©2025 SammyC

Tuesday morning. The veritable crack of dawn. I got up early before everyone else to make breakfast for the whole sick crew. Not because I’m such a dutiful daughter but because I wanted to have a heart-to-heart with Mom about what took place the evening before.

As I laid out all the elements of Mom’s classic weekday family breakfast: 9 eggs to scramble, 9 strips of bacon, milk for the scrambled eggs and for Artie, slices of sourdough bread for toast, and enough grounds for ten scoops to brew a pot of coffee in the drip machine. I had already whisked the eggs to a fare-thee-well and was about to drop a tab of butter onto a hot skillet when Mom trudged into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, honey, how sweet of you. You’re such a wonderful daughter. Now your poor old mom can sit here and drink her first cup of coffee while taking in all the delicious food smells as you prepare breakfast for the family. Don’t burn the butter, dear.”

“Can we talk, Mom?”

“You have such a bright future ahead of you, Gigi. The Sorbonne, living in Paris across from the Eiffel Tower, engaged to be married to a billionaire’s son—”

“His father’s not a billionaire, Mom. His dad’s like a third cousin thrice removed from the guy who started the company. And we’re not engaged! I’ve known him for barely 48 hours—”

“Sooner than later, Gigi, your memory is going to return. The way Noah mooned over you at dinner. He kept missing his mouth with his fork. It’s obvious there’s so much between the two of you.” Mom softly laughed. “Don’t put too much pepper in the eggs, dear.”

“But Regina likes it that way.”

“Your father doesn’t.”

“You mean Nick?”

“Yes, Nick.” She waited a beat. “Your father.”

“I feel like I’m being pushed into being abducted by these people. The Artauds. I don’t want to study at the Sorbonne. I don’t want to live in Paris. And I definitely don’t want to marry Noah.”

Mom poured piping hot coffee into a cup and rummaged in the refrigerator for a carton of half and half.

“Mom, you always drink your coffee black. When did you start taking it with cream?”

“Start? I’ve always taken it with cream. Can’t stand the bitterness of black coffee. And how would you know how I ‘always’ take my coffee?”

Realizing my mistake, I just shrugged my shoulders and kept my eyes trained on the skillet of scrambled eggs.

“See, you’re already getting some your old memories back. Your adoptive mother probably drank her coffee black.” She tapped my arm. “Don’t worry those eggs too long. Nick likes them on the softer side. I should have told you to put in more milk.”

Minutes later, as I carefully placed several strips of bacon in the skillet, remembering to keep the grease splatter away from me, I tried to stifle the whining tone in my voice.

“Can’t I stay in New Jersey after graduation? Going to Parsons State would save you and…and Dad a lot of money. And all my friends are probably going to State as well. And…and Regina!”

Mom placed four slices of bread in the toaster. “Most girls in your place would be ecstatic about your situation, Gigi. I don’t get it. Is it Tom? Your father’s right. When your memories return, you’ll see. Don’t make the mistakes I made when I was your age. Your grandparents had big dreams for me. Look at me now—”

“You regret having us? Regina and me?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean that. I had big dreams too. I want you to have everything I never had.” She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my forehead. A stray tear fell on my cheek.

“Oh no, Gigi’s making breakfast. Cover your innocent eyes, Artie!” Regina laughed as she and Artie ambled into the kitchen. “I think we’ll skip breakfast, Mom.”

“Sit down you two. Gigi’s been nice enough to volunteer to give your poor old mom a break this morning. It’s more than you’ve ever done, Regina.”

“My advice, Artie,” Regina whispered to her little brother, “is to wait until Dad tries the eggs before we dig in. If he doesn’t vomit, it’ll be okay to eat.”

Nick walked in, still tucking his work shirt into his jeans. He drank in the entire scene and slowly sat down at the head of the kitchen table.

“Those eggs look nice. New recipe, Sara?”

“New chef. Gigi made breakfast today.” She smiled as she placed the plate of toast on the table.

