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three years that we wouldn’t talk。 I sat with the phone in my
hand； staring at an e…mail he’d sent the day before； one that
he’d signed “love；” and wondered if I’d made a horrible
mistake in agreeing to this break。 I dialed again； this time
ready to tell him that we should talk about everything； figure
out where we’d gone wrong； that I take responsibility for the
part I’d played in the slow and steady fading of our
relationship。 But before it even had a chance to ring； Stef
was standing over my desk with the Accessories War Plan for my
Paris trip； pumped up from her run…through with Miranda。 There
were shoes and bags and belts and jewelry and hosiery and
sunglasses to discuss； so I replaced the receiver and tried to
focus on her instructions。
Logically； it would seem that a seven…hour flight in steerage
decked out in a pair of skintight leather pants； open…toe
strappy sandals； and a blazer over a tank top would be the
utmost in hellish travel experiences。 Not so。 The seven hours
in flight were the most relaxing I could remember。 Since
Miranda and I were both flying to Paris at the same time on
different flights—she from Milan and me from New York—it
appeared I’d stumbled on the single situation where she could
not call me for seven straight hours。 For one blessed day； my
inaccessibility wasn’t my fault。
For reasons I still didn’t understand； my parents hadn’t been
nearly as thrilled as I thought they’d be when I’d called to
tell them about the trip。
“Oh； really？” my mother asked in that special way of hers that
implied so much more than those two little words really meant。
“You’re going to Paris now？”
“What do you mean； ‘now’？”
“Well； it just doesn’t seem like the best time to be jetting
off to Europe； is all；” she said vaguely； although I could
tell that an avalanche of Jewish…mother guilt was ready to
begin its slide in my direction。
“And why is that？ Whenwould be a good time？”
“Don’t get upset； Andy。 It’s just that we haven’t seen you in
months—not that we’re plaining； Dad and I both understand
how demanding your job is—but don’t you want to see your new
nephew？ He’s a few months old already and you haven’t even met
him yet！”
“Mom！ Don’t make me feel guilty。 I’m dying to see Isaac； but
you know I can’t just—”
“You know Dad and I will pay for your ticket to Houston；
right？”
“Yes！ You’ve told me four hundred times。 I know it and I
appreciate it； but it’s not the money。 I can’t get any time
off work and now with Emily out； I can’t just up and
leave—even on weekends。 Does it make sense to you to fly
across the country only to have to e back if Miranda calls
me on Saturday morning to pick up her dry cleaning？ Does it？”
“Of course not； Andy； I just thought—we just thought—that you
might be able to visit them in the next couple weeks； because
Miranda was going to be away and all； and if you were going to
fly out there； then Dad and I would go also。 But now you’re
going to Paris。”
She said it in the way that implied what she was really
thinking。 “But now you’re going to Paris” translated to “But
now you’re jetting off to Europe to escape all of your family
obligations。”
“Mother； let me make something very； very clear here。 I am not
going on vacation。 I have not chosen to go to Paris rather
than meet my baby nephew。 It’s not my decision at all； as you
probably know but are refusing to accept。 It’s really very
simple： I go to Paris with Miranda in three days for one week；
or I get fired。 Do you see a choice here？ Because if so； I’d
love to hear it。”
She was quiet for a moment before she said； “No； of course
not； honey。 You know we understand。 I just hope—well； I just
hope that you’re happy with the way things are going。”
“What’s that supposed to mean？” I asked nastily。
“Nothing； nothing；” she rushed to say。 “It doesn’t mean
anything other than just what I said： your dad and I only care
that you’re happy； and it seems that you’ve really been； um；
well； uh； pushing yourself lately。 Is everything OK？”
I softened a bit since she was clearly trying so hard。 “Yeah；
Mom； everything’s fine。 I’m not happy to be going to Paris；
just so you know。 It’s going to be a week of sheer hell；
twenty…four…seven。 But my year will be up soon； and I can put
this kind of living behind me。”
“I know； sweetie； I know it’s been a tough year for you。 I
just hope this all ends up being worth it for you。 That’s
all。”
“I know。 So do I。”
We hung up on good terms； but I couldn’t shake the feeling
that my own parents were disappointed in me。
The baggage claim at de Gaulle was a nightmare； but I found
the elegantly dressed driver who was waving a sign with my
name on it when I exited customs； and the moment he closed his
own door； he handed me a Cell Phone。
“Ms。 Priestly asked that you call her upon arrival。 I took the
liberty of programming the hotel’s number into the automatic
dialing。 She’s in the Coco Chanel suite。”
“Um； oh； OK。 Thanks。 I guess I’ll call right now；” I announced
rather unnecessarily。
But before I could press the star key and the number one； the
phone bleated and flashed a frightening red color。 If the
driver hadn’t been watching me expectantly I would have muted
the ring and pretended I hadn’t yet seen it； but I was left
with the distinct feeling that he had been ordered to keep a
close eye on me。 Something about his expression suggested that
it was not in my best interest to ignore that call。
“Hello？ This is Andrea Sachs；” I said as professionally as
possible； already making over/under bets with myself as to the