My head raised, but I kept glancing down as I worked. “What?”
“I’m saying, I don’t really want you to teach the kids how to jump on my furniture.”
I let out a huge belly laugh, so loud, I nearly doubled over. My elbows landed on the counter and I kept laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re telling me,” I said, taking in a deep breath, “that those boys haven’t jumped on your couch before?”
His voice was more than slightly defensive. “When they do, I tell them not to.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my arm. “Then they’re doing it behind your back. Trust me. I spent my entire childhood jumping on and off our couches and chairs. And from the couch to the chair. And back again.”
“And your mom didn’t care?”
A small laugh burst out as I finished up my dough. “She would instruct me on how to get more air with my jumps.”
After I set my dough inside a warm bowl, I covered it up and said, “Raise nice for me, baby.” Then I placed it all inside of Beau’s oven. He had a top of the line model with a proofing function. I closed the oven door, set the timer, and left it be.
“Then I doubt she spent thousands of dollars on the couch you were jumping on.”
I shook my head as I washed the flour off my hands. “She didn’t have thousands of dollars, Beau. And if she did, buying a new couch wouldn’t have even been on the radar.” I thought for a second, then said, “Do you know how many used cars I could buy with what you paid for that couch?”
“Look, that’s not the point. I like my furniture and I want my kids—”
“Le sol est lave!” Carson yelled with so much enthusiasm, I started laughing immediately. Then I threw down the dishtowel I was drying my hands with.
I rocketed into the living room, leaping onto the coffee table—and sticking my landing perfectly. Bending over, one leg arched behind me, arms stretched, palms up, smile on my face—judges would have to give me near perfect marks.
“Wow, Gigi! You’re a superstar,” Cooper yelled, clapping in delight. Carson joined in while I straightened up and gave them a dramatic curtsey, holding an imaginary skirt in my hands.
“Why thank you,” I said, grinning over at them. “And I have to say, Carson, your accent was delightful. Well done.” He beamed over at me and tried his best to curtsey, instead, falling over onto the couch.
Cooper and I howled out loud, and I bounded over to tickle them both.
“S’il vous plait, passe moi le pain,” I repeated to Carson. It was a mouthful, but I knew he could do it. That was why I held the basket of bread up until he’d asked for it properly in French. When he gave it his best go, I smiled and said, “Très bien!”
“Carson, that was very good. But you can just ask for bread in English, Son.”
Carson glared at his father, then he shared a disgusted look with his brother. “Yeah, we do. We gotta learn French.”
“You don’t. It’s fine,” Beau answered back, taking a bite of his bread.
Now Cooper raised his voice. “We do, too! Gigi said it’s part of our hairy taz and we gotta know it.” The look on that little boy’s face melted my heart.
“It’s part of your heritage, that’s correct. Your father’s family came over from France hundreds of years ago,” I added, having the boys’ rapt attention.
Carson turned to Beau. “France is where all the French peoples are.”
Beau set his bread down and gazed across the table at me. He spoke in French, obviously not wanting the boys to know what he was saying, “Why are you teaching them French?”
I answered back in French, “Because they’re French? They need to be able to speak it to your family.”
“They don’t. My mom was here, and they understood each other just fine. Everyone in my family is bilingual.”
“And you want the boys to be the only ones in your family who can’t speak French?”
“They’re already four. It’ll be too much work to teach them now.”