Margaux is a thirteen year old sponge and the daughter of Dominique’s oldest. She joyfully absorbs everything. Notices everything. And I mean the important things. Like new shoes I’m wearing. Or a bracelet. If my French is improving. And I think the thing that is most spectacular, she not only notices it, she mentions it. (If compliments were supplied in the French grocery store, they would be in the “exotic” aisle, bottom shelf.) It’s just not their culture. But Margaux lives in pure Margaux fashion, so when we stepped into the elevator of the parking ramp in Aix, upon seeing her reflection, I said, “Hello, Gorgeous!”  And greeted myself the same way.

She helps me with my French, I help her with her English. But most importantly, we lift each other in the girliest, giggliest, and most joyful of ways. I repeated the phrase, and I told her this is something she must say to the mirror every morning. 

It circled through our rotation as we shopped. Sometimes even directed to Dominique. With her French tongue, it took a little practice, but by the time we returned to the parking ramp, it rolled from her head and heart and into the elevator mirror. And so did the laughter. When we hugged and said our gorgeous goodbyes, we all knew we had stumbled upon something pretty special. 

The next morning, I was awakened by a text. A rare text from her. You can probably guess, but it’s too spectacular not to type — she said — “Hello, Gorgeous!” I clutched my imaginary pearls, as my heart reflected back to me — no mirror necessary. 

Love comes in so many shapes and sizes. Even languages. We must see it. Hear it. Acknowledge it when it comes. And when love’s light reflects and bounces from heart to heart, showing up in smiles and giggles, how could we do anything but look it straight in the face, and say, “Hello, Gorgeous!”