Feed the Birds (Open)

[The Exodus]

OOC: Open scene! BIC:

Gabriel Fontaine

This was the fifth time since leaving the apartment that Gabriel had to fix Leopold’s scarf for him. At three years old, Leopold was far more interested in waving his scarf around like a bright red flag than wearing it to stay warm. Gabriel couldn’t blame him. It was a very pretty flag.

But ten years ago, Gabriel had been the father of a three year old. And he knew that if any age group was susceptible to the flu, it was toddlers. Sophie hadn’t been a sickly child, per se, but it seemed every time the weather dipped below freezing, she had a sore throat, a runny nose, an earache. Gabriel wasn’t letting Leopold get sick on his watch.

“You keep that scarf on, little man,” Gabriel said to his nephew very seriously.

Leopold nodded. He looked so solemn, with his wide, dark eyes and little, bow mouth drawn up tight. But the second Gabriel stood back up, Leopold started to giggle. He still only spoke and understood rudimentary French, after all. Gabriel sighed and ruffled Leopold’s hair. Then he sat down on the ground so that he was eye level with the kid. Once there, Gabriel heaved his backpack off of his shoulders and pulled out some day-old dinner rolls from the restaurant.

“Leopold,” he said, “We’re going to feed the birds. Can you say Le Oiseau? Bird?”

“Wah-zoh,” Leopold parroted back phonetically. “Wah-zoh est mi ami!”

Proud, Gabriel handed Leopold a roll. Leopold looked at it and smiled. Gabriel gave him an encouraging little nod. And then Leopold took a big bite out of the roll.

“Wah-zoh? he asked happily. Gabriel put his head in his hand. “Wah-zoh!”

Gwen was going to murder Gabriel if he taught her son that “bread” and “bird” were interchangeable. Gwen and Gabriel were both chefs; Gwen was a pastry chef and baker. Bread was her livelihood; birds were Gabriel’s responsibility in the kitchen. He had to remove feathers and debone them, dress them, roast them. And he’d failed to teach Leopold the difference. The child of a chef!

Leopold crawled into Gabriel’s lap and offered him the roll.

“Wah-zoh, Oncle Gabriel?”

Gabriel pulled off part of the roll and chucked it at a nearby pigeon. Then pointing at the bird, he said, “Le oiseau.”

Leopold’s face brightened. And then he threw the whole roll at the pigeon. Suddenly, the sky darkened as every pigeon in a thirty foot radius descended upon the bread, cooing and cawing.

“Les Oiseaux!” Gabriel exclaimed, gesturing to all the birds. It looked like a bad imitation of a Hitchcock film. But it gave Gabriel an idea. He leapt to his feet and flapped his arms like wings. “Les Oiseaux! Let’s be birds, Leopold! Fly with me!”

Leopold held out his arms like the rigid wings of an airplane and zoomed around in circles. Maybe there was hope yet.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: Response for Deanna! BiC:

Olive Degarmo

The weekends were Olive’s safe haven. All of her work for Monday was complete and sat laid out on her coffee table for quick pick up tomorrow morning with efficient organization. Her professional life was as put together as possible, and she wore a proud façade of collectivity because beneath all of the clean edges and precision, Olive was breaking apart. Which was one of the two reasons why the Bois called her every Sunday for quiet, serene, meditative yoga. She breathed fresh air into the healthy lungs that lay nestled in her ribcage as she stretched in ways that once upon a time would have killed her.

She gently took in the faint scent of early spring around her, the grass poking through her yoga mat and toes, determined to reach the sun to bring forth the new start that March brought about. This was the time of year that Olive loved the most. All around her were chirping birds providing her work out soundtrack, families strolling in the comfortable chill, and the clear sky putting the ‘sun’ in ‘Sunday’. In her head, she heard her favorite Mozartian arias soar in her mind as she pulled her leg into a scorpion stance, balancing carefully.

But the melody, her balance, and her focus were thrown off by the squawking of birds. She looked up to see the blue sky cast opaque by a giant cloud of birds. She watched them swarm down in the middle of the park, and in the middle of their chaos danced a familiar stranger and a small child.

She smiled at the sight of him. It was Gabriel. She laughed at the sight of him, looking so in his element in the company of the child. She pulled herself up and, barefoot, left her group of distracted yoga mates and made her way towards him.

