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"Then what are you doing out on a lunch date with her parents, hmm?"
"Dad, I think he's being polite."
"I appreciate politeness,” Dad narrows his eyes, “but I've had a lot of bosses in my day. None of them were gonna come out to meet my folks."
Dad has sniffed out the situation better than I gave him credit for.
"You are completely correct, Mr. McBride," Olivier says, and I hold my breath. "But Natalie is not just any girl. I think we can both agree to that. Without her, I… I…"
He pauses and looks at me. Why is he looking at me? What am I supposed to say in this situation? I'm the one who got left behind in the park the other day with my lips still pursed after his face had been stuck on mine.
I'm not going to save him from this one.
"Natalie means very much to me," he says to my father, while looking at me. "Without her, there are many things in my life recently that would have gone in all the wrong directions."
Well now, what is that supposed to mean?
On the inside, I'm boiling. If I were back home, I'd be sitting this man down and making him come clean about his intentions. But we're not in Texas. We're in Paris. On a boat. Eating the most divine meal of crayfish and asparagus, all thanks to him. And I'm not sure what words I could even say with Mom and Dad sitting right here.
Instead, I laugh. Yes, I laugh hard. I am howling. Mom looks at me like I'm crazy. Dad has a funny smirk. And Olivier himself starts to giggle.
"Her laugh is contagious," he says. "Don't you agree?"
We're all laughing. None of us really know why, but it feels good. A release at last. The rest of the meal moves along smoothly, with Mom and Dad speaking of their plans to relive the initial days of their romance—ew—and Olivier explaining more about what the event at the Eiffel Tower has to be.
"You see," he says. "This is a cutthroat business. I knew that before I came into it, but I didn't realize when we received our Michelin stars just how the competition might turn to dirty tricks. And this is my chance—perhaps my only and last chance—to turn this around."
"Well," Mom says. "An event on top of the Eiffel Tower has to do it."
"It's good," he says. "There's no doubt that the location alone will add many degrees of uniqueness. But that's only meaningful to those people who attend the dinner that particular night...I want to put something on that the rest of Paris can appreciate and enjoy."
"But what?"Dad scratches his chin like Sherlock Holmes.
"We are creating a dish for the night, which is a unique feature."
"I know," Mom jumps in. "You could publish the recipe in a women's magazine. We love that stuff."
"That's not bad," Olivier says. "But that's probably playing the longer game. And I need something immediate. A smash, a hit. Into the park." Olivier points off the boat’s deck into the distance.
"A hit out of the park," Dad says. "What about having some famous French singer put on a concert in that park at the bottom?"
I have to give it to Dad, that was not a bad idea.
"I am afraid it's quite short notice, even for the contacts I have. But please," he says, smiling to Mom and Dad. "Let's pass to more pleasant subjects. In France, we don't like to talk about work over our meals."
"That sounds like a delightful habit," Mom says. "We are always talking shop while eating with many negative consequences. Usually my husband spitting out his food on me."
"Mom!" I whine.
"It's true," Dad says. "I talk with my mouth full. It's a terrible habit."
Olivier laughs just as the coffees are served. Mom leans forward.
"Why is this coffee so little?" she says.
"Because it's extra strong," I tell her.
"Oh, how nice," she replies and downs it like a shot.