“Don’t throw up, Dad. I’m really hungry!” Mom frowned as I joined Regina in laughing at Artie’s outburst. Nick looked confused but scooped up a heaping mess of scrambled eggs onto his plate.

“Regina told me you passed up the party last night to have dinner with some bougie French guy and his rich corporate-type parents.” George had come back into the gym during a break in practice. He was in complete football uniform, helmet and all. Tom and the others in the marching band were taking a break as well. I was sitting in the gym bleachers sharing a granola bar with Artie. I lifted the brim of my majorette hat away from my forehead.

“That bougie French guy is my fiancé. I’m supposed to join him and his parents in Paris and study at The Sorbonne after graduation. His dad is an executive with a global cosmetics company. So, just because I’m going with you to the Homecoming Dance, don’t read too much into it. I’d much rather go with Tom.”

“Whoa, it’s like you’re royalty or something. Well, engagements get broken all the time. When I’m playing in the NFL…” George smiled to himself.

“I’m going to play hockey for The Devils, George, when I grow up,” Artie interjected.

“Sure you are, squirt. I see your potential even now. When the football season’s over, I can coach you up. I was a pretty good winger in middle school.”

“Really?” Artie asked, excitedly. “You should stick with George, Gigi. He’s going places.”

“I’m going places too. France to be exact.”

“Now that Regina’s a girl, George, you should be her boyfriend. She’s not going anywhere. Not like Gigi. She’s staying in the U.S. of A. Why don’t you like her anymore?”

“It’s complicated, squirt. You’ll understand when you’re older. Much older.” George turned to me. “I gotta get back to practice. By the way, what color dress are you wearing Saturday night? I’m supposed to get a corsage for you that matches.”

“Why don’t you tell him you’re not actually Gigi LeClerc but Reggie Perrin from an alternate universe? That way he’ll recoil in horror and leave you alone—”

I stopped in my tracks and faced Tom. We were walking home after practice. I had to restrain Artie from skipping ahead of us. He was upset with me because we weren’t stopping at Baskin-Robbins for ice cream.

“I can tell from your tone of voice that you still don’t believe me about crossing over from another universe.” I pouted prettily I must admit.

“Yeah, but maybe this Noah dude will. I hear the French have a more heightened sense of cosmic weirdness.”

“Look, if I could get back to my universe—”

“Would you? I mean, if you’re not making this all up, you were a boy back there. Is that what you’d prefer?”

“I could transition, you know.”

“But, here, you’re already a girl. You don’t have to go through years of HRT and surgery. And…”

“And what?”

“And I’d never see you again.” I leaned forward and planted a kiss on Tom’s lips, keeping a grip on Artie’s hand, even as he tried to wriggle free. We resumed our slow steady walk home.

“What’ll I do, Tom? It’s like this Gigi character already had her whole life planned out. I’ve been admitted to The Sorbonne. I’m not even sure the real Gigi applied herself. Maybe Noah’s parents pulled some strings. They’ve probably got a lot of clout in France.”

“This Noah guy. You say he’s flying back to Paris?”

“Yeah, he told me he was scheduled to take a flight this morning. Why do you ask?”

“Is he tall, like over six feet, dark curly hair, kind of stylishly short, tortoise shell glasses?”

“Uh huh.”

“Like that dude who just got out of his car across the street from us?” Tom pointed at a figure approaching us, looking both ways to avoid cars coming from either direction.

“Oh my god, it’s Noah!”

“Gigi, they told me your practice just finished. I was headed to your house but I’m glad I ran into you on the way. Hello, who is your friend?”

“Noah Artaud, this is the leader of our school’s marching band, Tom Verlaine.”

They shook hands and eyed each other like combatants in an MMA match. Then, abruptly, Noah embraced me and softly melded his lips with mine. Tom looked away.

“I thought you were going back to Paris today.”

