by Evy Journey
Grinning, Leon says to Bernie, “You’re right, looks like we're in for some seriously delicious treats.”
Bernie grins and gives a thumbs-up. “Yeah, thanks to you." He points at the gougères. "These are my favorite. Cheesy cream puffs. But they’re all good.”
Gerard says, “Me, I like the fruit tart. It’s got almond cream in it. Mom always makes it on Thanksgiving. But you have to like figs.”
Leon says, “I like figs.”
Gerard says, “Me, too. We have a fig tree in the back yard.”
Sabine returns with utensils, six cups and saucers, and two cans of soda on a tray. She gives the soda to Gerard and Bernie. “Wait to be served, okay? Mom will be here in a minute.”
Dad sits at the head of the table, watching everyone. He smiles, but has said nothing since he made the introductions. Although he’s never much of a talker, I feel a little uncomfortable about his silence today, so I say, “How’s work, Dad?
He shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing new. The usual.”
I nod, regretting that I said anything at all to him. I’ve never known what to say to my father to induce him to reveal his intimate thoughts. None of us children are particularly close to him, although he and the boys often watch ball games together.
I remember, growing up, that he always came home exhausted from work. The first thing he does when he arrives is take a shower while Mom makes dinner with help from Sabine, and from me when I still lived at home. Then, he plants himself in front of the television and doesn’t budge until someone calls him for dinner. He always eats voraciously and quickly. As he finishes his bottle of beer, he watches us eat and when his bottle is finished, he says, “So, how did everybody’s day go today?”
We all say “Okay” simultaneously and once in a while, Bernie—after he started going to school—has a little news to share. I suspect Dad is not that interested in his or our news; in asking about our day, he’s calling our attention to his presence. It’s his way of declaring that we—him, in particular—are all there, at home at the end of the day.
As far as I know, Cristi’s father, Raf, is his only friend in the neighborhood. They occasionally go somewhere to do things together. He might have some friends at work, but we’ve never met them and he hardly talks about them.
Dad looks uncomfortable with Leon, and Leon doesn’t seem to know what to say to him. Were it not for the two youngest boys, any conversation that takes place while Mom and Sabine are in the kitchen would have to be between Leon and me.
Mom returns shortly, carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, a carafe of milk and a bowl of sugar. She serves Leon first, tells him to help himself to whatever he wants.
Leon says, “Thank you. They all look scrumptious.” He takes a piece from each platter.
Mom serves my father next, gives him a cup of coffee and a plateful of everything. She hands me, Sabine, and Maurice cups of coffee and plates.
I take a couple of gougères.
While taking another gougère, Leon says, “These are truly special. I see where Gina gets her talent.”
Bernie butts in with a broad, triumphant smile. “I told you, didn’t I?”
Leon nods at him and turns to my mother again. “May I ask how you learned to make them?”
For a few moments, Mom says nothing and looks away. This isn’t the first time someone has asked her this question, which always brings back painful memories of her father. When finally she speaks, there’s a break in her voice too obvious for Leon to miss. “My father was a French chef.”
Leon’s face is a picture of obvious admiration, mixed with incredulity. Mom’s response leaves him with nothing to say.
My family knows Mom is struggling with her emotions, so we say nothing and let her be until she regains composure. Once in a while, she leaves us to sit in the bedroom alone for a while. But with Leon among us, the silence feels awkward to me. And Mom’s gaze is still directed away from all of us, as if she’s forgotten that we are there.
I break the silence, asking Maurice and Sabine which of Mom’s snacks they like best. Food and eating are always safe topics. I watch Mom as Leon chimes in with his own remarks about Maurice’s and Sabine’s choices. Before long, Mom looks at me and smiles.
She turns to Leon and asks if he has any brothers and sisters. I watch Leon, curious about what he will say. I once asked him about his family. He scowled in irritation and said he would prefer not to talk about them. I never brought that subject up again.
It takes him a moment to answer, but when he does, he’s his usual polished and charming self. He says, “I have a brother, the youngest in the family. He’s away at school. My sister is married and lives out of state.”
Mom nods but seems at a loss, with nothing else to say. I doubt she has any real interest in Leon’s brother and sister beyond what Leon has already told her. Either out of politeness or a desire to avoid any more questions about his family, Leon says, “Mrs. Lambert, can you share your recipes? If you don’t mind, I’d like to pass them on to my cook.”
At the mention of a cook, Bernie perks up. “You have a cook? Wow! Cool.”
Mom says, “No, I don’t mind. I’ll write them out and send them to Gina.”
Our visit ends after another quarter hour talking about food and Bernie’s adventures in school.
On the way to Du Cœur, I wonder if Leon would be curious enough to ask me what upset my mother when he asked her how she learned to cook. I’ve never told him that my grandfather was murdered while at work one evening.
A few minutes into the drive, he says I have an interesting family. I frown. Somehow, I never thought of my family as either interesting or boring. They’re just family, which I guess can say a lot.
We reach the restaurant without him asking me about Mom’s reaction. He gives me a quick kiss, says Will is picking me up after work, and he may not be home when I get back. He has to visit his family.
