce resolve to build something true and lasting.
Eventually, Viv sighs contentedly over her drafting table. “How about a bite at that sidewalk café with the divine salads?”
Through the windows, midday Parisian sun beckons like a gilded gift after spitting persistent spring rain for the past three days.
I peek through glass panes, considering. “Sounds perfect. Maybe I'll be able to take some footage nearby too before the clouds roll back in.”
Viv smiles approvingly as I grab my purse and phone.
She locks the door, and we step out into Marais Street life bustling under azure skies. Bundled against the early March bite, locals sip espresso at busy cafés along cobblestone blocks. On tree-lined Rue des Francs Bourgeois, scents of roasted chicken and confectionery treats intermingle as patrons crowd patios with tiny dogs underfoot.
I link my arm through Viv's, never tired of enjoying her adopted city through a native's lens. My chest squeezes with familiar grief and gratitude at everything Mom's vivacious sister gives me so generously—affection, confidence in the woman I have become, and a safe harbor to recalibrate.
As if reading my thoughts, she pats my intertwined elbow. “Your mere presence here is like your mother has resurrected. You are so much like Lillian, but with a spark all of your own. She would be so proud of you, girlie.”
I swallow, thickness gathering in my throat. If only she could be here to guide me through this unfolding chapter. But at least I have Aunt Viv.
“Merci, Auntie,” I whisper simply.
We select a cozy café where bowls of onion soup gratinee and staples like croque monsieur feature prominently on the handwritten menus. Viv orders us the salads we enjoyed last time along with a glass of wine for her and a sparkling water for me.
We fall into easy chatter about baby names while Paris bustles around us. The quintessential lunch gets my phone camera clicking.
After we’re done eating, we pay the bill and stroll toward the Seine. “The Pompidou Center never gets old!” I exclaim. “Let me shoot a video here. It’s a modern marvel; my followers will love it.”
She nods, and we pass street performers wowing tourists under the iconic exposed piping and the beams flanking Place Georges Pompidou. Revelers cluster on its massive plaza, enjoying the toothy March sun.
I hand Aunt Viv my iPhone, the signature intro song clip I use already queued up.
“Help this TikTok star get some Paris footage.” I wink playfully. “My followers are going to drool over this one!”
“Show us your moves, girlie.” Viv laughs. She trains the lens on me as I strike a pose in front of that iconic modern building, its primary colors reflecting whimsically over my elegant knee-length camel coat. But the sun is shining strong, and I take it off, dropping it on a nearby bench.
