Jen lived by the unwritten rules of being single but wanting a child. Don’t look at children. Don’t engage with children. Don’t talk about children. Don’t let other people talk about their children. And don’t, for the love of all that is holy, tell anyone you long for a child.

A nearby suitor could be eyeing you up, biting their bottom lip at the sight of your untoned bum, lusting after your wide midriff, admiring your conical legs. They could be subconsciously sliding you through their mental mold of their dream woman, seeing you slot in just right. Only to see your face change from that of a promising conquest to a maniacal ovary, ready to snatch the sperm of the nearest purveyor to fulfill your vapid, barren life.

Looking at, engaging with, talking about, or listening to stories about children will, to even the most gullible testicles-owner, immediately announce your desperate, ugly yearning like a tannoy in a tin.

So it was a treat for Jen to allow herself to sit in front of a beautiful, cherubic baby and gaze in unfettered awe and longing. She had been doing this almost every week lately. The museum, a former church, was on her walk home on Fridays, when she worked only half a day. The exhibition had been on display since January, but it was early Spring when she found herself sputtering around, trying to look interesting to a society obsessed only with the happenings of her womb. Trying to look like she was, indeed, living her best life, flitting from exhibition to dinner date, eating the world around, unburdened by responsibility.

The first day she went to the exhibition, she found Her. A mother, THE mother. A miracle hewn from marble, nursing Her baby beatifically. Stone had given birth, yet she was not. And this statue was a virgin for god’s sake. She loved Her instantly, though on her first few visits, she hastened past Her, fearful that those watching would delight in the poetic tragedy of the sight; a childless woman gazing up at the immaculate mother of mothers.

Jen’s childlessness oozed out of her. It soaked her sheets and rattled her guts. It was a repugnance only she seemed to acknowledge. But she noticed it so solidly for the last two years, she had thought of little else. She tried to hide her childlessness from onlookers, mask it from bystanders, but it was in vain. She knew that all who saw her, saw a woman, not a mother. All who saw her, with their modern views and progressive thoughts, forgave her on sight, of course. But the flash of forgiveness was mortifying. She felt it from everyone she encountered.

Everyone but him. He was wiry and sort of ugly and smelled of the kind of sports deodorant that reminds everyone of sweat. He looked at the statue, looked at Jen, then back at the statue and screwed his face quizzically.

“Is she bumming you out?” he asked with a raspy voice that sounded like an old lady who claims that smoking is what’s keeping her alive. "Excuse me?" Jen replied after checking her empty peripherals. "Why are you looking at her if she’s making you sad?" he asked, with a sense of informality she wasn’t used to. "Do I know you?" she asked. "Do we just keep asking each other questions?" he replied, thinking himself very clever. "I’m sorry, can I help you?" she replied, kicking herself for continuing the game she had no interest in playing. He narrowed his eyes and she saw a vague handsomeness somewhere around his jawline. "I’ll leave you alone. You looked sad but I didn’t think you really were sad so I was making a joke. But…sorry, I’ll leave you to it", he said without a single muscle of his body living up to this promise. "I’m not sad. It’s art. It’s supposed to make you sad", she said, far too defensively.

She felt rumbled. He was a hick. He didn’t have the sophistication to forgive her on sight like the others. It reminded her of the time when she, a serious teenager, was asked by a child why her face was all dots. And how the adults comforted the uninjured child but not her.

“Is it?” he asked with what seemed like genuine curiosity. "It’s art", she repeated knowingly, the upper hand. "I always find the stone ones so creepy. It’s because they don’t have eyelashes. They should use cat hair or something. Or fake eyelashes", he meandered, seemingly unaware that Jen was winning. "You’ve lovely eyelashes" Jen said and brought her purse to her mouth hoping to vomit the words into it instead of the ether. "Oh, sorry. I mean people have lovely eyelashes. Not you. You too. But, you know, everyone". He smiled and she fell in love with him momentarily the way she fell in love with everyone with a vas deferens momentarily these days. "They’re fake," he said, smiling proudly at his stupid joke. "So, why does this make you sad?"

