April 22, 1974

Victoria made her way through rows and rows of tables, all the while trying her best to take in everything the flea market had to offer. Her scholarship had covered on-campus housing expenses, meaning she didn't lack much, but she figured it would be wise to scope out the area in case she ever needed anything and wasn't sure where to get it. It would appear they sold everything here, from clothing to tupperware to books to handmade jewelry. She was sure she had never seen anything like it in New York- although, to be fair, it wasn't as though her mother would have ever taken her to such a place anyway.

Marion had always done whatever she could to give others the impression she was a woman of class and means and, in doing so, she managed to squander the little money she had been left from her parents by the time Victoria was ten years old. From then on she relied on ensnaring wealthy suitors to maintain her livelihood, and that of her daughter's, because God forbid she ever go out and actually apply for a job to support herself.

Victoria wondered if her mother missed her. Strange as it seemed, there were times when she genuinely missed her mother. Marion hadn't exactly been the most conventional or affectionate parent, but she was the only family Victoria had ever known. Her father had abandoned her mother when she told him she was pregnant, and her grandparents had passed away when she was very young. Still, there were times when Victoria felt nothing but resentment towards her mother. Had it not been for her… well, never mind. There was no use thinking about it. Nothing could change the past.

Victoria must have passed at least a dozen booths before she found herself walking over to one that immediately caught her attention. After scanning the merchandise, she tentatively picked up a pair of knit baby booties- the hints of a smile beginning to form on her lips. They were absolutely beautiful, and similar to the ones Patrick had recently outgrown just a few weeks ago. It wasn't until after she remembered she no longer had a son to care for that Victoria felt the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Quietly putting the shoes back in their place, she turned on her heel with the intention of returning back to her dorm but was stopped when she unintentionally walked straight into a young man carrying a box of flowers.

"Merde!"

The box fell to the floor, half of its contents spilling out upon impact.

"Hé! Regarder où vous allez!"

Victoria couldn't understand a word he said, but judging from his tone she could tell he was angry.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I wasn't paying attention."

The young man looked up from the floor where he was crouched down gathering the flower petals that had fallen. He had been ready to shoot off another cutting remark until his eyes made contact with hers.

"Are you okay?" he asked instead.

Victoria furrowed her brow.

"You're crying."

"Oh," she laughed, quickly wiping the tears away from her cheeks. "I'm fine."

"I didn't mean to upset you," he smiled. His accent was thick but endearing.

"You didn't."

"You're American, yes?"

Victoria nodded, "I'm here for school."

"Ah. You're new aren't you?"

"How can you tell?"

The young man looked amused, "I've been working a booth here for almost two years and I've never seen you before."

Victoria tried her best to appear at ease but the prolonged interaction was beginning to make her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to engaging strange men in conversation, and she didn't trust this one's intention. Sure, he appeared pleasant on the outside, but he wouldn't be taking the time out to make small talk with her unless he was looking for something more. And men were always looking for more when it came to her.

"I should be getting back now," she said. "I promised my roommate I would go to lunch with her." It was a lie, but she was anxious to leave and couldn't think of any other way to escape the conversation without sounding rude.

"I'll see you around then," he smiled. "I'm Pascal. Pascal LeMarchal."

Victoria nodded, "Pleasure to meet you, Pascal."

The instant the words left her mouth she made a run for it, refusing to give this man her name in the same naive way she had given it to the last man who took advantage of her. It was Victoria's every intention to escape her past while here, not repeat it. And she'd be damned if she made the same mistake twice.