20
Leon doesn’t return. His bedroom—twice as large as the cube of space I lived in—feels empty and forlorn tonight. I can’t help wondering if his “family visit” is just an excuse. Could it be he has met the woman who’ll be taking my place?
He comes back Sunday looking glum. I don’t ask him how his visit went. The following days, Leon isn’t his usual ebullient self. But he’s at home asleep when I return from the restaurant.
Is our “experiment” at an end? The thought makes me sad. But I don’t want to analyze why. Time enough after we part to regret what we had and where it might have taken us. I begin to scour ads for a new apartment. I have more money saved up this time so I can rent a better one.
Coming home from work Sunday night, I’m surprised to find Leon still up. He’s in his pajamas and reading in bed.
He says, “Hello, beautiful. Why don’t you change, get ready for bed? Put off your bath until tomorrow morning. We have to talk.”
Here it is, I tell myself. The beginning of the end. I would rather relax in the tub, but I nod and drag my weary body to the dressing room.
Minutes later, we sit on the couch in a sitting area across from the foot of the bed. On the coffee table are two cold bottles of water. It may be a long night. I take one of them and begin to sip it, waiting for Leon to say something.
Leon says, “I’m not sure where to begin.”
After a long moment when I say nothing, he resumes. “Okay, maybe from when I asked to visit your family.”
I nod, sipping more of my water.
“Do you know why I wanted to meet them? I wanted to see what I’m getting into if we get married.”
I turn toward him in surprise, trying to read his face for the truth in what he seems to be saying.
He shakes his head. “Maybe that’s not a good way to begin. So, let me tell you why I went to see my family, who I must confess I visit only when I can’t help it.”
I stare at Leon curiously. I myself would never have thought that way about
my family. But where is Leon going with his “confession”?
He scowls thoughtfully for a minute, his eyes cast down. “This house we’ve been living in belongs to my father, not to me. I’m paying the staff from an expense account that comes with it. He asked to see me yesterday to tell me he wants his house back.”
“Leon, I’m not sure what you’re really saying. If you’re trying to tell me it’s time for us to break up, you don’t have to invent excuses. I know it’s only a matter of time until it happens.”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I do have my own place. A top-floor apartment much smaller than this house, but I own it, fully paid out of my own pocket. A real estate company manages it, rents it out short-term, usually to people here on business. I can tell the agent who handles it to take it off the market.”
I detect some anxiety in Leon’s voice and feel sure there’s a lot more he’s not saying. For a moment, I regret not having given my decision to leave any more thought. But isn’t this as good a time as any to decide?
I say, “Why don’t we end this experiment … this affair now? Something is bothering you that you’re not telling me. Maybe you can cope better with whatever it is on your own.”
“No, please, don’t leave me. Actually, I’m ashamed. My father wants this house back for his new mistress. And he wants me to get out soon. When we move, we go alone. No Sara, no Luciano, although I hired them both. Will is the only one I take with me.”
“Aren’t you getting along with your father, Leon?”
Leon compresses his lips. Bitterly, he says, “He’s an asshole. Selfish, dictatorial, cruel, and with a string of mistresses I’ve lost count of.”
“Your mother must be a very unhappy woman.”
“Not really. She has her own lover. The good thing is she’s had the same one all these years. It’s no longer a secret. He even gets invited to my parents’ parties.”
I’m dumbfounded. Leon’s family sounds like characters from a soap opera. Is this the kind of freedom money brings? It’s quite obvious I know zilch about the larger circle of rich people Leon is a part of.
Leon says, “Anyway, we’ll have to be more self-sufficient. You need to take over the cooking, and hire the people Sara uses to clean this house to clean for us, as well. I don’t know what else is needed to manage a household. You’ll have to talk to Sara before we move.”
“I learned more than cooking from my mom, Leon. There shouldn’t be any major problems taking care of your apartment.”
“That reassures me, at least. But moving out of here wasn’t the only reason my father wanted to see me. He reminded me again it’s time I got married. I told him I already have a fiancée and all I need to do is ask her.”
“You don’t mean me.” I’ve never thought of myself as Leon’s fiancée though I’m sure now he’s referring to me.
“I do mean you. Do you see anyone else here at the moment? That’s actually why I wanted to get acquainted with your family. I was thinking of asking you to marry me. Will you?”
“But is that really what you want?”
Leon regards me thoughtfully. “All I want is to be with you and, like I told you once, I can see spending my best years with you. I like your family, too; it feels solid. You’re all so certain of each other’s support and affection. But to be honest, I wouldn’t want to get married. I’m being forced, for the sake of continuing the family. My father wants a legitimate heir. And soon.”
“I don’t know if I want to be a part of your family, Leon. I admit I’ve learned to love you. But is that enough? You don’t want to get married, and I’m not ready. Living together was meant to be an experiment we could end any time it stopped working. When you marry, I believe you vow to make the marriage last.”
“I doubt I’ll ever be prepared to commit for life. You see who my role model has been. But I know at least one thing that sets me apart from my father. I won’t cheat on the person I’m currently with. If I meet someone I like better, I’ll break up with the previous one.”