She thought for a moment. Thought about wanting to be a statue, to be frozen, voiceless, heartless. Childless, but nursing another statue. She hated him. She felt naked, she wanted to run but was gripping to the galloping high horse she hoped he was aware of. She was going to make him run. She had a super power for repelling. "Because I want a baby, and she has one" she said, more quietly and tenderly than she had planned. "Ah", he replied flatly.

She waited for him to shuffle his feet, to check his watch, to answer his phone. She could sense him planning his apologetic escape. She felt him admonish himself for his uncouth lack of awareness, for missing the sillage of her childlessness. He seemed to be gathering himself. The years of manners beaten into him flooding to the front of mind, seeking ground after this calamitous misstep. How to politely, stoically, apologetically extricate himself from this hideous interaction.

"Well, if you think that baby’s great, wait until you see the size of the horse some soldier guy has in the next room. Come on, I’ll show you", he replied, his smile softer but warmer. She stood up and they went to look at a marble horse.

“So, how was your day?” Neil asked his wife Lois as they sat at the table to eat dinner.

“It was fine. I finished up at the office early and met Sara for lunch.”

“That sounds nice.”

“We decided to try out that new café on Birch Rd. I was pleasantly surprised by it. It's a fantastic little place. How about you? How was your day?”

“Like yours, I suppose. Only worked half a day and went to the driving range to hit a few golf balls with Ben.”

“It’s funny, I was thinking about Ben earlier today,” Lois said.

Neil shook his head, “Nope.”

“What?” Why are you saying “Nope” when you don’t even know what I was about to say,” Lois asked.

“Because I do know what you are about to say. You are going to suggest setting Sara and Ben up on a date.”

Lois stopped eating and looked at her husband, “Ok, so what if I was going to say something along those lines? Why are you already saying no to it? I think they would be great for each other. And the more I think about it, the more I see what they have in common. They like golf, the same movies, games, fishing, hell! They both do photography for a living. I think you should rethink your “Nope.””

Neil shook his head with a smile, “I’m not saying no because I think they won’t get along. I’m saying no, because neither of them would be willing to give a blind date a chance. Trust me, I tried.”

Lois raised an eyebrow at that statement, “You tried?”

Neil sighed, “Yes, a few times. Neither of them is willing to be set up with someone. They both blame it on previous bad experiences.”

“What about inviting them over for a game night or maybe a cookout? I’m sure the two of them would hit it off well.”

Neil surprised Sara by laughing out loud.

“What?” she asked.

“First, the two would be weary about it being a set up, they always think I’m scheming something.

“You usually are,” Lois said, cutting him off.

“That’s beside the point. Second, let's think about how the two would act in front of one another.”

“What do you mean?”

Neil just stared at her for a moment, letting her imagine the two in a room together for the first time.

“Oh, that would be awkward.”

“Exactly, the two of them become very weird when trying to flirt. They almost become an entirely different people.”

“Yes, a very strange person at that. They would scare each other away,” Lois said with a look of horror on her face.

“And that, my darling wife, is why they are still single,” Neil stated.

“How sad.”

Neil nodded as he continued to eat, but Lois spoke up, “So… why hadn’t you come up with a plan to get them together.”

Neil squinted his eyes, “You mean, why haven’t I schemed something?”

Lois nodded.

“Because they are friends, and I’m always honest with friends. Lying to friends is not something I do.”

“Well, you don’t need to lie. Just be creative,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“My dear Wife, are you encouraging me to…”

“I am encouraging you to do what needs to be done for the better good,” she told him after cutting him off.

Neil smiled and nodded at his wife before continuing to eat his dinner. The two ate in silence, which was unusual, but Lois didn’t mind; she knew the wheels in Neil were turning, and she would wait quietly until he came up with a plan.

The silence was broken when Neil reached for his phone about fifteen minutes later. Lois listened intently as she tried to hear the other person on the phone.

“Hello!”

“Hey, Ben.”

“Hey Neil, what’s up?”

“Well, I’m going over some details of a new project I’m working on, and there is a job I can use you for if you’re interested?”

“Of course, what do you need?”

“I need you to take photos of a client, but I need you to do it secretly”

“Secretly?” Ben questioned.

“Yes. I will send you the client’s schedule

“Hey Neil”

“Hey Sara, you have a moment?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Well, I was just sitting here with Lois talking about a project I’m working on and I am in need of a photographer.”

