All day long, Vanessa’s been decorating the room for the party. She has swathed the table in a leopard-skin silk coverlet, with fat pink candles studded in pearls. The plates are golden, and by everybody’s place, there’s a rose. Across the walls are draped Vanessa’s feather boas, her sequined bolero, her painted Spanish fans. She’s asked Jean-Luc to bring music.

They grill sausages on the barbecue. Everybody brings a dish: Marielle caramelized carrots with cumin, Cristel her famous rice salad, Laurent a platter of cheese. Vanessa’s baked another chocolate cake, and this time she doesn’t burn it.

Rat’s wearing Cristel’s birthday present—a T-shirt with a tattooed angel that’s in a stretch material tighter than anything Rat usually wears. (“To show off your gorgeous figure,” Cristel whispered in her ear, when Rat came to kiss her thank-you.)

Jean-Luc and Jérôme have mixed a CD that combines everybody’s favorite music—Brazilian samba, Serge Gainsbourg for the older generation, hip-hop for the kids. Then Rat puts on this seventies disco tape that Vanessa found in the market, and everybody bops around the tiny apartment ecstatically, jumping and waving their arms and shrieking “I Will Survive!” Solenne goes whirling in circles until she falls over, giggling, and Laurent picks her up and dances with her in his arms.

Later, they go sit outside in the backyard to cool off. Vanessa serves the cake, with a bottle of champagne.

Rat blows out the lone candle quick, before the wind can, and the grown-ups drink a toast to Rat.

“Fifteen years old,” sighs Vanessa. “Am I really old enough to have a fifteen-year-old daughter?”

“Quinze ans et tous mes dents,” sings Rat.

“I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.”

“What was it like?” asks Rat, all attention. It’s hard these days to get a story out of her mother: there’s never a good moment.

“In brief? Hell,” Vanessa replies. “Mémé Catherine, of course, had kicked me out of the house soon as I told her I was pregnant. I think what pissed her off most was my refusing to tell her who the dad was.” Vanessa makes a shrugging face. “Anyway, I was living with a girlfriend, but neither of us had a car. She had to get a neighbor to drive us to the hospital. My water broke all over the passenger seat. I hardly knew the guy, it was so embarrassing.”

“What water?” Morgan inquires.

“The little inland sea you baby-fish swim around in till you’re born.”

The new neighbors—a jolly-looking young couple with a two-year-old daughter—are sitting next door on their terrace. Rat brings them each a slice of cake and a glass of champagne.

“She’s a classy girl, your daughter, Vanessa, you know that?” says Marielle. “A-one.”

“I know. Just like me.”