“Les Oiseaux! Let’s be birds, Leopold! Fly with me!” He cried as they zipped around, encircling the massive flock that zoomed around them until the young boy fell on his back, looking up at the birds with wonder. Then, his eyes fell on Olive.

“Lady!” he yelled happily with a smile. “Bonjour, Lady!”

He smiled at him and waved kindly. Children made her heart melt. “Bonjour, monsieur” she responded. Then, to Gabriel, who continued spinning, she said. “Hello, Gabriel.”

Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard from Gabriel since Christmas, and now that she bothered to dwell on that fact, she realized he missed him and wondered why he never called her. Had she done something wrong?

[The Exodus]

Gabriel Fontaine

Together, Gabriel and Leopold zipped around the clearing, flapping their arms and crowing – laughing after a few minutes – as they “flew”. Three was a great age: just after potty training and just before school. Imagination still reigned king (or queen) and there wasn’t any time for meanness while there were bugs to look at, birds to feed, castles to build. Tantrums came from nothing more than being sleepy or confused; things easily remedied. Three was better than thirteen, as Gabriel’s own daughter was. She’d deem this sight “embarrassing” and go sulk if she were here. Sophie was at that age where everything Gabriel did was “humiliating”. Even things she used to like. If all went well with the lawyers over the summer, though, Sophie would be living in Paris with Gabriel again. Leopold would have a cousin nearby; Gabriel would have his girl back. And maybe Sophie would lighten up again, turn back into the cheerful young woman she’d been before Cristina whisked her off to Marseilles. It was a tougher city, less friendly than Paris, less freeing.

I’ll bet they don’t play Birds in Marseilles.

Fwoomp!

Gabriel looked over to see that Leopold had either thrown himself to the ground or fallen down. He was watching the birds with rapt fascination – no fear of being pooped on. Gabriel shielded his eyes and looked up. They were flying in mesmerizing circles, the real birds. Their wing beats were as loud – maybe louder – than surrounding foot traffic. But under the swooshing, Gabriel could still hear Leopold.

“Lady!” he yelled happily with a smile. “Bonjour, Lady!”

Gabriel chuckled and didn’t look over. Instead, he lay down on the ground beside his nephew. Leopold might have been addressing a man, for all he knew. He still called Torben “Mama” and Gwen “Daddy”, after all.

But it was a woman’s voice that said “Bonjour, monsieur” to Leopold. And a woman’s voice that said, “Hello, Gabriel.”

He recognized the voice immediately, even if he was getting a totally upside-down view of the speaker. Olive Degarmo. She was a friend of Gabriel’s – or, well, she had been at any rate – and she was Sophie’s idol. After Christmas, though, they hadn’t really spoken. Christmas had been a total disaster in Gabriel’s book. He’d run out to answer the door while holding a knife. Sophie spent much of the night screaming. Torben got all stalker-creepy at Olive. It was a Mad Tea Party gone bad. Gabriel cringed, just thinking of it.

“Olive, hi,” Gabriel said, looking up at her.

Leopold waved again and said, “Olive-hi!” as if it was a single, sing-songy word.

“How goes it? I see you’ve met Leopold.”

“Olive-hi!” Leopold said again. “Bonjour, Olive-hi!”

“Just Olive, little man. Madame Olive. Or Mademoiselle. Which one can you say?” he looked from Leopold back over to Olive. “He doesn’t speak much French. We’re working on that.”

But Leopold wasn't working on anything right now. He'd gone quiet again and was fixated by the birds flying overhead.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Olive Degarmo

Gabriel didn’t smile the way he had been not two minutes before, frolicking with the small child and Olive felt her own smile quiver with a falter. “Olive, hi,” he said, squinting up into the sun at her. She offered a small, tentative wave.

“Olive-hi!” the child chanted, spinning, still a bird. She chuckled. Children were adorable at this age. They were adorable at any age, but at this age, anything was possible. At this age, they could be a bird, or a tree, and solve world hunger, and cure cancer. Their world was limitless and their imagination could fathom up whole new universes. And when they got older, all of that was squashed out of them, obliterated and changed into societal expectations.

Maybe that was why Olive treasured Gabriel so much. Somehow, he had reached adulthood unscathed, the child in him still free and thriving. He was a walking vessel of hope. He was a miracle, really, walking through the fires of adolescence, that inner child still intact.

“How goes it? I see you’ve met Leopold.”

