Mother was referring to Sophia’s news that she was pregnant. The father was some older biker guy who claimed that he could support Sophia and the baby. But Aunt Kim was doubtful, she didn’t like his slacker looks. She said that the few times they met, “He had on the same pair of jeans with the same discoloration at the crotch.”

Luis’ mouth was tinted the color of smashed raspberries. He offered her mother wine. Her mother refused it. But he said something and Michelle’s mother who practically never drank alcohol allowed him to pour. Even Aunt Kim lifted her brows.

Her mother and Luis talked to each other in French. It sounded like birds chirping, brisk and zooming, as if it were a conversation carried on in flight. They only landed when Luis stopped to eat. He tore a piece of crusty bread, ate some, and placed some of it on her mother’s plate. Her mother licked the tip of her finger and dabbed up the crumbs, nibbling at them one by one. Then her mother turned to Aunt Kim and reported, “He’s going to be a doctor. He starts medical school come fall.” She sipped her wine. “He works for the hostess in the summers to save for school. He lifeguards and gives sailing lessons.” She whispered these details even though she was speaking in Vietnamese. “Poor thing, no father and he’s the oldest of five boys to boot.”

Luis filled her mother’s glass with more wine and then they were off again, soaring in their own language. It occurred to Michelle that Aunt Kim must have also spoken French, but nobody bothered to include her. Her aunt asked Michelle, “Please, will you pass me the wine?”

Once her mother started drinking, she didn’t notice anyone but Luis. Michelle shook her mother’s elbow. “Did you know a psychic told me that I was a flamenco dancer married to a famous bull fighter in a past life?” She elbowed her mother’s side. “Did you know that García Lorca organized the first cante jondo around here?” She tapped her shoulder. “Can we go to Dénia before the airport?” She tapped her knee. “I want to buy those special leather bags for the other girls on my softball team.”

Her mother said, “No,” “No,” and “No.” She even said it with her French accent. Her mother’s dark hair and dark almond eyes glowed beneath the moonlight. It was a striking contrast against her translucent complexion in the night.

The sea murmured. Luis looked mesmerized. He served her mother a piece of flan. Her mother pushed it away. He nudged it forward. She scooted it back. Their fingers brushed once. The dessert quivered.

Michelle said, “I’m gonna go call Dad now.” She was disappointed when her mother said nothing, no argument, no concern or jealousy, no flash-fire fury.