Paris Noir - Aurelien Masson [36]
Mom was getting worried. “You could have said where you were going.” “What for? I’m here.” “The wedding.” “D’you think I’ve come six hundred miles to miss my sister’s wedding?” She made me a dish of meat in sauce. I hardly ate any. “It’s not good?” “I’m not really hungry.” “But it’s sauté of veal, you used to like that.”
Yes! I used to like that. She thinks I’m pale for someone who lives on the Riviera. “You know, at my job we’re not outside a lot.” And she makes some comments about my white hair and my father who didn’t have any at my age.
We get ready for the wedding. Mom doesn’t want to be late. She has even ordered a taxi. “We’re not going to your sister’s wedding by bus!” “She could’ve left us her car.” “She still needed it.” Mom bought herself a dress for the occasion. She asks what I think of it. I say it’s fine without looking.
3.
About a hundred guests. Eight to a table. I’m entitled to the table of honor. I occupy the seat of the father of the bride. The worst table at a wedding. I listen politely to what Patrick’s parents say. Real assholes who own a business. “Our children are so charming!” Sure! He’s their only son, so they wanted to do things right. And you can tell. A band. Food, and more food. Drink, and more drink. At this moment I hate my sister but I send her loving smiles. Between two yeses and two meaningless comments, I look the guests over. All of them from Patrick’s class. A business school. You can’t change yourself. I don’t know any of them. And a few of my sister’s friends I met years ago; their faces are totally dark in my memory. Time. The feeling that I’m falling headfirst into what I wanted to leave for good. I gulp down wine, good wine, to get drunk. Patrick plays the nice brother-in-law. I gulp down wine. I hardly listen at all. I gulp.
And suddenly I see her.
Sitting at a table, vaguely smiling at the people around her. She wasn’t there at the start of the celebration. She just came in. The same somber face, the same sad smile, and her short hair shorter. I ask my sister: “Is that Valerie over there, in blue?” “Yes.” “You still in touch with her?” “A little. Why?” “Just curious.” A strange emotion in my sister’s face. Fear, almost. I don’t know why. My heart stirs, jumps, the way it jumped ten years ago. I watch Valerie for the rest of the meal. I’m pretty sure she has seen me too.
Before dessert, we’re entitled to a pause for the champagne. I take a bottle and two glasses. I get up. Valerie is there, alone, absent. I walk up to her. A feeling of staggering, plunging into a bottomless pit, one of the dark places alcohol generously throws you into before it asks you to pay the toll. Charon works on earth now. Three breaths. I’m at her table.
[He walks over to her with a bottle in his hand. She’s sitting at a table.]
HIM: Hello.
[She jumps.]
HER: Hello … I haven't had the courage to go up to the table of honor yet … You came back?
HIM: For the occasion. That's all.
HER: I didn't think I'd see you again. Sophie hardly ever talks about you.
HIM: I've been kind of quiet these past few years. I have some champagne. Want some?
HER: Yes, please.
[He serves her. They drink to cover their embarrassment.]
HER: What are you doing now?
HIM: Not much. A few years in submarines. Now I'm working at a garage in Toulon. How about you?
HER: I stayed here. Not much either. It's a nice wedding.
HIM: I don't know what “a nice wedding” means.
HER: Your sister and mother seem happy.
HIM: That's true. Are you alone? No escort?
HER: No! No one.
[Silence.]
[They cross