44- Cat dreams
When we were waiting in line at the checkout, my father-in-law confessed to me that he hadn't set foot in a department store in over ten years.
I thought of Suzanne.
Always alone behind the shopping cart. Always alone everywhere.
After eating the McNuggets, the girls went to play in a kind of cage full of multicolored balls. A boy asked them to take off their shoes and I was left with Lucie's horrible "You're a Barbie girl!" sneakers.
The worst part was that kind of transparent compensating heel...
"How could you buy something so horrible?"
"It makes her so happy... I try not to make the same mistakes with the new generation... Look, it's like this place... I would never have come here with Christine and Adrien if it had been possible thirty years ago. Never! And why, I ask myself today, why would I have deprived them of this kind of excitement? After all, what would it have cost me? A bad time? What is a bad time compared to the radiant faces of your girls?"
"I've done everything wrong," he added shaking his head, "and even this damn sandwich, I'm holding it wrong, right?"
His pants were covered in mayonnaise.
"Chloé?"
"Yes."
"I would like you to eat... I'm sorry for talking to you like Suzanne, but you haven't eaten anything since yesterday..."
"I can't. I take it back."
"Anyway, how do you want to eat this grossness?! Who can eat this? Huh? Tell me, who? No one!"
I tried to smile.
"Well, I'll let you go on a diet now too, but tonight, that's it! Tonight I'll cook dinner and you'll have no choice but to honor it, understood?"
"Yes."
"And this? How do you eat this astronaut thing?"
He pointed to a strange salad in a plastic shaker.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden. The girls fluttered around their grandfather who insisted on fixing the old swing. I watched them from afar, sitting on the terrace steps. It was cold. The sun shone through their hair and
they looked beautiful to me.
I thought of Adrien. What would he be doing now?
Where would he be at this very moment?
And with whom?
And our life, what was our life going to be like?
Every thought sank me a little more. I was so tired... I closed my eyes. I imagined that he arrived. I heard the sound of a motor in the yard, he sat next to me, kissed me, and put a finger on his lips to surprise the girls. I can still feel his sweetness on my neck, his voice, his warmth, the smell of his skin, everything.
Everything...
I shouldn't think about it.
After how long does one forget the scent of someone who has loved us? And when does one stop loving in return?
Give me an hourglass.
The last time we hugged, I was the one kissing him. It was in the elevator on Flandre Street.
He let me.
Why? Why did he let himself be kissed by a woman he no longer loved? Why did he give me his mouth? And his arms?
It doesn't make sense.
The swing is fixed now. Pierre throws me a glance. I turn my head. I don't feel like meeting his eyes. I'm cold, my lips are full of snot, and I have to go turn on the heating in the bathroom.
"What can I do to help him?" He had tied a cloth around his waist.
"Have Lucie and Marion gone to bed?"
"Yes."
"Won't they be cold?"
"No, no, they're fine. But tell me what I can do..."
"You could cry without it distressing me for once... It would be good to see you cry for no reason. Come on, take this and cut it for me," he added handing me three onions.
"Do you think I cry too much?"
"Yes."
Silence.
I took the wooden board next to the sink and sat in front of him. His face was tense again. All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire.
"That's not what I meant..."
"Sorry?"
"That's not what I meant, I don't think you cry too much, I'm just overwhelmed. You're so beautiful when you smile..."
"Do you want a drink?" I nodded.
"Let's wait for it to warm up a bit, it would be a shame... Do you want a Bushmill in the meantime?"
"No, thanks."
"And why not?"
"I don't like whiskey."
"Foolish! It has nothing to do with it! Just try this..."
I brought the glass to my lips and it tasted awful. I hadn't eaten anything in days, I was drunk. My knife slipped on the onions' skin and my neck had vanished. I was going to cut my finger. I felt good.
"Is it good, eh? Patrick Frendall gave it to me when I turned sixty. Do you remember Patrick Frendall?"
"Um... no."
"Yes, yes, I think you've seen him here before, don't you remember? A huge guy with giant arms..."
"The one who tossed Lucie in the air until she nearly vomited?"
"Exactly," Pierre replied pouring me another glass.
"Yes, I remember him..."
"I appreciate him a lot, I think of him often... It's strange, I consider him one of my best friends even though I hardly know him..."
"Do you have other close friends?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Just curious. I mean... I don't know. I've never heard you talk about them."
My father-in-law carefully cut his carrot slices. It's always funny to watch a man cook for the first time in his life. That way of following the recipe word for word as if Ginette Mathiot were a very sensitive goddess.
"Here it says 'cut the carrots into medium-sized slices,' do you think this will be okay?"
"Perfect!"
I laughed. Without a neck, I just kept nodding.
"Thanks... What was I talking about? Oh yes, my friends... To be honest, I've had three... Patrick, whom I met on a trip to Rome. A pious fellow from my parish... My first trip without my parents... I was fifteen. I didn't understand a word he said, that Irishman who was two heads taller than me, but we quickly became friends. He had been raised with the most Catholic people in the world, and I had just escaped from my suffocating family... Two young strays in the Eternal City... What a pilgrimage!"
It still gave him chills to remember it.
He sautéed the onions and carrots in a pot with smoked ribs. It smelled really good.
"And then, Jean Théron, whom you know, and my brother, Paul, whom you've never seen because he died in '56..."
"Did you consider your brother your best friend?"
"He was more than that... You, Chloé, the way I know you, would have adored him. He was a fine boy, funny, attentive to others, always cheerful. He painted...