Olive looked at the small child. So his name was Leopold. She examined him a moment as he chanted, wondering how they were related. Certainly, there were similarities that made Olive wonder if this child’s blood matched Gabriel’s.

“Olive-hi!” Leopold said again. “Bonjour, Olive-hi!”

Olive giggled as Gabriel chimed in to correct Leopold. “Just Olive, little man. Madame Olive. Or Mademoiselle. Which one can you say?”

Leopold nodded with understanding and let out a gleeful “mammoth-sell!” and Olive could only assume he meant “mademoiselle”.

“He doesn’t speak much French. We’re working on that.” Gabriel explained as Leopold began tottering around again. But in the child’s eyes, he could have been soaring.

“He’s certainly precious.” She said. She thought about Gabriel’s lovely daughter and the ex-wife he had once before mentioned. Her mind turned, piecing the past several weeks together in her head. Or, attempting to, rather. “Is he yours?”

Gabriel’s what she didn’t know. But she inquired nonetheless, curious and secretly hoping the man she had come to care for wasn’t buried beneath secrets. But, at the same time, she was enjoying peeling back each layer to slowly reveal Gabriel. He fascinated her on a logical and emotional level and seeing him with this child only piqued her interest more.

[The Exodus]

Mar 6, 2013 20:02:25 GMT -6 Lets_Eat_Paste said:

Olive Degarmo

Gabriel didn’t smile the way he had been not two minutes before, frolicking with the small child and Olive felt her own smile quiver with a falter. “Olive, hi,” he said, squinting up into the sun at her. She offered a small, tentative wave.

“Olive-hi!” the child chanted, spinning, still a bird. She chuckled. Children were adorable at this age. They were adorable at any age, but at this age, anything was possible. At this age, they could be a bird, or a tree, and solve world hunger, and cure cancer. Their world was limitless and their imagination could fathom up whole new universes. And when they got older, all of that was squashed out of them, obliterated and changed into societal expectations.

Maybe that was why Olive treasured Gabriel so much. Somehow, he had reached adulthood unscathed, the child in him still free and thriving. He was a walking vessel of hope. He was a miracle, really, walking through the fires of adolescence, that inner child still intact.

“How goes it? I see you’ve met Leopold.”

Olive looked at the small child. So his name was Leopold. She examined him a moment as he chanted, wondering how they were related. Certainly, there were similarities that made Olive wonder if this child’s blood matched Gabriel’s.

“Olive-hi!” Leopold said again. “Bonjour, Olive-hi!”

Olive giggled as Gabriel chimed in to correct Leopold. “Just Olive, little man. Madame Olive. Or Mademoiselle. Which one can you say?”

Leopold nodded with understanding and let out a gleeful “mammoth-sell!” and Olive could only assume he meant “mademoiselle”.

“He doesn’t speak much French. We’re working on that.” Gabriel explained as Leopold began tottering around again. But in the child’s eyes, he could have been soaring.

“He’s certainly precious.” She said. She thought about Gabriel’s lovely daughter and the ex-wife he had once before mentioned. Her mind turned, piecing the past several weeks together in her head. Or, attempting to, rather. “Is he yours?”

Gabriel’s what she didn’t know. But she inquired nonetheless, curious and secretly hoping the man she had come to care for wasn’t buried beneath secrets. But, at the same time, she was enjoying peeling back each layer to slowly reveal Gabriel. He fascinated her on a logical and emotional level and seeing him with this child only piqued her interest more.

OOC: I win all the awards for sucking at RP. BIC:

Gabriel Fontaine

Leopold was the friendliest kid Gabriel had ever met. Most kids were friendly. But Leopold never met anyone or anything he didn’t want to be friends with. People, birds, rocks… It was like Leopold believed everything had a spirit or something. Maybe he had the right idea, treating everyone and everything with kindness. Right now, he was beaming up at Olive, like a puppy eager for a treat.

“He’s certainly precious,” Olive said. “Is he yours?”

“People don’t belong to people,” Gabriel said blithely. Then, realizing what Olive actually meant – is he your son – he laughed and shrugged. “Leopold is all of ours; he’s a gift. He’s Gwen’s little sous chef and Torben’s little artist. He’s my pal, though. My nephew. Isn’t that right, Leopold?”

Leopold looked over at Gabriel and answered with a nod and a declaration of: “My Gibby.”