With his left arm still around my waist, Noah waved his right arm in the air. “Oh, they’ve closed the airports in Paris. The whole vicinity got clobbered by 60 centimeters of snow. It might take a couple of days to clear the runways. Since I’m still here in New Jersey, I thought I’d take the opportunity to say goodbye. I mean, we won’t see each other until Christmas.”

“Christmas?” asked Tom.

“Yes…er…Tom, is it? Gigi’s coming to spend the holidays in Paris. Well, actually Fontainebleau. My parents have a country house about 30 minutes south of the city. My grandmother always says Fontainebleau is just like Versailles…without the crowds.” Noah gave out a snort that failed to amount to a laugh. “Gigi’s been there. Twice. You…don’t remember, do you?”

I shook my head and extricated myself from his hold. “No, I’m still a little foggy about things. Well, no need to drive to my house now. We can say so long, farewell, au revoir right here.” I extended my right hand to shake. He took it and pulled me off the sidewalk.

“I’ll drive you home. Mother gave me a whole gift box of cosmetics to give you, your mother, and your sister.”

“Nothing for Nick or Artie?” I cracked wise.

“For your father, we have our Hydro Sensitive Soothing Aftershave. It’s part of our new line of toiletries and hair care for men. I assume Artie doesn’t shave yet, does he? I’m sorry but I don’t have extra for Tom. Nice meeting you though.” Noah waved to Tom as he bundled Artie and me into his car. As the car sped away, Tom stood on the sidewalk motionless.

Friday was a whirlwind of a day. The school day pretty much ended at noon. There was the spirit rally through the halls in the early afternoon. With our miniature marching band leading the way, cheerleaders and our entire football team incited school fervor for our Homecoming Game that evening against Paramus Central High.

An hour before the game, as the crowd filed into their bleacher seats, the cheerleaders and band members mingled, stretching and socializing, staying clear of the field where players from both schools were warming up. Regina sidled up to me as I was scanning the bleachers to catch sight of Mom, Nick, Artie, and Uncle Richie.

“What’s the word, dolly bird?”

“Oh, there they are.” I waved at my family. They waved back at us. “Looking forward to the Dance tomorrow night?”

“Sure. It’s my first Dance as a girl. Well, it’s my first Dance, period. Excited to be escorted by Big Man On Campus, George Parker?”

“Are you sure you don’t resent me for George taking me instead of you?” I searched Regina’s eyes for the truth.

“Better you than Winnie, I guess. How about you? Are you and Tom still o.k.? I’m sure he’s not happy about his girlfriend being already engaged to some French dude—”

“Hey, I’m not engaged!”

“Says you?”

“I’m working on it. Tom said I should tell him I’m from an alternate universe…”

“Oh, that’ll work. If he doesn’t believe you, he’ll think you’re insane. And if he does believe you, he’ll drop you like a hot potato. Really, Gigi, you’re stuck. However, pretty much every girl would love to be in your position.”

“Not this girl.”

“On top of everything else, I hear you’re going to win Homecoming Queen. Some girl in my Economics class said she saw a tally sheet on the school secretary’s desk. And your name was on top.”

“Grrr. When will this all stop?” I turned away from Regina and stalked off toward the end of the field where the marching band was standing around, facing away from the chilly breeze knifing in from the east.

“Was it something I said?” asked Regina plaintively.

Rossington High maintained its perfect season record, winning its ninth game against zero losses. Led by George Parker, who threw four touchdowns to Billy Bacigalupo, we pummeled Paramus Central to the tune of 37-3. With one more game to play, Rossington High was sure to be seeded first for the state championship playoffs. If we win it all on the day after Thanksgiving, George Parker would have his choice of major college programs to quarterback. It was all George could talk about after the game as we celebrated our Homecoming victory at the usual IHOP in Fair Lawn.

To no one’s surprise, Winnie Schlitter greeted us from a table in the back of the IHOP, surrounded by her cheer squad teammates, including a less-than-thrilled Regina. Her crutches were propped up next to her chair and everyone was taking turns signing the soft cast on her left leg.

