The Forbidden Heart Read Online Free Page A

asked cautiously.
    “No,” she said firmly. “He’s very particular. He knows most young women today are
     frivolous. He’s too serious a person to waste his time on any of them. He dreams of
     a real career.”
    “Not any?”
    She glanced at me and then said, “He’s not like your uncle and Maurice, if that’s
     what you mean.”
    “It wasn’t. I just wondered why he wouldn’t have a girlfriend if he was so handsome,”
     I said. I had the sense this was something she hoped was true rather than knew was
     true. Besides, if she didn’t see him that often, how would she know for certain? Did
     she cross-examine her mother about him frequently since her mother saw him at work?
     Did her mother realize her feelings for her cousin? I was already wondering about
     her mother and the dreary life she was leading. She hadn’t tried to be with another
     man. What else did she have besides her job at the pastry shop? The two of them must
     feed themselves more and more depression. My mind reeled up the darkness in their
     home and stuffed it into a corner of my mind. I didn’t want to think so hard about
     it, especially when I had set out to enjoy myself and make a new friendship, but how
     do you ever become friends with anyone without being submerged in family intrigues
     and conflicts?
    We paused to do some window shopping. The new spring and summer fashions were still
     out in some stores. Some were already advertising fall clothing. I commented about
     some skirts and blouses enthusiastically, but she just stared with a familiar look—familiar
     because I could remember how Chastity gazed at beautiful clothes, realizing that there
     would be nothing in her size and that even if there was anything made in her size,
     it wouldn’t look as good on her as it looked on the mannequin in the window. I wanted
     to talk to Denise about her weight problem, but I hesitated. We didn’t know each other
     that well yet. I was sure she was supersensitive about it, which was something that
     also puzzled me about Chastity. Why be supersensitive about something you could control
     or prevent?
    Our conversation drifted to what it was like growing up in Paris as opposed to New
     York. Our school experiences didn’t sound all that different. We talked about music
     and books and the movies we had both seen. Once she got started, she ran on and on,
     barely pausing to take a breath. I was surprised at how little she had seen in Europe
     other than on school trips, even though the restaurant gave her vacation time. She
     blamed it on her mother, who hated traveling. The more we talked and the more she
     told me about herself, the more I could see her putting blame on her mother for almost
     everything, even, as it turned out, her weight.
    “When I was little, she wouldn’t let me leave the table until I finished every morsel.
     My mother doesn’t believe in leftovers. She always says we can’t afford to waste food.”
    “You’re old enough now to take control of your own destiny,” I ventured.
    She didn’t answer for so long that I thought my comment would be pushed aside and
     forgotten because she resented it, but suddenly, she stopped. “I’ve always been too
     heavy,” she offered. “My mother blames it on my father’s genes.”
    “Do you believe that?”
    “No,” she admitted, and kept walking. “Let’s not talk about me,” she added firmly.
     “What happened to your parents? Why are you in Paris? Don’t you have relatives in
     America? I’d rather live in America.”
    Where should I begin? I wondered. I paused and nodded at a bench overlooking the Seine.
     The sky was practically cloudless. There were only tiny wisps, what my mother called
     “God’s puffs of breath,” here and there against the soft blue. The water in the Seine
     glistened. Sitting quietly for a few moments, I felt I could talk more freely about
     myself now. However, it occurred to me as I was telling my story that I was telling
     it