a French party on Saturday

Kristel prepared her hair in the tinted window of a minivan as I brushed mine with a quick sweep of my hand.
Kristel's French coworker walked from her vehicle toward Kristel with greetings. I got the wine from a saddle bag as Kristel reminded me to get the wine.
The three of us walked to the door together. The two of them spoke French. A man walked out of the house, salutations in French. "Bonjour," and I gave him a handshake. The girls received a kiss on each cheek. We stopped at the front door. French coworker tried the doorbell, then we let ourselves in.

French kisses and hellos in French went around. This family friend and that of the parents of Kristel's student, Max.
The bar-b-que hosted fruit and spinach salad, tortilla rolls with tomato lettuce and cheese, Babybel, lamb, meat balls, and sausage. Coke and Sprite, beer or wine to drink. Guests carried disposable paper plates, each printed full with the Texas flag, and napkins to match.

French conversation and light drinking in the mid-afternoon, then cake. Two candles, 1 and 8, burned in the cheesecake as the crowd droned through the only English all day, "Happy birthday to you... Max..." "Happy birthday to you... Max..." for all four lines. Then French continued. Cake served on little paper plates - no Texas flag - and handed to mouths by silver spoons. Meanwhile, adults drank France's finest champagne from crystal. Max's dad looked at the 8 candle, mostly melted, and wryly said, in French, "The candle has been consumed by flame. Makes me question my son's virginity."

Into early evening, the crowd thinned. Some plates were cleared. Max's mom took out a bag of garbage. By the time the party finished, Kristel, French coworker, and I remained. We said French goodbyes and left.

I wonder if, after everything wound down, and as the host and hostess relaxed, did he say, "I think your salad was a hit," or she, "Everyone seemed to love your meatballs."