He grabbed Gabriel’s hand and held it tight with his sticky fingers. Gabriel smiled.

“Yeah. I guess that’s more to the point. I’m his Gibby.” He looked down at Leopold and then back up at Olive. A mischievous smile wriggled onto Gabriel’s lips. “Don’t tell anyone he calls me that. It’s my true name. Anyone who knows it has power over me.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Olive Degarmo

Olive watched the child who was now fascinated by a rock, seeming to listen to it as if it was telling him some sort of secret. “People don’t belong to people,” Gabriel said and Olive almost jumped at his words. They did not match his carefree tone and sounded as if they belonged on a soapbox, not amidst a flock of hungry birds.

“Leopold is all of ours; he’s a gift. He’s Gwen’s little sous chef and Torben’s little artist. He’s my pal, though. My nephew. Isn’t that right, Leopold?”

It was certainly a poetic way of explaining his relationship to the boy, and it explained why he hadn’t called her. He was busy not only being the loving father he was, but he was also busy welcoming home a new nephew. Gwendoline and Torben were lovely people and a lovely couple, and Leopold looked more like them that Olive would have expected. It was interesting, really, that she had been busy going throughout her daily life and the Fontaines were busy with adjusting to the momentous occasion of welcoming a child into their family. How fortuitous for them! How precious! It reminded Olive of how hopelessly alone she felt.

But before she could allow herself to delve any deeper into her reflective sadness, Leopold’s little voice cooed up into the heavens. “My Gibby.”

It wasn’t a word she had heard before but one glance at Gabriel said it all. His cheeks flushed a light pink and his eyes softened at the name. Gibby was Gabriel.


“Yeah. I guess that’s more to the point. I’m his Gibby.” He said as if he had heard her thoughts. Her heart became butter for a moment. Gabriel may have been too busy to talk to her, but he was still Gabriel, still the same man she had mooned over these past few months. And it was easy to see why. A mischievous grin made its way onto his face, the same one she assumed was his default. “Don’t tell anyone he calls me that. It’s my true name. Anyone who knows it has power over me.”

Who would she tell, even?

“Well, Gibby certainly seems to be a fitting name for you, Gabriel. I must say. Of all the nicknames you could have, Leopold picked a good one.”

“Olive-hi, look!” Leopold said and Olive bent at the waist to his level. He grabbed her hand and placed in a rock. ”Leo make this.” It was the same rock he had been sharing secrets with just moments before. “Take. Take rock!”

Olive accepted his offering gladly. “Thank you, Leopold.” Often times, her students would give her apples and cards in hopes of an A. Even adults gave her gifts in trade for things: dates, apologies, favors. But this was special. This rock from Leopold was a truly selfless act. There was no hope for a gift in return, no agenda to be reached. The act was so angelic, so pure, that Olive would have willingly believed Leopold had, indeed, made the rock. “This really means a lot to me.” Leopold beamed up proudly at her. When did children stop being children?, she wondered. But then she glanced at Gabriel, remember that maybe they didn’t. Maybe all adults were children still, but most of them had been corrupted, adulterated by the pressures of the world. It was amazing that Gabriel had survived that.

“You have quite a child on your hands, Gabriel. What a blessing he is.”

[The Exodus]

Gabriel Fontaine

Gwen called him “Gabe”; everyone else called him “Gabriel”. “Monsieur Fontaine” was – and forever would be – Gabriel’s famous filmmaker father. But “Gibby” was a name he could really get behind for himself. It didn’t take itself too seriously.

Olive seemed to agree.

“Well, Gibby certainly seems to be a fitting name for you, Gabriel. I must say. Of all the nicknames you could have, Leopold picked a good one.”

Gabriel nodded. “I should really make the name-change permanent.”

Before Olive could respond, though, Leopold beckoned to her. He handed her one of his rocks – a habit he’d formed of late. Gwen once told Leopold that a singular rock was lucky. He’d somehow applied that idea to all rocks. Rocks were emblematic of good luck and of happiness. And who was Gabriel – or anyone – to crush that kind of fantasy? Olive accepted the gift graciously.

“You have quite a child on your hands, Gabriel. What a blessing he is.”

“No joke,” Gabriel said, beaming. “He’s my godson, y’know. My godsent godson.”

He wondered if Olive had any special kids in her life. She had her students, but there were so many that Gabriel didn’t think it was possible to love that many children equally, unless they were all yours.