She announced to everyone and no one in particular that she was going to the Homecoming Dance. She laughed as she described the new dance moves she’d thought up deploying her crutches as flashy accoutrements. Regina found out later on in the evening that Winnie had to coerce the team’s kicker, Gerald Winthrop III, to take her to the Dance by having her Deputy Sheriff dad threaten him with 18 months of prison for underage possession of an ounce of marijuana found in his glove compartment. This might explain how Gerald missed two field goal attempts during the first half and why his erstwhile girlfriend, Millie Strom, glared at him from the bleachers throughout the whole game.

Winnie and George avoided each other. I barely acknowledged Winnie. Regina and Billy Bacigalupo sat at our table with the marching band. George would look over at us from time to time, but he was constantly surrounded by teammates and fawning fans. In the parking lot, as everyone was headed to their cars to drive home, Winnie stood in the failing light of a sodium-vapor lamp, following George’s progress through the lot in a convoy of back-slapping admirers.

“Gerald told me she’s still hung up on George,” Regina said, pointing out the obvious, as we settled into Tom’s mom mobile. “She thinks she’ll be crowned Homecoming Queen and when she’s standing on the stage next to George tomorrow night, he’ll finally realize how big a mistake he’s made forsaking her. That’s two things she’s definitely got wrong.”

“I know you’re okay with going to the Dance with Billy, but you can’t tell me you’re not really broken up inside that George isn’t your date tomorrow night.”

Regina turned away from me and looked out the window. “I’m over George. Really I am.”

“I wonder what my George is doing right now.”

“Your George? Who’s that?” asked Cynthia, the drummer in our band, from the opposite end of the back bench.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” teased Tom. “Gigi’s from a parallel universe. She’s kind of an interdimensional exchange student.”

“No, really. Who’s the George you’re talking about?” Cynthia placed her index finger over her lips and her eyes seemed to be calling up an image. “ That goofy looking guy that came around asking us about you before the game?”

Alarmed, I looked past Greg, who was sitting between me and Cynthia. “Couldn’t be. How long does it take to clear snow from a runway?”

Mom called us from the bottom of the stairs. Actually, she bellowed our names. Holding each other’s hands to maintain our balance on our high heels, Regina and I slinked down the stairs. Mom’s face was aglow, and she was starting to tear up. In matching blush pink lace minidresses, our own cheeks matched their hue as we anticipated turning the corner and greeting our dates.

George and Billy stood up from the couch, dressed in matching olive-green suits with white shirts and green bow ties. I think Billy had applied some pomade to his hair. And he was clean-shaven. George’s hair was casually unruly, and his game-ready stubble had been untouched. In unison they held out boxed wrist corsages of pink roses. Poor Billy but Regina and I both audibly gasped at the sight of George in his tight drip.

After some awkward greetings, Mom took dozens of photos of us in every conceivable permutation. She even included a sleepy Artie in a couple of shots. Nick kept trying to talk football with them, but Mom reminded us to get going.

“The dance starts in half an hour, kids,” she alerted us.

“Oh, Mom, no one arrives at the dance exactly on time. No one important, anyway.” Regina adjusted the corsage on her wrist, admiring it with a widescreen smile.

“The King and Queen should be fashionably late, “ George said matter-of-factly. “Make the peasants wait with bated breath.”

“Sit, fellas, you didn’t tell me how you got away from the rush and spotted Billy in the flat on that first touchdown. I thought you were getting sacked for sure.” Nick patted the couch as George and Billy crossed the room.

The front doorbell interrupted our proceedings with a loud ding-dong. We all exchanged mystified looks before Mom went to answer the door. A minute later, Noah Artaud stood in front of us, dressed in an Italian cut black 3-piece suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie. He was holding a small ring in his clasped hands.

“What a surprise! It’s Noah Artaud,” Mom breathlessly announced.

“How long does it take to clear a couple of feet of snow from a runway?” I muttered to no one in particular. “So, how many Parisians does it take to change a lightbulb?”