Every year for my entire life, my family and I have gone up to Paris for my Grand-Mere’s birthday. And every year everyone was able to get time off and go. This year however I’m going on my own.
Dad is busy at his law firm, Beaumont & Parker, since he is swamped with work, Mom has to be at New York Fashion Week to show off her new line of way-to-expensive-for-you gowns, and Carly is deep into her first year at Harvard studying law and has a ton of work she needs to keep on top of. So that leaves me to go to Grand-Mere’s birthday in Paris alone.
Me. The only teenager in the state of Washington who never ever leaves her house. And even when I do it is only the daily commute to and from school, or occasionally to the mall or grocery store. I am an undeniable homebody. If you were to peek into my everyday life you would probably find me studying, reading, on Tumblr, or spending a shameless amount of time on Netflix.
Apparently me getting myself to Paris and back again won’t be too hard I am told. Our chauffeur, Monty, will drive me to the airport and I will go through the procedures like I had seen my parents do a thousand times and then Grand-Mere will have her chauffeur waiting for me in the airport when I arrive. Piece of Cake, they tell me. Although I’m not sure “piece of cake” is how you would describe my talents to get through any social situation, especially flying to Paris on my own. I guess we’ll see what happens.
At 7:45 in the morning Monty pulls in front of the airport entrance and I step out to the flight that awaits me.
“You’ll be fine,” he reassures me as he sets my luggage beside me as I stand at the entrance. “I’ve seen you survive more intimidating feats than this hundreds of times. Remember on your eighth birthday you went to blow out the candles on the cake and in the process of standing on your tip toes to reach the candles you simultaneously fell face first into the cake?” he smiles and finishes with my bags.
I laugh and smile at the memory, and momentarily marvel at the fact that Monty has been with my family since before I was born.
“I’ve always been a bit of a klutz,” I say and we laugh together. “Thanks,” I add.
“You’ll be great,” he says finally. And with that he gets into the car and we wave goodbye as he drives away.
***
Although I got a few glares from some frequent flyers while I took too long at security (thanks to my Pandora bracelet that decided that it needed to get stuck on my sweater and hung on for dear life until I wrenched it off) the whole ordeal wasn’t too horrible. The flight was the usual deal, the woman beside me slept the entire time, I ended up spilling my airplane peanuts on the floor, you know the usual. To pass the time I was able to read quite a bit of Anna and the French Kiss on the plane. I figured that since the book is set in Paris it would be an appropriate read for the plane ride destined for Paris.
Getting off the plane, going through customs, and getting my luggage from the baggage claim went pretty smoothly considering how I thought it would be a disaster. Now it was time to see who the chauffeur is waiting for me.
When I get out I see various chauffeurs, business men and others holding name cards. After sweeping the room to find my drive, the name Ms. Beaumont is nowhere to be found. I immediately pull out my phone and call Grand-Mere.
“Hello?” she asks with a French accent.
“Grand-Mere? It’s me Cecelia.”
“Oh Cecelia! How are you? How was your flight my dear?” she asks.
“Fine Gran,” I say trying to stay calm. “Listen, didn’t you send your chauffeur or someone to pick me up once I got here?” I say as I try to keep calm and not freak out at the fact that she probably didn’t send anyone. The slight shake in my voice betrays me.
“Oh honey didn’t I tell you?”  She asks sweetly. She has pulled this a million times before but even then at least I had my parents and Carly here with me to maneuver through Paris.
“Tell me what Gran?” I ask as I wait for her to say she didn’t realise it was today or that another one of her chauffeurs quit or any other reason why I am at an airport in Paris with no drive.
“Today’s Claud’s day off,” she says. Day off being code word for ‘the intolerable man quit’. Grand-Mere has had numerous chauffeurs through the years as her crazy demands keep her from having any member of staff stay for longer than eight months. “Could you call for a taxi?” she suggests.
“Okay, just tell me your full address and I’ll be on my way,” I say as I head towards the exit and head outside into the bright and sunny Paris morning and grab a taxi.
***
The taxi rolls up to Grand-Mere’s mansion with the freshly mowed grass, cobblestone patios and beautiful gardens. As I get out after paying the driver I am suddenly hit with the smell of fresh flowers from the gardens. A mixture of lilacs and roses that always brings me back to childhood memories of Carly and I playing in Grand-Mere’s garden.
The taxi then pulls away and the lilac and roses induced memories are shattered as I realise my trunks are still in the trunk of the taxi. I yell and try to chase after it with no luck and with that my luggage is gone.
Thankfully he didn’t get everything. My carry on is with me and I still have my purse, but now my big bag with all of my clothing I had planned on wearing this weekend is gone. Poor sap didn’t even get anything really valuable out of this crappy deal. I heartlessly kick a few pebbles on the street and head up to Grand-Mere’s.
When I tell Grand-Mere about my bag she is horrified and threatens to put the entire taxi company out of business. She then proceeds to mutter various French obscenities under her breath.
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” I try to add.
“Of course it’s a big deal!” she proclaims. “My granddaughter comes on her own to Paris and gets her luggage stolen by some no good-“
“Grand-Mere,” I start.
“What are you supposed to do for clothing for the rest of your stay?” She asks.  
“It’s fine, I’ll just go out to a few shops before we go out to dinner tonight and get a few outfits to last me till I go back home. Okay?” I plead with my best ‘it will be fine, forget it’ look.
“Alright,” she sighs. You can see the weight lift off her shoulders as she sees the quick fix to my problem. “At least let me give you some money to buy your new weekend wardrobe,” she says as she walks away to get her wallet.
“Thanks Grand-Mere,” I say and then mentally plan which shops to head to first.
***
I have only ever been shopping in the Paris shopping district near Grand-Mere’s place a handful of times before but I already find myself knowing the layout and before I know it I’m stepping out of little Parisian boutiques with shopping bags in both hands, and I am slowly but surely building a suitable wardrobe to last me until I go home.
As I go to turn a street corner I end up crashing into an unfortunate victim of my clumsiness. My bags go flying everywhere and we both stumble a few steps back trying to regain our footing.
“I am so sorry,” he says with an English accent as we both kneel down and try to recover all of my bags from the ground.
“No it’s my fault” I insist. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Well in that case” he says as he straightens up and hands me my bags. “How about we go to dinner together, to make up for our little collision.” He smiles a smile that makes my heart skip a beat. I can feel my face instantly get hot.
I momentarily don’t know what to say. A cute British guy is asking me out on a date while I’m in Paris for the weekend. What do I say?
“Sorry I can’t” I find myself saying. “I’m only here in Paris for the weekend and I have no free time,” I explain.
“Alright, no worries,” he says with his cheerful composure still intact. Although for a second his expression did seem to flash a look of disappointment for just a second, or did I imagine it? “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he smiles.
“Maybe,” I smile back and then he is gone, on his way to wherever his initial destination was. For a second I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I said yes.