Who wants that many kids?

Gabriel had always thought two was the best number. He was biased, of course, as a twin. He was blessed enough to have two wonderful kids in his life: Sophie and Leopold.

“You have godchildren?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Olive Degarmo

“No joke,” Gabriel said with such pride, Olive would have mistaken Leopold for his own flesh and blood. Gabriel glowed the way a father did after their child won the spelling bee or graduated. She had seen that look on her brothers’-in-law faces before and Gabriel’s put them both to shame. “He’s my godson, y’know. My godsent godson.”

It was the most precious thing she had ever heard and she hoped Leopold loved his ’Gibby’ this much forever. It was a special bond, and Olive had seen far too many relationships fade and fizzle away, lost to teenage years and generations that stood at odds from one another.

“You have godchildren?” Gabriel asked and Olive smiled. She thought of Azelma and Serge, Sylvie’s two kids. Claudette had said she was foolish to entrust Olive with them. ‘She’s too busy performing. Let me have them,’ she said almost every Christmas, though Olive called her godkids faithfully and sent them presents from this country and that. ‘She’s sick. Don’t bother her with children,’ was Claudette’s response for three years after Olive’s surgery, though seeing Azelma and Serge was often what kept her spirits up. But now, Claudette was resigned to the fact that Sylvie knew what she was doing all along and that Olive was happy as a godmother and truly blessed to have Sylvie’s faith in her.

“Two,” she said with a smile. “Azelma and Serge. My younger sister’s children.” Her older sister had a daughter, too, and a grandbaby on the way. Olive felt awfully old and she looked at her hands, hoping Gabriel wouldn’t see how aged they looked in this light. “I have another niece as well. She’s twenty-one. And…” she watched Leopold balance a leaf on her nose. “I’m doing my age any favours by telling you, but I’m going to be a great aunt, too.” She was forty. It felt too young to be a “great” anything, but too old to pretend she wasn’t heading in that direction. It was an odd age. ‘An age of empowerment’ Claudette had tried to tell her when she turned forty. But Olive didn’t feel empowered. She felt dull and transient, much like the moon felt, she imagined, when it was far too overcast to be seen. “Fortunately, you won’t have to deal with that any time soon.”

[The Exodus]

Gabriel Fontaine

Until Leopold came along, Gabriel had never had a godchild. He and Cristina had been the Rossi siblings’ last choice for godparents. The perpetually broke, avant-garde twenty-somethings they’d been when Gabriel’s former nieces and nephews were born weren’t any parents’ first choice for godparenthood. And until Leopold came around, Gabriel didn’t know what he was missing. He’d never wanted to be a godfather to Cristina’s nieces and nephews, who made fun of Sophie’s Italian and Gabriel’s clothes.

“We lucked out on that one,” he’d said to Cristina after her fourth nephew’s baptism. They were watching the older three kids squabble in the church pew ahead of them. One had placed gum inside the pages of a Bible.

“Be nice,” Cristina said. “We’re in Church.”

She’d agreed during the reception, after a drink or two, when her oldest niece dumped tomato sauce on Sophie’s head. They’d vowed never to be saddled with the responsibility for anyone else’s kids. They’d also vowed to stay together until death and they hadn’t kept that promise. Was it any shocker that Gabriel volunteered to be Leopold’s godfather?

Besides, Leopold was a Fontaine-Blau, not a Rossi.

Still. Gabriel was out of his depth. He couldn’t all up his ex-in-laws for advice. And even though Gwen and Torben were Sophie’s godparents, he didn’t want to crawl to them for advice. Not yet. Maybe Olive knew what it was to have godkids. Maybe she had an inkling what Gabriel was supposed to do.

“Two,” she said with a smile. “Azelma and Serge. My younger sister’s children.”

It struck Gabriel – not for the first time – that Olive had siblings out there in the world. Siblings who’d ditched her for the holidays last Christmas. He nodded, unable to feel anger towards the unnamed younger sister; clearly, her children brought Olive joy.

“I have another niece as well. She’s twenty-one. And… I’m doing my age any favours by telling you, but I’m going to be a great aunt, too.”

The phrase “I’m sure you’re an excellent aunt” danced on Gabriel’s tongue but refused to fall out. He understood her meaning, loud and clear.

