Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

Her hair was a sleek bob that curled under her jaw and was the same dark color with caramel hues that she’d had when I’d first met her.

Her face was minimally lined, these only around the sides of her mouth, and it was lightly made up. Foundation to even the tone, powder to take away shine, neutral base from lid to brow to give the eyes a lift, and a thin stream of liquid black liner with a just a hint of a cat’s eye. Mascara. A touch of peachy-neutral rouge.

And on her lips, perfectly lined and filled, was her signature flamenco red.

She was thin to the point of emaciated, but this wasn’t a concern. It was my understanding that she’d worked meticulously to remain underweight all her life, and I’d never known her to be anything but what she was right then. Though, truth be told, she did look like she’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose.

The room wasn’t cool, but a throw of an intricate design in shades of pink, red, ivory and burnt umber that had an impossibly long fringe at the edges, had been thrown back on the moss- green velvet settee like a production assistant had set the scene.

But it was clear it had been over her before we arrived, however, if it remained covering her, we couldn’t see her outfit.

A dainty teacup and saucer in a bold millefleur design sat on a slender wine table in front of her.

And although I could understand a visit from your family after years of not seeing them would make you go that extra mile even if you were significantly unwell, she didn’t appear fatigued or off in any way.

She looked like Colette.

Perhaps she wasn’t going to go out and drum up a game of horse, but she’d never do that anyway.

But I could easily see her ordering Melisande to bring a bottle of champagne and some cheese and crackers, and entertaining for an hour or two.

Her eyes were locked on her son.

And she failed with her opener.

Dipping her head to the glass in his hand, she drawled, “Please tell me your marital affairs haven’t led you to a drinking problem.”

Not, “I cannot begin to explain how much I missed you.”

Not, “It does my heart good to see you.”

Not, “My handsome son.”

Not even, “Hello.”

I moved closer to his side.

“Heya, Granny,” Sabre greeted with mock exuberance, and I was so jolted by his tone, I almost missed Colette’s reaction to being called Granny.

She was Grandma or, as preferred (but none of my children really used it), Grandmama.

Never Granny.

She looked mad enough to bite.

No.

This woman was going for the drama and the sympathy.

She might be dying, but she wasn’t dead yet.

I dipped my chin to hide my smile at her reaction to my son’s words as Sabre kept talking.

“You’re, you know, not well, and I looked up stuff about your condition and learned your immune system is probably messed up. Since we just got off an airplane, which are full of germs, we shouldn’t get too close.” He let that sink in before he finished, “Don’t take it wrong that none of us are gonna give you hugs, you know, like the entire time we’re here.”

I heard my daughter make the noise I swallowed down earlier as I looked up at Remy.

His lips were twitching.

Seeing that I could think only one thing.

God, I loved my son.

“We’ll take showers and everything,” Sabre started talking again. “But unless we were here for a week or whatever, so we could make sure we didn’t catch anything, and we’re not gonna be here that long, we should probably keep our distance.” He paused then said, “But you look real good.”

Colette recovered quickly and replied, “Sabre, my love, you cannot know how much it means to me you cared enough to research my…condition and move to look after me.”

“Well, you know, we heard word and we’re all super worried about you,” he replied.

“Yeah, Grandma, we’re all worried,” Manon chimed in.

Her gaze skimmed through Manon to light on Yves.

“Let me look at you, Yves,” she called.

Yves moved up to my side.

She gazed at him lovingly, which wasn’t surprising. He’d always been her favorite.

I took a sip of my wine in order not to gag.

“The vision of your father at your age,” she remarked.

“Yeah,” he grunted, and I turned my attention to him.

It was easy to forget, with how mellow my youngest was, that he could get upset or angry.

He was the latter now.

Even with Sabre’s antics, he was not over the “marital affairs” comment.

Or his grandmother breaking his father’s arm when he was a child.

“This means you’re sure to find a lovely woman…” the pause was significant before she said, “like your mother.”

“That’ll be hard, seeing as I’m gay,” Yves replied.

I went still.

I heard my daughter moan, such was the effort it took this time for her not to burst out laughing.

Sabre muttered an amused, “Jesus, bro.”

Guillaume rounded to the back of the couch close to Colette’s head, his eyes glued to his grandson.

Colette had gone white as a ghost.

“But don’t worry, Grandmama, I’ve already found a super fit, awesome guy,” Yves went on.