“Yeah of course, what’s the job?”

“I need you to take pictures of a client of mine when he is unaware.”

“Umm… OK.”

“I know this is a strange job, but I can reassure you that the person being photographed is fine with it.”

“So, they know someone will be taking pictures of them?”

“No, of course not, but they know they are part of a project that will require them to be photographed. Just like the contract I will send over to you. It says you may be photographed in the coming month without being prompted, just something standard in everyone’s contract who is involved in this project.”

“What kind of project is it?”

“It’s a personal project, I don’t get much out of it but I am hoping pays dividends to all who are involved in it.”

“Even the photographer?” Sara asked with excitement in her voice.

“Absolutely!”

“Alright, send me the details and contract, and I’ll look it over.”

“Alright, I’ll send it later tonight,” Neil told her before hanging up the phone.

Neil put his phone down and looked at his wife with a smile.

“Well, this is going to be interesting,” she said.

Ben received his contract late that night. He looked over the details and signed it. The pay wasn’t great, but he needed the money, and it was for a friend. He sent the contract back and about forty minutes later received the details of his job. For the next two weeks, he would receive updates on where his target was. He was to take pictures of the target that captured the true beauty of someone doing everyday things. He also relieved a picture of women he would need to photograph. He would be lying if he said that the woman’s appearance didn’t make the job more exciting for him.

Sara received the contract at the same time as Ben but was editing some of her work, and it took a little longer to get to it and read over the details. Like Ben, she was hoping the pay would be higher, but she also needed the money and was grateful for the opportunity. She looked over the papers and signed them before sending them back. Ten minutes later, she got an E-mail with her target's photo and a description just like the one Ben had received.

“Good looking guy,” she said to herself as she printed the photo.

Ben parked his car and looked around. He was in an empty parking lot of a small strip mall with a few shops, none that he recognized. He checked the address again and ensured he was at the right location. He was at the right place, so he grabbed his camera and waited.

Ben wasn’t given much information, just the address and approximate time that his target would show up. He was an hour early, but as time passed, more and more cars started pulling into the parking lot.

Ben watched from the opposite end of the parking lot with his camera in hand. He grew curious about what was happening because most people getting out of their cars were wearing some kind of fantasy garb. He was entertained by the people showing up and almost missed when Sarah arrived.

He saw her pull into the parking lot in her little red car with the window rolled down. He started taking pictures immediately and was excited to see what she was dressed up as or if she was dressed up at all. His jaw dropped when she stepped out. She was dressed in a blue corset with a short pleated mini skirt and thigh-high boots. Ben suddenly felt a bit wrong taking pictures of this girl without her knowing he was there. It didn’t help when she turned and bent over to reach into her car and grab her witch hat and magic staff.

Ben thought he had taken some amazing photos of Sarah, but when he finished, he became curious about what was going on inside. He grabbed some random things in his car and made a cheesy makeshift costume. He walked into the shop and saw it was a huge tabletop gaming center.

It had been years since Ben had played any tabletop game, and he felt an urge to jump in somewhere and play. Instead, he looked around and saw Sara having a great time. As he watched her, he started feeling attracted to her but knew he couldn’t say anything.

Sara found a cozy spot in a dark corner of a bookstore. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt to blend in and help hide the camera she had on her. Unlike Ben, she researched the address where she was given and the event taking place. She was surprised when she learned he would be attending a book club. His photo made it look like he spent more time at the gym than anywhere else. She also learned about the book they would be discussing; she thought it was interesting and had read it before attending. To her surprise, the book was amazing and made it to her top five favorite books.

Sara sat and watched as people started arriving. Ben was the third to arrive, and she almost didn’t recognize him as he was dressed better than she expected. She immediately got to work and started taking pictures. She got some great shots and knew she could leave but became involved in listening to the discussion of the book. She felt her anger rise as she listened to one of the women there go on about the main and all the things he could have done. She wanted to jump up and explain why the character did what he did or slap the woman and ask her if she had even read the book, but she couldn’t do anything but sit and listen.

The woman finishes by asking Ben his thoughts. Sara held her breath, waiting for Ben to answer. She was praying that he wouldn’t have the same opinion as her, and to her relief, she heard.

