Jeanne studied the photograph of the young man, who Marie was sighing over.
It was true. Nicholas did have dark, brooding eyes; unruly hair; and an odd half smile, half smirk that made you wonder what he was thinking. She could see why Marie would be interested in him.
And… yet…. See, dear Marie hadn’t grown up with the kid.
Jeanne shook her head, and returned the photo to Marie. “I’m sorry, Marie. But every time I look at Nicholas, all I can see is the gangly, big footed, ill-tempered 12 year old who refused to eat the raspberries I was supposed to feed him, as requested by his mother. Or I remember being 11 or 12 myself, and helping give a bath to a pudgy little toddler named Nick. Or, the time he was 14, and always wore this funny Roman helmet and would tell anyone who’d listen about battle strategies of the Roman Empire. Actually he’d talk about them anyway, whether anyone was willing to listen or not. Or, the time when -- ”
“All right! All right!” Marie interrupted, waving her hands as if to dispel Jeanne’s words. “You’re ruining the image of my Nicholas!”
Jeanne shrugged. She hadn’t done anything. It was Nick who did all those things.