Aunt Vivienne beams at the mention of the prestigious school. I wish my own mother felt the same way, but I brush the thought away.
“She wanted me to be a…you know, a danseuse, too. But I was not good,” Madeleine says with a laugh.
Vivienne presses her hand on Louis’s arm, silently asking him to translate. Once he does, Vivienne opens her mouth wide. “Ne l’écoute pas!” she says to me. Don’t listen to her.
“My daughter was very talented. She just gave up too soon. All the women in this family are made for ballet. Like you, Mia.” Louis smiles as he tells me this, and I feel myself blush.
“That’s what Mia wants to talk to you about,” Louis says in French. The more I listen to him, the more words I pick up.
“J’ai des questions,” I add tentatively. I do have questions, but I feel a bit silly asking them. Even though they’re family, I don’t know these women. Vivienne nods at me with a bright smile.
“You stay to eat ce soir, yes? To talk more?” Madeleine asks, though it sounds more like a statement.
I shake my head. “We shouldn’t,” I answer at the same time Louis says, “We’d love to.”
“We have to get the train back,” I whisper to him.
Louis shrugs. “The trains run until late. C’mon—live a little. Let’s have a wild night with your elderly relatives.”
He smiles. How could I resist that?
We go back inside when dinnertime approaches. Even though it’s still bright out, the air has gotten just cool enough to remind us that the day is coming to an end. Madeleine heads to the kitchen to prepare dinner while the rest of us make our way to Vivienne’s dining room. It’s covered in floral wallpaper, which is yellowing in places. A rustic wooden table and matching chairs fill up most of the tiny space. Compared to the rest of the house, the walls seem very bare, except for an ornate frame hanging on the wall.
Vivienne catches me looking and grabs my hand, taking me closer.
Inside the frame is a sketch of a young girl from the waist up, done in soft black charcoal and green pastel. She’s looking off to the left, her eyes unfocused. Her braided hair rests on her shoulder, tied in a large bow at the end. Her shoulders are back, her posture perfect. The thin paper is ripped in one corner, and it’s only a few sharp but faded lines. Maybe it’s because I studied Degas’s sketches all morning, but the style and color are unmistakable.
The look on Louis’s face tells me that he’s thinking the same thing. “This is a beautiful drawing,” he says to Vivienne in French.
There’s an immediate spark in my great-great-aunt’s eyes. “Tu aimes Degas?” You like Degas?
My heart starts to beat faster. “This is a real Degas? Grandma Joan told me the story,” I say in broken French, my voice full of excitement.
Aunt Vivienne runs her hand along my cheek. “C’est une belle histoire,” she says softly. It’s a lovely story. I hold my breath, waiting for more, but she just motions for us to sit down.
Madeleine comes in with a potato salad and a crisp-looking baguette that I can smell across the room. My mouth waters instantly.
“Du vin?” Madeleine asks once we’ve all helped ourselves. She doesn’t wait for an answer and leaves the room. A moment later, she’s back with a chilled bottle of rosé. Louis nods, raising his glass, and I hesitate for a moment. I’ve never had wine before, but Madeleine is already pouring me a glass.
“You’ll like it,” he whispers in my ear.
This week has brought so many firsts already, and I feel a twinge of trepidation at tasting what I’ve always thought of as grown-up juice. Or maybe it’s just the sweet smell of Louis’s breath that is making me feel…quelque chose.
Aunt Vivienne raises her glass, and we all follow. “à Mia!, ma petite-nièce!” To Mia, my great-grand-niece!
“Bon appétit!” Vivienne chimes, bringing me back to reality.
I wait awhile to bring up the drawing again. I don’t want to make it sound like it’s the only reason I came here. Instead, I spend most of the meal catching up Aunt Vivienne on Grandma Joan and Mom, whom she’s only met a couple of times, before I was born. I also learn that Madeleine has two sons who are in their late thirties. One of them just had a second child with his wife, and Madeleine is thrilled to be a grandmother again. She pulls out her phone to show me a picture and puts a hand on her heart.
Then, noticing my empty glass, she refills it. I’m feeling a little tipsy already, but I nod anyway. This is the French way, and I shouldn’t pass up an opportunity to learn about the culture.