“I’m sorry, but I completely disagree with you,”

Sara felt like Ben was her hero at that moment and became attracted to him even more as she listened to him explain his opinion of the story. She felt the same way he did and wished she could ask him out for coffee to discuss it further, but she couldn’t.

Over the next two weeks, Ben and Sara fell for each other without saying a word. Ben photographed Sarah at the gym, the beach, biking, and fishing, while Sara photographed Ben at the farmers market, dog park, hiking, and rock climbing. During this time, the two overheard each other’s conversations and learned much about each other. Both had an overwhelming urge to talk to the other, but neither would, and both blamed it on the agreement with Neil that they were to be caught taking pictures.

After the two and a half weeks ended, Sara and Ben each provided Neil with a book of masterfully edited photos. Neil and Lois looked through the photos and couldn’t believe how good they were for being taken in random places. It was a testament to how well each of them knew their craft.

The moment was cut short when Neil received a call from the local police station asking if he would accept a collect call. He did and heard Ben’s voice on the other line.

“Hey, Neil.”

“Hi, Ben.”

“I made a mistake and could use your help?”

“Does this mistake have something to do with why you are calling me from a police station?” Neil asked.

“It does.”

“What happened?”

“I'm not sure how much time I have to explain, but the short answer is that I was caught photographing Sara. I tried to explain to the cops it was for a job, and she was aware and unaware at the same time, but I just confused them and was arrested.”

“Why were you taking photos still? The job was over?” Neil asked.

“Yes, and it’s a funny story. You see…” was all Ben had time to say before the call ended.

Neil shook his head and looked at his wife.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Ben was arrested for taking photos of Sarah, I'm not sure of the details because the call was cut short, but I’m assured it’s a funny story.

“But they were supposed to be done with that. Next was you arranging a perfect meeting for the two.”

“I know. I’ll find out when I get down to the station and ask him in person.”

Neil was getting ready to leave when his phone rang. It was the police station, and he was asked for the second time that night if he would accept a collect call.

“Must be Ben again,” he told his wife before answering it, but it wasn’t.

“Hey Neil,” Sarah said.

“Well, hi there, Sara,” Neil said in a tone that was surprised but not surprised.

“I have a small problem, and I can use your help.”

“You wouldn’t, by chance, have gotten arrested for trying to take pictures of Ben and then tried to talk your way out of it only to make things worse for yourself. Even though the job is over with?”

“Did someone contact you already about the situation?” she asked.

“No, Sara, they didn’t. I just had a feeling, but I'm heading that way anyway, so I will see you in a few minutes,” he told her before hanging up the phone.

Neil grabbed the two photo books from the table and headed towards the door.

“Why are you taking them?” Lois asked.

“Because I think the police station will be the perfect place for them to meet each other.”

“I can’t miss this,” Lois said as she jumped to her feet and grabbed her coat and followed Neil out the door.

Ben sat quietly in his cell next to Sara’s. The two leaned against the same wall but on opposite sides of it. Ben was the first to be let out of his cell, as a guard opened the door and guided him to a room with Neil, his acting attorney. Ben sat and said nothing, just waited for Neil to speak.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Neil asked.

Ben looked down, feeling ashamed, “I know it sounds like I was stalking Sara, but I wasn’t. I was just hoping to talk to her. I was going to ask you to introduce me, but after the huge speech I gave you last time, you wanted to introduce me to someone. I didn’t think that would be an option. So, I found out where she lives and was going to knock on her door and say hi, but I realized that would be creepy, so I decided I would try to bump into her one morning accidentally. I went to pull away when the cops showed up. I tried to explain that I was there to photograph someone with them, knowing but not knowing, but it just got weird, and they arrested me.”

Neil sighed, “You were parked in front of a fire hydrant. When the cop went to talk to you, you started talking nonsense, and the cop wasn’t sure if you were on drugs or up to some criminal activity.

“I’m only here because I parked in front of a fire hydrant?” Ben asked.

“And because you sounded like a crazy person when all the cop did was tap on your window. Now, take this back to your cell while I get things in order for you to be released.

Neil handed Ben the photo book Sara put together and watched him get escorted out of the cell.