“Fortunately, you won’t have to deal with that any time soon.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said. He looked over at Leopold. A large, green leaf draped over the little boy’s face. Gabriel smiled and was surprised by the twinge of sadness that quivered in him. He wouldn’t have to worry about being a great-uncle or – heart be still – a grandfather any time soon. But time was elusive. It’d be just a matter of time before Sophie was grown and had a family of her own. Gabriel wanted his daughter back in Paris more than anything. He shook his head. “But they aren’t little forever. You know, Sophie’s going to be fourteen this summer. She keeps reminding me that she’s ‘practically a woman now’. Not in my house, she’s not.”

He smiled a little. He pitied any boy who tried to take his daughter out. Not that he would do the whole polishing-the-shotgun routine. No. He’d send Torben and his coffee out to greet any young man who was interested in Sophie. If the guy thought he was being poisoned, it might be enough deterrent.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Olive Degarmo

Olive couldn’t help but notice the faint ghost of sadness that washed over Gabriel’s face as he looked at Leopold. “Yeah,” Gabriel said, though it was hardly audible. She remembered finding out she was going to be a great-aunt. It was hardly as devastating as she thought it would be. Claudette was bawling over the phone, going on and on about how Stephanie was unmarried (though there was no shame in being engaged and pregnant in Olive’s eyes), how Claudette was too young at 45 to be a grandmother, how her husband wasn’t talking to Stephanie at the moment, and how Stephanie didn’t even have her own house . Olive tuned her out. She was going to be a great-aunt, not a grandmother, not mother, not a sister. Great-aunt was a far more detached title, far more distant experience than what Claudette or Stephanie were going through. She had no need, no right to complain at such joyous news. But it wasn’t until after she hung up with Claudette that she noticed the faint fissures and chasms of wrinkles and lines around her eyes. Being ‘great’ wasn’t quite as ‘great’ at 40 than it should have been. She was happy for Stephanie, but every time she thought of her eldest niece, all she could envision was her as an infant in the pictures Claudette has sent her. Olive had tried to be there for the birth, but she was recording in Tokyo and the blizzard in Paris made travel difficult. Maybe that was why Olive was Claudette’s last choice for godmother, and maybe that was why little Stephanie wasn’t over to her house as often.

“But they aren’t little forever. You know, Sophie’s going to be fourteen this summer. She keeps reminding me that she’s ‘practically a woman now’. Not in my house, she’s not.”

Olive let out a laugh. “You sound so like my brother-in-law. Azelma’s about Sophie’s age—just turned thirteen—and Martin talks so much about how she won’t be dating until she’s thirty. And Serge, he’s fifteen now and quite the strapping young man. It’s like, you look at these young adults and all you see is the little babies God or whoever entrusted you with and you can’t help but wonder where the time went and why you weren’t watching them more or making more memories.” Olive sighed, joining in Gabriel’s sadness. “Maybe they can get together the next time Sophie’s in Paris. Though, of course, I completely understand if you just want to spend time with her alone. Like you said, she won’t stay little forever…”

[The Exodus]

Gabriel Fontaine

Having a teenaged daughter was the most frustrating and rewarding thing Gabriel had ever done. Sophie was – to say the least – headstrong. He had no idea where she got it from, since both he and Cristina were such mild-mannered and demure human beings.

“She’s payback,” Cristina said last week while the talked on the phone. “For all the wild and crazy things you and Gwen did growing up.”

“I hope not,” Gabriel said. “I only got worse when Gwen couldn’t keep an eye on me. And what about you and your brothers, hmm?”

It had been a relatively pleasant chat, given that they were divorced and given that the subject at hand was their daughter skipping music lessons to hang out on the school rooftop. She wasn’t doing anything up there: no drugs, no sex, no gambling. She was just sitting up there. Not even at the absolute edge.

“I don’t want to go anymore,” Sophie protested. “I think I’m old enough to make that choice at least… I’m practically a grown up.”

Olive laughed at the notion of Sophie-as-grown-up. Or maybe she laughed at Gabriel’s response to it. He offered his friend a helpless, little shrug. What else did you say to your not-even-fourteen-year-old without damaging her self-esteem, anyways?

“You sound so like my brother-in-law,” said Olive. “Azelma’s about Sophie’s age—just turned thirteen—and Martin talks so much about how she won’t be dating until she’s thirty. And Serge, he’s fifteen now and quite the strapping young man. It’s like, you look at these young adults and all you see is the little babies God or whoever entrusted you with and you can’t help but wonder where the time went and why you weren’t watching them more or making more memories.”

