I’ve been in the pool for the last forty-five minutes. My favorite game is pretending that the pool noodle I’m straddling between my legs is a pirate ship and that my sister is my mortal enemy. She must sink.

The drag of the water prevents me from moving quickly, but in the heat of combat, my charge towards her feels Herculean. Intent on grabbing one end of her pool noodle and yanking it out from under her, I make my lunge, but she counters with a tactful splash, which hits me on the forehead and drips sunscreen into my eyes. Pain. Splashing me when you’re really close is now against the rules of Pirates. As I start strategizing the most effective way to whine about a mild stinging, Mame comes out of the house with a tray of food and drink.

“Coucou, c’est l’heure de goûter!”

My maritime feud no longer matters now that I’ve heard the siren call of a mid-afternoon snack time. Especially with Mame. It’s at the moment of our exit when my grandfather gets in the pool, on a floatie, conveniently alone, and will drift around like a DVD screensaver for the next hour.

We join Mame on the patio. The floor tiles have been sitting in the sun, and they warm my feet. The tile with a dog paw print intrigues me and I try to gauge the size of the dog based on the impression it left. Lily and I take our places on the free-standing swing bench, shielded from the sun by a striped white and pastel yellow awning, both in agreement that the swing bench is the best - for obvious reasons.

On the tray sits a rattan ice bucket, a pitcher of water, several frosted cups, one container each of peach and raspberry Teisseire syrups, a bag of St Michel madeleines, a pack of boudoirs, a box of petit écolier biscuits with a broken seal, and the star of the show - mini containers of ice cream. Goûter is always a spread, but she’s really outdone herself today.

“Merci Mame!”, we both cheer.

Excited about the novelty of eating with the popsicle-stick spoon that comes in the lid, I immediately reach for one of the ice creams. Yesterday, I had several of the petit écoliers and enjoyed the sensation of dissecting the biscuit with my teeth before eating. Tomorrow, I’ll share the boudoirs with Lily. Mame’s gaze gently bounces between my sister, drinking from a cup with both hands, and her husband, still skimming the water and somehow already asleep.

It feels like this place is made for us. The fruit trees are bearing lemons, oranges, and plums, the bougainvillea is in bloom, lizards are hiding from us behind terracotta planters, and the sunscreen is no longer in my eyes. There will be a day I stop taking this for granted and start to miss it, but today is not that day. My ice cream is melting and I need to eat it quick!