A few minutes later, Sara was escorted into the room. She sat in front of Neil and gave him a sheepish grin.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.

She ran her fingers through her hair before confessing, “Because I took things too far. I followed Ben home one day, and for some reason, I thought it would be a great idea to just bump into him one morning, accidentally,” she said, making air quotes.

“So why were you at his house tonight?”

“Well, an accidental bump can happen at night. I was just there seeing if an opportunity would present itself. Then I saw his dog watching a butterfly and went to take a photo when the cops tapped on my window. Next thing I know, I am being taken in.”

“You were double parked, with half in a handicap parking spot. The cop was going to let you know, but you started speaking, and like someone else, I know you sounded crazy and like you were up to no good.

Sara’s jaw dropped as she heard why she was arrested.

Neil gave her the book and told her the same thing Ben had told her. Sara opened the book and looked to Neil to ask a million questions, but he just waved as the cop dragged her away.

Neil and Lois watched from a distance as Sara was escorted to Ben’s cell. They were both told that they were free to go, but instead, Sarah entered the cell and sat with Ben. They talked for over an hour until the chief kicked them out and forced them to go on their first real date.

For years, Holly dreamed of visiting Paris, the backdrop of her grandparent’s love story, but the timing was never right. Now, she stood in the City of Lights, not as a tourist, but to fulfill her grandfather’s dying wish.

Before her, across the Seine River, the graceful Eiffel Tower swarmed with tourists; no one noticed the American middle-aged woman in jeans and a tank top, holding a battered old black-and-white photograph at eye level.

Holly stared down at her wrist as the second hand of her grandfather’s watch counted the minutes. The instructions had been clear: scatter his ashes at this location on this day and this time.

A pink and yellow sky framed the wrought-iron lattice structure, a precursor of the colorful sunset approaching. A fog of dark figures trotted across the Pont d’Iéna bridge toward the iconic building, lovers holding hands and families marveling at the tower.

An unseasonal heatwave blew warm air around her, and she pulled her auburn hair off her neck, letting a cool breeze caress her skin. The reek of dirt, sweat, and sweet perfume floated through the shadows of future, present, and past visitors to the historical formation.

Laughter and carrousel music filled the stagnant air.

She checked for any distinguishing markers shared between the image and the current landscape. After seeing this picture for years, she knew every pixel but continued scrutinizing it on the plane.

Her grandfather deserved that.

New buildings dotted the landscape while old ones perished in a sea of modernization over the last 60 years when the photo was taken. She moved a few feet to the left to redirect her sightline and compare her positioning. Straightening her back and legs, Holly attempted to add a few more inches to her 5’7 frame in case the photographer had been taller.

After a few more adjustments, the angle was close. Holly snuggled into the corner where a Roman Soldier statue and a chest-high cement wall connected. She peered down at the river and the cobblestoned street that ran along its banks.

“Well, closer,” she thought.

Holding the photo up, she again compared her positioning. The bridge in the picture seemed higher, and she moved toward the stairs leading her down to the river. Even with the waterline, the angle lined up, and she fought tears of happiness and tears of grief at finding the spot.

Her focus changed to the happy couple portrayed in the image, their arms interlinked and looking at each other. The man stared into the eyes of the dark-haired and dark-eyed woman, her thin frame leaning into his muscular 6-foot build.

Smiling, she gazed at her grandmother’s image—so young, pretty, and in love—not the older gray-haired woman she remembered and lost over five years ago. She could still hear her grandmother’s voice whispering in her ear late at night, her soft French accent dribbling over her words of wisdom.

She drew air deep into her lungs and pulled a small white envelope from her oversized bag; the white paper felt rough between her fingers. She examined the note as if seeing it for the first time, though creases from several readings marred the once bright, clean wrapping.

Scanning the page, she found the instructions left by her grandfather, along with money to complete this trip.

“At sunset, please scatter some of my ashes in the Seine, where I spent the best week of my life meeting and marrying the woman of my dreams.”

Holly rechecked the time. The minutes ticked away, drawing her closer to the mission. Her stomach fluttered after so much planning.

This was it.

