Whereas, when Piper from Wisconsin is beside me, all she has to say with her dirty blonde hair and blue eyes is “American.” There seems to be an underlying racial theme: if you’re not Anglo-looking, you must not be French or American. As though I’m expected to return one day to a country I’ve never visited.

At a time when I already feel isolated and alone, being called out not only as the Other, the foreigner unfamiliar to France, but also being categorized as semiforeign to the United States—the Other Other—stings. This in-betweenness has been a theme for us before we became aware of it, vacillating between enjoying shrimp and pork dumplings with the family and attempting to administer Kelly Clarkson’s chunky highlights on each other. I’ve grown to let it go at home. To feel the itch of offense and release the emotion back into the wild from whence it came. But here. At this moment in life. After losing you. Mom. Dad. It’s a reminder I’m neither wholly your twin anymore, nor someone’s daughter, nor American enough, nor White or Asian enough. I’m somewhere else. Somewhere in between.

Are these the ravings of a woman experiencing dairy product withdrawal? Maybe. Certainly that, coupled with starting a doctorate program, could lend itself to the argument. Or maybe I’m tired of smiling and releasing the emotions, and just want to be accepted.

Although I won’t send this (ever?) for a while, it feels good to write to you. Maybe I’ll continue.

Update #1: complete.

With madeleines and un café allongé,

Angela

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

The roads to Notre Dame are packed at four in the afternoon. Chang was enthusiastic when we got to the ground floor and I mentioned I wanted to go—but now, with the windows halfway down and exhaust hitting our lungs, I wonder whether I should have suggested Les Deux Moulins for the easier route.

Traffic jams slow our pace, crossing into the Île de la Cité, the tiny island that houses the church and—shudder—the morgue. Both Chang and I are quiet as we pass. Tourists and locals alike enjoy the warm summer day, a few families and couples eating pastries along the River Seine. When we roll to a stop beside the church and the concrete plaza before it, the overall meaning of Angela’s second clue hits me. Divine Research. Maybe Angela wanted me to go to Notre Dame all along, a place steeped not only in divinity but who knows how much research over the centuries.