And Andrew Warren took two weeks off, and came to visit her in San Francisco. They drove to the Napa Valley, had lunch in Sonoma, strolled along Crissy Field with the baby. It was almost like being married again. And he took her out for several very fancy dinners that he claimed were their “official” dates.
“In that case, what's the rest of it?” she inquired. They had an easy relationship that seemed to be equal parts friendship and romance, and they both liked it that way.
“The rest of the time we're just friends,” he explained. “It's only a date if I take you to a restaurant. How's that?”
“Excellent. Just the way I want it.” And she really missed him when he left. He was wonderful with the baby, and they had a good time together. When he went back to work, he came up on weekends from L.A., and stayed in the mother-in-law apartment, once with Wim, since there were two bedrooms. Paris hadn't slept with him, and wasn't ready to yet. They had only been “dating” for about a month, although they'd seen a lot of each other when he came up for two weeks. They were together every day.
But on Valentine's Day their chastity came to an end. He took her out for a lovely dinner. She was back at work by then, and didn't even get home that day till eight-thirty. And at ten o'clock he spirited her away for a lovely meal. They came home at midnight, and he gave her a beautiful diamond bangle. She gave him a silly watch with a red alligator band, and he put it on. They sat and talked for hours, and finally they drifted into her bedroom and that which she had avoided and feared for so long became the easiest thing in the world. They made love like two people who had known each other forever and not strangers, she never had to ask him if it was “exclusive,” it wasn't acrobatic or disappointing, exotic or terrifying. It was as though it had always been, which was the best way. And after they fell alseep in each other's arms, the baby woke them. Paris went to get her bottle ready, and Andrew gave it to her, and they went back to sleep with the baby between them and slept until the next day. Paris felt as though she'd come home. After nearly three years of loneliness and sorrow, she had found the man she had thought she would never find. She had stopped looking for him, and had long since ceased to believe that he existed. She had found the needle in the haystack after all. And so had Andrew. He had never been happier in his life.
It was a golden spring for them. They alternated weekends between San Francisco and L.A., and whenever he could get away from his office, he brought a stack of scripts up and stayed with her and Hope. Her children loved him, and when his daughters came to visit in June, they liked Paris as well. All the pieces of the puzzle fit, better even than they had with Peter. That was the odd part. It was almost as though she couldn't remember being married to him now. She felt as though she had always been with Andrew.
And when Meg's baby was due, she took two weeks off. Bix said he could manage without her, and much to everyone's relief, Steven was feeling much better. He was doing well.
Paris and Hope were staying with Andrew when Meg went into labor, right on her due date, and Andrew baby-sat for Hope while Paris went to the hospital with Richard and Meg. It was a long arduous labor, but Meg was very good about it. And Richard was wonderful with her. Paris sat in the labor room with them, and wasn't intending to be at the birth, but at the last minute Meg wanted her there, and Richard didn't mind. Paris didn't want to intrude, and as their son pushed his way into the world, Paris was watching her daughter and her husband and cried at how happy they were, and how beautiful their baby was. They named him Brandon. Brandon Bolen. He was a beautiful healthy boy, and as Paris held him in the delivery room, after they did, Meg looked up at her mother with a tired smile.
“I love you, Mom… thank you for being my mom.” It was the best gift in the world. And she cried when she told Andrew about it. And when she lay in bed next to him that night, she sighed. There was something about having babies around. She was forty-nine years old, but she loved her babies, of all sizes and ages, as much as she had twenty-five years before.
“You know, I was thinking,” she said to Andrew with a yawn, as she cuddled up next to him in the dark. “Maybe it's not such a great thing for Hope to be an only child. Maybe I should adopt another one.” There was a long silent pause, as Andrew looked down at her with a smile.