She massaged the back of her neck and sauntered over to the river’s edge. Lowering herself to the ground, she sat cross-legged on the hard stones as images of her grandfather drifted through her mind. The proud man in the photo appeared healthy and strong, but over the last months of his life, brokenhearted with the loss of his one true love, he morphed into a feeble old man living in the past.

Within the year of his wife’s passing, he joined her.

Setting the note and the picture next to her, Holly took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she watched the river flow by. A boat of tourists passed, and their joyous laughter echoed off the stone walls before dissipating into the atmosphere.

She picked up the photograph and stared into the white with gray shadowed faces. The man sported a military officer’s uniform, while his companion wore a plane button-up dress cinched at the waist.

Gazing across the river, the familiar love story recited to her as a child ran through her mind.

Holly placed the picture close to her heart and let the story unravel.

This is where it all began, and she allowed herself to be pulled back in time.

Not long after the Allies liberated Paris, her soldier grandfather chose to explore the freed city. People cheered him as they acknowledged his United States uniform. Wandering the assorted neighborhoods without a plan or map, he became lost. Unable to speak the language, a young woman approached him and offered to serve as a translator. An immediate attraction shook him. He recognized the importance of this meeting and recorded it in the picture Holly held in her hand.

After the fateful meeting, the couple kept in touch and fell in love through letters and occasional visits. Returning to Paris after the war, he whisked her away to the United States, where they married and started their family.

Opening her eyes, she seemed to be in a shadow. She turned and noticed a man a few feet behind her, his athletic body blocking the sun from shining on Holly.

“Excusez-moi,” a deep baritone voice wafted down to her from his perfect pink lips. Holly looked up into deep blue eyes that matched the shirt under his lime green jacket. Little laughs line wrinkles emanated from the corner of his eyes while dark stubble covered his chin and cheeks.

“No parle français,” she replied, shaking her head side to side, using a few of the words her grandmother taught her over the years.

He smiled, his lips parted, and straight white teeth filled the gap.

“English?” He asked in a heavy accent as he inched closer to her. The scent of a familiar cologne floated off his body, and she recognized the scent as the same one her grandfather wore.

“Do you have the time?” he asked, running his fingers through his salt and pepper brown hair. She answered, noting that she had less than five minutes left until showtime.

“Would you mind if I sat?” he motioned with his hands to the area next to her.

Holly shrugged her shoulders, and he plopped down beside her.

“Hello, my name is Alexandre,” he held his hand toward her.

She smiled and said she was Holly.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he stated.

“My grandfather’s name was Alex,” she muttered.

He nodded, and silence fell over them. She internally questioned why she had let him sit when she needed to complete her undertaking. Still, she welcomed the company, even if they never said another word.

In silence, the last few minutes evaporated.

She placed her photograph on the ground and pulled a white, sealed envelope from her purse. She began removing the tab from the corner.

“Mademoiselle,” his voice rose an octave, and he pointed at the picture.

Unable to find the words, he pulled out another photograph that matched hers.

“I am here to scatter ashes for my godmother,” he exclaimed. “And you also have a photograph of her. How?”

Surprise contorted his eyes and expression.

“They are my grandparents,” she stated, shock edging her voice. “How did you get that photo?”

Smiling, he told how his grandfather, a teen at the time, met the couple and helped their romance.

“So, my godmother would be your grandmother, and my grandfather would escort your grandmother as a chaperone to meet your grandfather,” his speech strewn with French as he searched for the English words, reminding her of her grandmother’s speech patterns.

“This means I would be named after your grandfather.” His voice was joyous and slightly louder.

His tale continued, and Holly perched on the edge, absorbed in his voice as much as the story.

She peered down at the watch and stopped his story.

“It’s time,” she said, dipping into the white envelope and retracting a handful of ashes. He mirrored her actions with his own envelope.

Like a choreographed dance, they held the ashes out over the water and let her grandparents drift into the river together forever.

“Would you like to go to coffee, and I can tell you more of the story?” he asked, and she nodded.

He stood, reaching his hand out to help her stand. Putting her hand in his, Alexandre’s touch sparked something, and her heart beat hard against her ribs. Licking her lips, her mouth was dry. She looked into his eyes, mesmerized and confused.

Across the river, the sun let go of the day as the couple walked up the stairs and into the unknown.