Page 6 of Boss of the Year

“Good,” he said thoughtfully. “Everyone needs a chance to become someone else if that’s what they want. You’re going away to Paris. This sounds like your opportunity to find out who you are. When you come back, things will happen for you, just like they’re supposed to.”

When his eyes met mine, I could have sworn there was envy there. Just a little.

I nodded. “Yes, sir—I mean, Mr. Lyons—er…Lucas.”

I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what made me use his first name, but his shoulders seemed to relax a bit as I did. Those stormy slate eyes filled with something like promise.

Then he smiled. Just a little. And something deep inside my chest, down in the bedrock of my being, gave a thump in response.

“You have a good trip, Marie. I’ll see you when you get back.”

1

MIREPOIX

*the brunoise should be so small, the onions will melt.

One year later

Are you kidding? You’re not coming at all?

Shuffling onto the flight home, I had to admit that while I wasn’t back in New York yet, in some ways, it was like I had never left.

People in lines were always grouchy. Airports sucked, even in Paris. And my little sister was still flaking out on me.

Again.

Her response was almost instantaneous, long, and riddled with minor errors that told me she was dictating.

Its not my fault this time, I swear it. Tommy got kicked out of summer camp and Lea needs to be at the shop because theres an inspector or a plier coming shit not that pliers stupid autocorrect

I think you mean appraiser?

Lea, our oldest sister, was in the middle of selling the auto repair shop that had been in our family since the fifties—first owned by our grandfather, then taken over by Lea and her husband Mike after Nonno died. Since Mike had passed last year, the shop was dead weight for a suddenly single mom with four kids. An appraiser meant she had accepted an offer, which was both excellent news and admittedly inconvenient. Now I’d be flying into JFK without a ride.

Yeah, that guy. I have pick up Tommy for her, but I won’t be able to do that, come get you, and then be back in Belmont before the other two get out of school. Can’t you just take a cab or a Lyft? I’ll pay you back.

“With what money?” I muttered.

My sister, a professional dancer who was recovering from a knee injury last year, didn’t exactly have gobs of cash. Sure, she was now involved with a guy who had some money (she and Nathan lived together in his gorgeous apartment on the Upper West Side), but Joni herself survived on tips from bartending. To her credit, she was adamant about earning her own way as best she could. Unfortunately, that still meant she was frequently broke.

Do you know that for sure?I asked myself as the line shuffled forward. Maybe I was also falling back into old patterns,which included assuming the worst of Joni. We’d spent most of our lives sniping with each other. But in the last year, I’d grown up a bit, and she had too.

Joni wasn’t the self-absorbed flirt I’d left last September who couldn’t be depended on to close a door. She had a new man, a new knee, a new part in an off-Broadway musical, and according to Lea, she’d been a huge help since Mike died last May. Right now, Joni was ditching me to help someone who needed it a lot more than I did. Someone who would need me too as soon as I was settled back into life in New York.

No worries. I’ll find a ride. Take care of Lea.

The hard part would be finding a car big enough to take me and my three giant suitcases all the way to Westchester. Most of the Prius cabs lined up outside arrivals weren’t even willing to drive to the Bronx.

Good and in case i didn’t say it enough I LOVE YOU AND IM SO GLAD YOUR BACK MIMI!!!

I stared at the message as the line to board the plane moved forward another four people. No barbs. No jabs. No jokes, calling me a wallflower or a shut-in.

Things really had changed.

I typed out my response carefully. Maybe a little warily.

Me too. See you soon.