Home is Not a Place

The Long Way Home

After her latest return from the States, Paris didn't feel the same for Rachel. Better yet, she didn't feel the same.

Her phone calls became longer and more frequent: she just needed to know how Jill's doctors' appointments were going, what little Sophie's newest milestones were and even all about the latest recipes Monica was testing at the restaurant.

Though time had passed and the distance itself was technically still the same, she never felt closer to New York.

---

Looking around Rachel could hardly contain the giddiness growing inside of her. On the outside, she looked professional as ever: calm, collected and so chic on the outfit she had so carefully curated for this occasion. On the inside, she was like a kid in a candy store.

Paris. Fashion. Week.

What a dream.

Last year she had been somewhat involved in this project at Louis Vuitton, and even just living in Paris during the event made her feel like a part of it. But this year she had been given a major role in the team and stood proudly watching their runway show successfully wrap up. It had been such a long week of hard work, on top of so many months of planning, which were paying off big time.

She glanced over beside her to look at Mark, who had flown in a few days ago. Though he also appeared collected, she could tell by the spark in his eyes that he too was overwhelmed with emotions. She thought back to their days assisting Joana at Bloomingdale's, those long nights solving little "crisis" that felt so distant and so silly now. She thought about how he'd been the one to offer her that job, and now this one too. And, sure, maybe she had him to thank for that, but she also knew she stood on her own two feet after being put in those positions.

He'd given her the opportunities, but she rose to the challenges all on her own.

His eyes met hers and he smiled.

"Great show, Rachel."

"Great show." She agreed.

---

The next day, at Rachel's request, both Caro and Mark joined her for lunch. Caroline placed her order first and then Mark watched with amazement as Rachel followed in an impressive French.

"Wow, sorry to be the asshole American who can't speak the language, but can I get the salmon with the spring salad, please?"

"Oui, monsieur."

The waiter collected their menus and left.

"Wow." Mark repeated. "I always knew you were the right pick for the position, Rachel, but I didn't know you would fit in so well in the country too. Don't get me wrong, I've always known you were strong, but I know this is no easy task. The six months I spent here a few years ago were, well, challenging to say the least. But you, you seem so at home."

Rachel smiled weakly. She's always been good at keeping up appearances.

"Come on now." She waved it off.

"Yes, Rachel, he's right. I've seen my share of Americans get crushed by this city and culture, especially in our industry. They come here with big dreams - and big egos - and very often it does not end well for them."

"Why do I feel like this is an off-hand attack on me?" Mark only half-joked, but Caro ignored him.

"But as I was telling Mark the other day, I'm quite impressed with your journey here with us."

Rachel bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"Thank you both. I have really loved the past couple of years and all the experiences I've had here. You two have been so important in my journey, as Caro put it, and I just really wanted to acknowledge that first."