“There, you see what I mean?” I start to laugh. What he just said makes Leon’s proposal even more ridiculous. “Marriage vows have a clause everyone knows about. Haven’t you heard of it? Till death do us part. It’s true at least half of marriages end way before death, but nobody gets married intending to divorce. But you already know that’s where you’re headed, maybe just a few months after the wedding.”
Leon scowls. “You’re leaving something out of what I said. I said ‘if I meet someone I like better.’ Since we’ve been together, I’ve met many women. But I’ve never cared for them like I care about you. You’ve made it hard for me to be excited about any other woman, Gina.”
“Well at least that’s honest, and flattering, though it’s way too far from reassuring. Actually, what you need is someone to bear your child. Not a wife. Why don’t you hire some woman to have your child, under the condition she marries you until he or she is born? I’m sure someone will be willing to do it for the right price.”
Leon looks hurt, making me regret my crass remark. But he doesn’t contradict it. “You’re right, I could do that, but I want that child to be a child of love, borne from my union with a woman I love. Right now, you’re that woman.”
“But for how long, Leon?”
“I know you find it impossible to trust me but I trust myself. I’ve never been in love before but I think I love you and that’s why I’m still here. And why I’m certain I’ll want to be with you for a long time.”
I’m either too gullible for my own good or a sentimental fool because Leon’s confession of love chokes me up.
When I say nothing, Leon says, “Besides, who knows what having a son or a daughter may do for me? I’ve always thought it would be awesome—another person created out of one’s flesh and blood. Maybe I’ll want to stay with the mother of that child forever.”
After a few deep breaths, I feel calmer, and what Leon said makes me say, “That precious creature will grow up in the lap of luxury and money. She would never have to struggle like I have.”
“He will always be a Barrett.”
21
On Tuesday, when my mother calls, I tell her about Leon’s proposal. She says, “I don’t know if I can advise you on this. In spite of myself, I like Leon. He’s quite personable, has nice, easy manners. Makes you forget he’s rich and privileged. But what a way to propose.”
“I like how he’s frank about it, though. And he’s right. You can’t count on things staying the way they are.”
“No, you can’t. Don’t I know that better than most people? How one event no one ever saw coming changes your life forever? But I also know you have to work to make things happen. You’re capable of that, I’m sure.”
I sigh. “But you won’t place your bets on Leon.”
“No. But he wasn’t what I expected, either.”
“Well, what about the fact that our children will all be Barretts?”
“Children whose bright futures are assured. They’ll have things your dad and I couldn’t give you no matter how hard we worked. Can’t argue against how much better it is bringing children into that world. They don’t have to worry about what lies ahead for them.” Is there regret in my mother’s voice?
“You’ve given us love and your wonderful tarts.”
“You’ll give them those, too. If Leon can give them love, then, maybe things will work out.”
I hope they will since I’ve run out of reasons to reject Leon’s proposal.
That night, I tell Leon I’ll marry him.
*****
When I see Marcia on Wednesday, I tell her Leon and I are moving to his condo and we’re getting married. She’s speechless for a few seconds before she says, scowling, “I didn’t know he has a condo.”
Bewildered, I stare at her. To me, the more important news is Leon’s marriage proposal, but Marcia seems not to have heard that part
. Or, she may have chosen to ignore it. So, I say, “Yes, we’re moving there soon. Leon will also tell his parents he and I are getting married.”
Marcia shakes her head, “His parents would never allow it.”
“Leon is thirty, Marcia. Don’t you think he can make his own decisions without his parents’ consent?”
“Well, maybe he can. What do I really know about Leon? You’ve lived with him these last few months. You know him better. He has stuck with you longer than he has with anyone else.”
She pauses, stares at me so intently I begin to feel uncomfortable. “Now you’re marrying him. Who would have thought? Months ago, I gave you advice to just have fun with Leon while his fascination with you lasted. And look what it got you. The prize of a lifetime.”
Is there envy in Marcia’s voice?
She answers my unspoken question. “By the look on your face, I think you’re wondering if I envy you. Of course I do. Who wouldn’t jump at that chance? If Leon had asked me, I would have said yes, although I’m not in love with him.”
“I do love him.”
“I remember a time when you didn’t want to have anything to do with him.”
“He’s been so sweet and patient, he won me over.”
“Sweet and patient? Is that all? What about consuming passion?”
“Love comes in so many ways. Passionate love isn’t always the one that lasts.”
“There may be wisdom in what you say. It doesn’t work for me. Anyway, when will your betrothal be announced?”
“Leon has to tell his parents first.”
“Of course. When an announcement of your engagement comes out, you’ll be the envy of countless women. A few will wish they could tear your heart out.”
I shudder at Marcia’s remarks. They bring back the image of Cristi about to strike me again with a pair of scissors. “I didn’t stop to think how other women would take my marrying Leon. But there’s nothing I can do about it, and it won’t stop me from doing it.”
“It shouldn’t. Your happiness is what’s important to you and it’s nobody else’s business.”