There were precious few things that Odette genuinely regretted in her life - most of her choices, most of the things she had done, were things that she would do again and again if presented the choice. Stepping stones to becoming who she wanted to be, that took her to where she was now. Or, in some cases, things that were beyond her actual control, that she had made the best choice possible in a given situation. Most choices, most actions, most decisions had been the best possible for her at the time, with the information that sheâd had available to her. Odette had always been the one to think things over, to try and understand consequences before acting.Â
If she presented an idea, a plan, it was often something sheâd put time and effort into thinking through. One of her strengths was always how long she was willing to listen, learn, and wait for the opportunity she needed, or until she could make the best possible decision available to her.Â
And yet, there were always exceptions to every rule. For Odette, one of the few regrets she had was always one that she kept locked up as tight as possible. To worry over a choice, over consequences, was rarely productive - she knew that, knew that endlessly agonizing over her mistakes and over the what ifs, was useless. Knew it would make no difference, to continue to dwell. But it ate at her, all the same. Her regret simply ate away at every box she would place it into to lock away in the back of her mind, clawed its way back out as though it were acid devouring all confinement. Demanded attention, demanded that she continued to think on it.Â
If only she had been smarter, she could have ensured that they were more isolated - that she and Maelie never would have been caught by her mother. Odette should have known better, sheâd been experimenting and discovering her own sexuality for longer - she and Jack were rather adventurous in that, as with everything. She knew the consequences for two women being caught would be more severe, especially given their status. Odette was a guest, for Godâs sake, she shouldâve been more careful and protected their friend that she and Jack cared so much about.Â
If sheâd been careful, if sheâd been responsible, if sheâd bothered to think things through enough - Mae wouldnât have had to disappear. Odette couldâve moved her own plans up, couldâve run with her. Or, at the very least, could have helped. Sheâd been planning her own way to escape for years and she wasnât there when her friend needed her. She was, instead, the catalyst. Sheâd been at fault. All her fault.Â
It was one of the few things that Odette tried to hide from Jack, her worry about Mae. Her guilt, as it ate at her heart. As time went on, it became an old wound - still hurt, when it came to mind. When she thought about those letters she and Jack would write, things that she wished they could share with an old friend. When she remembered her friendâs laugh, imagined it when she and Jack had travelled together as though she was still on adventures with them.Â
Hearing that Maelie was in Paris, after all this time - Odette knew better than some, perhaps, the sort of dangers of the city. But Jack spoke well of where she was, so that was something to be glad of. Perhaps she had bloomed in Paris, much as the flowers she looked after. It might have been better to simply keep her distance, be happy that her friend was alive and well - who knew if Maelie blamed her as well, after all? But Odette was not particularly good at keeping her distance, not from the people that she loved so dearly.Â
So she went to the shop Jack had described, though not so early as to beat customers inside. Odette spied them through the window, so she entered quietly, trying not to interrupt and looked around instead to pass the time. The flowers were beautiful, hard not to think of the gardens that had been on the grounds of Maelieâs family to see them. Easy enough to close her eyes and think of the summer, of laughter and friendship and just - that feeling of being known and the ease of love.Â
Perhaps browsing was not the smartest choice, Odette acknowledged wryly to herself, slipping a peony back into place from where sheâd taken it. She continued browsing absently until the other customer had finished working with such a familiar voice, trying not to stare too much at the back of her - friendâs? She could hope, at least - head as she waited. As soon as the other was gone, she stepped forward to claim Maelieâs attention, speaking in quiet French, âHello, sweetheart. Iâve missed you.â
Embroidery. Paint being brushed onto a canvas. Crystal vases, always with a handful of fresh flowers. And then, there were the teacups.
The Brindamour house always appeared flawless. The reason for this was, evidently, the staff â all going about their daily duties, to ensure that the house was spotless. No dust, no scratches, everything shining. Everything perfect. This was the environment that Clara Brindamour ensured. She came from an upper-class British household, and although she married a Frenchman knowing that France was very different, she wouldnât let her home be anything less than the one she grew up in. Her parents, god rest their souls, had six children, all girls, and she was the second youngest. There was little hope for her to grow old in her childhood home, so instead, she placed her aspirations elsewhere.
Ever since Clara was a little girl, she had adored teacups. She would admire them whenever tea was served, and as a young woman, she began her collection. Wherever she traveled, she would bring a teacup or two home with her, and placed them in their case. And, when she got engaged, the collection was one of the first things packed, to be sent with her to France.
