Part 2: Sabrina
 Astrid walks barefoot into the kitchen wearing the clingy green dress she wore out to dinner the night before. There are smudged dark lines under her eyes and her lips still carry unwashed red lipstick. She smiles sweetly at Sabrina sitting at the kitchen table, lamenting over a saucer of milky coffee. Astrid pours herself a glass of milk and sits at the table. “You should have come out with us” She touches Sabrina’s forearm and rubs her wrists before sipping her milk. Sabrina nods her head knowingly and straightens her posture. “Roland was looking forward to meeting you. I’ve told him so much about you. It would have been fun.” “Next time. I promise.” “Yes yes,” Astrid mocks. “Next time. Next time” Sabrina rolls her eyes playfully and sips her coffee. “You must leave sometime you know? It is not good to stay here all the time, with no friends.” “Yes I know.” “With no lovers.” She giggles girlishly and for the first time Sabrina realizes that Astrid is a woman, and not the silly party girl she always held her to be. She is a woman with a lover on the weekends and a job during the week. She is somebody who drinks milk in the morning not coffee, kicks off her pumps after work and carries an attache of work home with her at night. She is not a child, but somebody filled with energy and passion. Her skin is smooth, hued soft peach at her cheeks, and flawless. Her features are delicately shaped and memorable. Her face is framed by glossy chestnut hair and accented by her thick but maintained eyebrows. When Sabrina saw her for the first time at the airport a month ago she looked to her feet and brushed her loose hair behind her ear. She could not believe that Amber’s older cousin was so beautiful. She was somebody who would fit into the pages of Vogue effortlessly. She regretted Paris in that instant, in that instant of self doubt. Astrid took her by the shoulders and hugged her like a friend she had known her whole life. They became friends in the taxi back home. Sabrina, at the table, one foot on the floor the other on her chair, blushes deeply and rubs her chin across her shoulder. Astrid playfully taps her knee and Sabrina giggles. “You have come to Paris, the city of love and what do you do? You stay home alone. You must go out and find somebody special. You must go out and look for work. Your money will not last forever.” “Ok, I will” Sabrina takes a gulp from her saucer. “You must not just say that but do it. Today you will come with me to the market. You have not seen the Sunday market so you will come with me. We will buy fresh aubergine and basil and eggs. You must take something more than coffee and my red wine. That is no way to live in Paris.” “Oh,” Sabrina hesitates. “I…ah…today?” “Oui ma Cheri. Aujourd'hui nous allons commercial!” “What?” Astrid leaps to her feet, kisses the peak of Sabrina’s head, does a pirouette, tilts her head to the side, and curtsies. She lift a lock of hair from Sabrina’s shoulder curls it playfully in her fingers then lets it fall as if she has released a feather in the wind. She disappears to her room, humming something that sounds like a Schubert composition. Sabrina’s brow furrows; she drops her head into her face. The day is cool with a sudden chilling breeze. October in New York, Sabrina can imagine the red and orange leaves in Central Park and the decorative Fall windows at Macy’s. She’s seen similar themes the day she ventured to the shopping district for a few moments. The market is crowded with people yelling offers, people tasting, smelling and squeezing. Astrid like a child as she darts from stall to stall asking Sabrina if she knows or likes certain food. “Apples…yes…you like? Do you know the name in French? Pommes? Yes, you know? You eat them? Cashews? Fromage de chevre? Cream? Shall we buy a chicken? Lamb? Almonds? Do you prefer daisies or tulips for the kitchen?” She laughs with the vendors, throws her head back and lets out a genuine laugh. Sabrina is always struck my Astrid’s genuineness; nothing is ever done for show. They hold hands as Astrid darts through people, smiling for everybody and saying good day to anybody who catches her toffee eyes. They stop at a stand where an old lady with dirty gray gloves, the fingertips cut off, is selling roses. “Let’s buy roses. Yes? Shall we?” “Yes.” The multi colored bouquet brings a smile to Sabrina’s face and suddenly she is grateful for the time out of the apartment. She looks across the flower stall, to another cart where a man is selling roasted chickens and sees the woman she glimpsed from the night before. Her blonde hair hangs loosely at her shoulders. She wears a red scarf, no jacket and a pair of brown trousers. The man who came to her at the window is at the fish cart next to her. She woman points at a chicken, holds her finger under her nose as if deliberating a point, nods to the vendor smiles and takes her paper wrapped chicken. “Astrid?” “Oui, Cheri” “Do you see that woman over there? There with the red scarf? She lives in the building across from us.” “Oh does she?” Astrid squints, spots the woman and nods. “Oh yes. I see who you mean. I see her around the neighborhood from time to time” “Do you know her?” “No, not really. I once said hello when she was at her back window and I was on the balcony. Why? Has something happened?” “Oh, no. Nothing happened. I saw her last night at her window.” The vendor gives Sabrina a pink rose, says something in French and smiles. “She says this is for you. For being so lovely.” Sabrina looks to the ground and manages a humbling “Merci”.
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