“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, wishing I could do it in French. Before Camille picked me up I looked up the phrase in the French course I carry with me everywhere on my phone, and while it’s one of the first things to be taught, and I practiced the word enchantée countless times, I can’t bring myself to say it out loud in this situation. Because of lack of confidence and standing face-to-face with this dark-haired, younger version of Camille, and the reality check of her actually having a family. And the fact that Camille will never leave Paris if it means leaving behind that little girl she’s holding in her arms right now.

“And you.” Flo says in accent-free English. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And this is Emma.” Camille holds her up a tiny bit, but clearly has no intention of handing over the baby to anyone else anytime soon.

“Bonjour, Emma.” I’ve said bonjour so many times since arriving here, it has already become part of my everyday vocabulary. I take the opportunity to stand a little closer to Camille and the little girl who is obviously the apple of her eye.

“How was your day?” Flo asks politely.

I tell her while I study her face for signs of rejection of me being here with her mother, in her home. I don’t immediately find any and can’t help but catalog that as suspicious. Not even with the best intentions in the world, and the best relationship with her mother, can she accept me so easily. What I do see on her face, however, is fatigue, and sheer relief that we’re here. I’m staring at a brand-new mother first, the daughter of a newly out-of-the-closet lesbian second.

Camille and Flo converse in French for a few minutes and while I don’t understand the words, it’s no mystery they’re talking about the baby.

“How about we take this precious little thing out for a few hours so Flo can have a rest and a peaceful dinner with Mathieu when he comes home from work?” Camille asks me.

“Sure.”

Now all I see on Flo’s face is extreme gratitude. If minding her child occasionally can win me a spot in Camille’s daughter’s heart, I’m all for it. Even though I don’t know the first thing about caring for infants. I’m certain the doting grandmother has got those aspects covered.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Camille asks when we’re crammed into the elevator with Emma, her buggy, and a bag filled with everything she could possibly need in the next few hours.

“Of course not.”

“So?” She tilts her head.

“So… what?”

“What did you think of Flo? She was very friendly to you, wasn’t she?”