The Perfumist of Paris (The Jaipur Trilogy, #3)

by Alka Joshi

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

“There are men and men and every stone is not a gem.

“The measure of us isn’t in the day-to-day. And it’s not in our past or our future. It’s in the fundamental changes we make within ourselves over a lifetime. Samajh-jao?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know better than Pierre how you love being in that lab and creating all those scents. What woman wants to stay home all day? That’s just a fantasy men make up. I envy you. This passion you have. And the talent. They make you come alive.”

“Being a woman is difficult. I can see why my mother didn’t like her own gender. We can do so much. Give so much. But not everyone wants what we’re offering. And in the end, we’re left with…pieces of a whole. Shards. Splinters. Chips. Pick them up, they cut our hands. Leave them on the ground, they cut our feet. It’s hard for us to just walk away.”

There will always be a Ferdie in our lives. We have to do our best despite them.

There’s a settled feeling about you, in you. It’s as if, in India, you found a piece of yourself you had lost.”

There it is again. The idea that we women lose track of ourselves. Lakshmi always said henna was a way for a woman to find a part of herself she may have mislaid. Sheela said she wanted to bring the forgotten women back to life because while their painted images were famous, they themselves were invisible; they’d been discarded, like candy wrappers tossed on the ground.

“Pierre will need you, Florence.” She scoffs. “I don’t think Pierre has ever needed me.” Perhaps she’s right. The Pierre I know has never told his mother he loves her, not within my hearing. “I need you, Florence,” I say quietly, and I realize it’s true. There’s a pause. When she speaks, her voice is thick, wet, and shaky. “Merci.”

Until that day, I had never seen a young man cry. And just like that, Niki is no longer a secret.

I’ve come to think that some people are meant to be in our lives for a certain length of time and not a moment more.