Olive seemed sad; Gabriel wasn’t. The only memories he missed out on in Sophie’s life were updated to Facebook now, texted to him, delivered somehow by proxy. He’d been there for all those milestone moments; if he could persuade Cristina to let Sophie move back home, he wouldn’t miss out on anymore. The thought crossed his mind – briefly – to pack up and go to Marseilles, but one look at Leopold, who was gathering leaves and flowers from the ground, told Gabriel that he couldn’t leave now. Not yet. He’d see Sophie at least for the summer; maybe longer if all went in his favor in court.

“Maybe they can get together the next time Sophie’s in Paris,” Olive said. Gabriel didn’t know if she meant Azelma-who-is-Sophie’s-age or the strapping-and-fifteen-year-old Serge. He hoped she meant Azelma, but nodded anyways. “Though, of course, I completely understand if you just want to spend time with her alone. Like you said, she won’t stay little forever…”

“She’ll be home this summer,” Gabriel said. “And my lawyers and Cristina’s are still bickering about whether Marseilles or Paris is a better place to raise a child. I’ve been trying to persuade her to just move back to Paris and make it easier on all of us. But… Well… I’ve never been good at persuading my ex-wife to do anything. Even when she was less “ex” and more “wife”, y’know?”

Gabriel chuckled. But in all seriousness, there were plenty of jobs for health inspectors in Paris. Why Marseilles? And why did she absolutely have to have Sophie for that misadventure? Marseilles was rife with crime; you heard it on the national news sometimes. Gwen’s friend Tristan was from Marseilles and when Gabriel had asked him what it was like, his eyes went feral and angry and scared and he said “Awful” before Gwen turned on the home ice cream maker and drowned out their conversation. Probably on purpose. The few times Gabriel had been to Marseilles himself – to pick Sophie up, to visit, and once for a parent-teacher conference – it had seemed all right. It smelled salty and Gabriel imagined that every restaurant was thoroughly doused in sea salt. Maybe chefs there didn’t believe they needed to season their food, since their customers were all choking on the salty air. Maybe that’s why Cristina was there, to educate and save the culinary souls of Marseilles residents.

A fool’s errand, if Gabriel had ever heard of one.

He cleared his throat hard.

“But Sophie will definitely be home for the summer,” he said. “It’s whether or not she’ll stay through the fall that’s up in the air. I’m sure she’d love to meet your godchildren, though. I mean, she loves you.”

[The Exodus]

Gabriel Fontaine

Having a teenaged daughter was the most frustrating and rewarding thing Gabriel had ever done. Sophie was – to say the least – headstrong. He had no idea where she got it from, since both he and Cristina were such mild-mannered and demure human beings.

“She’s payback,” Cristina said last week while the talked on the phone. “For all the wild and crazy things you and Gwen did growing up.”

“I hope not,” Gabriel said. “I only got worse when Gwen couldn’t keep an eye on me. And what about you and your brothers, hmm?”

It had been a relatively pleasant chat, given that they were divorced and given that the subject at hand was their daughter skipping music lessons to hang out on the school rooftop. She wasn’t doing anything up there: no drugs, no sex, no gambling. She was just sitting up there. Not even at the absolute edge.

“I don’t want to go anymore,” Sophie protested. “I think I’m old enough to make that choice at least… I’m practically a grown up.”

Olive laughed at the notion of Sophie-as-grown-up. Or maybe she laughed at Gabriel’s response to it. He offered his friend a helpless, little shrug. What else did you say to your not-even-fourteen-year-old without damaging her self-esteem, anyways?

“You sound so like my brother-in-law,” said Olive. “Azelma’s about Sophie’s age—just turned thirteen—and Martin talks so much about how she won’t be dating until she’s thirty. And Serge, he’s fifteen now and quite the strapping young man. It’s like, you look at these young adults and all you see is the little babies God or whoever entrusted you with and you can’t help but wonder where the time went and why you weren’t watching them more or making more memories.”

