Bad Marie by Marcy Dermansky

was also delicious. When the waitress came back around again, Marie ordered another.
    “Do you want to eat your fruit?” she asked Caitlin.
    Caitlin didn’t.
    Marie gladly ate Caitlin’s fruit. The strawberries were smaller in France. Marie thought she should tell Caitlin what she was missing, insist that she should try the strawberries, but instead Marie ate them, every last one. She could not help herself. She had never tasted strawberries like these. They made her happy.
    “Hi Caitlin,” Marie said, smiling at the little girl, fingers still in the jam.
    “Hi Marie.”
    “Hi Caty Bean.”
    “Hi Marie.”
    After breakfast, they would have to do something, go somewhere. Caitlin’s things, the bags and bags of favorite things Benoît had feverishly packed, were still in Lili Gaudet’s apartment. Marie had grabbed only Caitlin’s travel bag, Caitlin, and her own backpack, leaving everything else behind. She wished she had taken Caitlin’s stroller. A couple of stuffed animals. The Elmo doll. Caitlin’s father.
    “What do you want to do next?” Marie said.
    “I want to see sea lions,” Caitlin said.
    Marie nodded. It was the right thing to do, symbolic. Whenever Marie required wisdom, she could count on Caitlin.
    “How did you get so smart?” Marie asked her.
    Caitlin grinned.
    “We’ll go to the zoo,” Marie said. There had to be a zoo in Paris.
    “Where is Mommy?” Caitlin asked.
    “Mommy?” Marie only missed a beat. “Mommy is at the office.”
    “Look at my fingers,” Caitlin said.
    They were sticky with jam. She smeared jam on Marie’s bare arm. “Red,” Caitlin said.
    Marie licked the jam off her arm. She licked Caitlin’s nose. Caitlin seemed to be satisfied with Marie’s answer. It was the same as in the airport. Caitlin did not miss her mother; she just needed to know her whereabouts.
    “Your daddy is busy, too,” Marie said. “He is with the French actress.”
    “There,” Caitlin said. “There is Daddy.”
    Caitlin pointed, and there, in fact, was Benoît Doniel. His face was bright red, covered in a glossy sheen of sweat. His button-down shirt was unbuttoned and untucked. He doubled over once he reached them, hands on his thighs, catching his breath. His legs shook violently. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t.
    “Of course,” he said, finally. “Of course. Of course. Bien sûr. You are having breakfast. No need to worry.”
    Caitlin put her finger back into the pot of jam and offered it to Benoît. Benoît shook his head. He was staring at Marie. Marie couldn’t recognize the expression on his face. Love? Fear? Rage? She was inclined to think it was the latter, though she had never seen Benoît Doniel angry before. She did know what he looked like aroused by another woman.
    “Good morning,” he said to Marie. “You have already eaten. That’s good. Very good. She went out for breakfast. That’s all. That’s okay. Sensible. You were hungry.”
    “No,” Marie said. “I left.”
    Benoît looked around for the waitress.
    “I left you,” Marie said. “Then we decided on breakfast.”
    “We saw French birds,” Caitlin said. “I pet a dog. This is good.” She dipped her fingers back into the jam.
    “Don’t do that,” Benoît said, taking Caitlin’s hands out of the pot. “Why do you let her do that?”
    It was the first time Benoît had ever criticized Marie for the way that she looked after Caitlin. Marie did not appreciate Benoît’s look of contempt. For the first time, he reminded her of Ellen. He had chosen to marry that woman. Why? Because she drank Diet Coke? Because she paid his bills? Was she even any good in bed? Marie doubted it. She reached for Caitlin’s croissant and took a bite.
    Benoît ordered his breakfast in French, which seemed like just one more betrayal. But there they were, together, at a café in Paris, France, the way it was supposed to be. Standing in front of the sea lion tank, Marie had believed in them, in their future.