French class comes to an end. During the last week, each of us has to give an oral presentation on something particularly French. I give mine about macarons, explaining their origins and how they are made. I dress in one of Babs's chef's aprons and put on a beret, and when I'm done, I hand out macarons that Babs made especially for the class, along with postcards from Cafe Finlay.
I'm driving home from class in Mom's car, which I borrowed to carry all my presentation materials, when I see Melanie in her driveway. She sees me too, and we look at each other for a moment. It's like we're wondering, are we both going to pretend the other doesn't exist? that we don't exist?
But we exist. At least we used to. And then I greet her. Then I walk onto the neutral territory of the sidewalk. Melanie