The Brindamours wasted no time in having children. It always seemed that she was pregnant, one child after the other â finally ending with their baby girl, Maelie. Blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, just like her mother. She looked just like her mother, in fact, and it was something the little girl was always told growing up: but, according to Maelie, that was where the similarities ended. Except, of course, for the teacups. Clara had always done her best to raise her children the way she was raised, to survive in the world they were born into, and to live in it with grace and dignity. Her other children mostly emulated that, but all Maelie wanted to do was run around in the dirt with Claraâs mother in law. Claraâs efforts to introduce her to other hobbies mostly seemed futile. She couldnât get into piano, or art, or needlepoint. But, when Maelie was eight, she discovered the teacups.
They had always been there, always in the background. In their case, occasionally being added to after trips, or as Christmas presents⌠but Maelie hadnât ever noticed them, not really. It was during a lesson, that she finally looked up, and spotted the rainbow of colours, laid out neatly on the shelves. It soon became a method of distracting herself, staring at the intricate patterns, the little details⌠they were so delicate, that when the sun shone through the windows just right, they appeared almost translucent.Â
And, through all of Maelie and Claraâs arguments, the teacups always seemed to bring them back together.
Except for when it didnât.
It had all happened so quickly, truly a whirlwind of emotions. Maelie and Odette had known each other for years, nearly as long as Maelie had known Jack. When she was younger, suddenly, her mother being English was useful. She practiced her English with her, and soon she was able to write to her new friends with much less difficulty. And then, Odetteâs parents were going on some trip, and asked the Brindamours to allow Odette to stay with them in the meantime. They were happy to oblige, and Maelie was ecstatic to have a friend stay there for the summer. It wasnât long, however, before Odette started to become something more than just a friend. They first kissed in the gazebo, in the center of the garden, surrounded by flowers. It was a rush, being with her. Her heart raced, butterflies danced in her stomach⌠and she could see the stars in Odetteâs eyes. It was bliss, until the moment her mother walked in on them.
And it wasnât something a teacup could ever fix.
Maelie always knew, if she were to ever return to her parents, she would bring a teacup with her. Premium china, the most intricate patterns, without a flaw to be seen. She couldnât see such an item without thinking of her mother, and the soft smile that would form on her face as she gazed into the porcelain. Yes, memories of her mother â followed by Maelie showing Jack and Odette the violet cup, far in the back, that had a chip in its base. Clara always turned it just so, that no one would ever see that her collection wasnât completely perfect. Maelie had always been surprised that her mother never threw away that cup, as she would with many other imperfect things⌠but she never did. âYour father gave it to me, my sweet,â Clara would tell her, âlong before you came along.âÂ
There were times that Maelie wondered about the What Ifs. What if she and Odette had never been caught, what if she ran to London instead of Paris, what if she told Odette or Jack where she was going, or even just that she was leaving⌠and what if she just married the man sheâd run away from? But, she couldnât dwell on any of those questions for too long. They would drive her mad, she knew that. So as much as she missed her friends, she couldnât let herself wonder for too long. Wonder about how they were, or even if they were still alive. Sheâd written several letters, throughout her time in Paris, all addressed to Jack or Odette⌠and all to be stowed away, never to be sent.Â
Seeing Jack had been a shock. Sheâd wondered for years what a reunion would feel like, how her friends would react to seeing her again, if she could even consider them her friends anymore. If they hated her, for leaving without any word. But Jack didnât seem to. He even informed her that Odette was in Paris as well. The idea of seeing her again gave Maelie much more anxiety than sheâd ever anticipated, but surely, it was inevitable, right? She was working up the courage to go to Le Ciel and try and find her, but she couldnât stop thinking about all the things Odette could be upset about, how she could be angry at her⌠and she hadnât found the confidence to brave that. So, when she finished up with a customer at Tout en Fleur, the last thing sheâd been expecting was to hear a familiar voice behind her.Â
Maelie spun around, eyes widening only slightly when she saw her. Sheâd changed so much from how she remembered her, and yet, she hadnât changed at all. âOdette.â She breathed out, voice barely a whisper. It was different, seeing her for real. Sheâd imagined this moment a hundred times, even within the days between her reunion with Jack. âIâve missed you too.â The nerves were clear on her face as she spoke. Goodness, she must look like a child, with such a reaction.
âI...â She cleared her throat. âIâm sorry, I thought I knew what I wanted to say, when I saw you... but I... you know Iâm terrible at these things. Giving speeches, that is. I get in my head and the words get all jumbled, and then I start talking too quickly and I - Iâm doing it now. Goodness.â She shut her eyes for just a moment, trying to calm herself. âYouâre just how I remember.â She admitted a moment after opening her eyes, her voice softer this time.