Olive seemed sad; Gabriel wasn’t. The only memories he missed out on in Sophie’s life were updated to Facebook now, texted to him, delivered somehow by proxy. He’d been there for all those milestone moments; if he could persuade Cristina to let Sophie move back home, he wouldn’t miss out on anymore. The thought crossed his mind – briefly – to pack up and go to Marseilles, but one look at Leopold, who was gathering leaves and flowers from the ground, told Gabriel that he couldn’t leave now. Not yet. He’d see Sophie at least for the summer; maybe longer if all went in his favor in court.

“Maybe they can get together the next time Sophie’s in Paris,” Olive said. Gabriel didn’t know if she meant Azelma-who-is-Sophie’s-age or the strapping-and-fifteen-year-old Serge. He hoped she meant Azelma, but nodded anyways. “Though, of course, I completely understand if you just want to spend time with her alone. Like you said, she won’t stay little forever…”

“She’ll be home this summer,” Gabriel said. “And my lawyers and Cristina’s are still bickering about whether Marseilles or Paris is a better place to raise a child. I’ve been trying to persuade her to just move back to Paris and make it easier on all of us. But… Well… I’ve never been good at persuading my ex-wife to do anything. Even when she was less “ex” and more “wife”, y’know?”

Gabriel chuckled. But in all seriousness, there were plenty of jobs for health inspectors in Paris. Why Marseilles? And why did she absolutely have to have Sophie for that misadventure? Marseilles was rife with crime; you heard it on the national news sometimes. Gwen’s friend Tristan was from Marseilles and when Gabriel had asked him what it was like, his eyes went feral and angry and scared and he said “Awful” before Gwen turned on the home ice cream maker and drowned out their conversation. Probably on purpose. The few times Gabriel had been to Marseilles himself – to pick Sophie up, to visit, and once for a parent-teacher conference – it had seemed all right. It smelled salty and Gabriel imagined that every restaurant was thoroughly doused in sea salt. Maybe chefs there didn’t believe they needed to season their food, since their customers were all choking on the salty air. Maybe that’s why Cristina was there, to educate and save the culinary souls of Marseilles residents.

A fool’s errand, if Gabriel had ever heard of one.

He cleared his throat hard.

“But Sophie will definitely be home for the summer,” he said. “It’s whether or not she’ll stay through the fall that’s up in the air. I’m sure she’d love to meet your godchildren, though. I mean, she loves you.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Olive Degarmo
“She’ll be home this summer. And my lawyers and Cristina’s are still bickering about whether Marseilles or Paris is a better place to raise a child. I’ve been trying to persuade her to just move back to Paris and make it easier on all of us,” Gabriel said more pragmatically than she had ever heard him. It was weird hearing him so mature and realistic, but Olive decided it wasn’t a bad weird. If she had learned anything from Gabriel, it was that ‘weird’ didn’t have to be synonymous with ‘bad’. The maturity added a new level of humanity to Gabriel that brought his childlike tendency to glide through life to a halting stop. It surprised Olive, but she had always been a fan of surprises.

“But… Well… I’ve never been good at persuading my ex-wife to do anything. Even when she was less “ex” and more “wife”, y’know?” Gabriel said, his voice sashaying back to a smooth joking tone that left Olive listening for an inevitable punch line. She chuckled.

“But Sophie will definitely be home for the summer,” he said. “It’s whether or not she’ll stay through the fall that’s up in the air. I’m sure she’d love to meet your godchildren, though. I mean, she loves you.”

Something in Olive’s heart melted. Sophie loved her because she was Olive Degarmo. No one had done that in years. Her family loved her because they were family, but her adoring fans had all but forgotten her, neglecting her records and her memory like yesterday’s conglomerated laundry pile. And she loved Sophie. First for seeing her as she once was and not for as she was now; second for the bright, fascinating young woman she was. She genuinely enjoyed her company.

“Well, I love Sophie,” Olive said, humbled. “I think she’s just brilliant and, well, you know. She’s your daughter, of course you know!”

Leopold stood and pulled at Gabriel’s sleeve. “Gibby,” he said gravely. “Bread’s all gone.” he clutched his stomach. “Fooooood. Please.” He turned to Olive and bowed until his nose brushed the grass. “Olive-hi. We go. Good-bye, lady!”

She smiled at the boy and then at Gabriel. “Perhaps you should get him food. Hopefully most of it goes to him and not the birds this time.” She glanced over to her abandoned bag where her morning yoga group had dissipated. “It was so, so lovely talking to you again.” She put a hand tenderly on his shoulder. “We should do dinner sometime or something.”