By the time we stood on the wall at Saint-Malo,
high above
the shore,
the water
blue,
green,
aquamarine,
we had left our hotel in Bordeaux,
watched husband and wife embracing,
before gearing up, mounting each their own Harley, grey.
driven north,
stayed the first of three nights in Laval.
He had followed in the small car with baby two,
me well ahead in the Tesla with babies one and three,
two friends from Porto, teens,
two water dogs from Portugal,
two cats on laps in carriers.
By the time we had munched on lamb wraps at Royal Kebab in Rennes,
watched my little one go round and round
on the merry-go-round
in front of the cathedral,
I had sent him off with the dogs
to buy tampons cotton for Petra,
disinfectant for her pierced belly button.
I had called him while driving into Rennes.
I said,
“You’re on speakerphone.
What are we doing here?
This place
looks like Germany.
Looks like Göttingen.”
He replied,
“Padme just said the same thing.
I agree.”
At Saint-Malo,
we let the teens roam the streets,
my little one getting to roam
the Étoile du Roy, three masts, tall, black, red,
like my sexy pumps.
We bought fridge magnets,
our little one badgering me non-stop,
not getting
the sweets,
the dumpling rubber toys,
the attention
she wants,
chucking a fit,
getting her ear mock-pulled by him instead.
He said,
“Enough. Not one more word!”
While the little one was sulking,
baby two found her dad.
“Papa, Papa,
I had the most amazing lemony ice cream,
Lemon Meringue.
Come with me.”
While he was spooning his lemon dessert,
my little one got water, sparkling,
cake pop,
hugs against my belly.
By the time I said to him,
“Let’s treat everyone to dinner,”
the teens told him they were
too tired to eat,
too full to eat,
too hungry to wait.
By the time he got off TheFork,
he’d booked Indian not far from Laval.
By the time the waiter had served
naan,
rice,
dahl,
butter chicken,
rogan josh,
vindaloo,
my cackle of teens had inhaled dinner.
I ordered seconds,
watched them try to out-cool each other
handling spicy food.
Even my little one played along,
out-cooling everyone,
begging for milk and water,
the second the teens had left the table
for a walkabout.
By the time we got back to our hotel,
he’d taken our little one in the small car,
roof down,
music up,
a burst of speed,
its tires grip, it crouches, it leaps forward.
By the time we said goodnight,
she said to him,
“Best day ever, Dada!”
