The Sea of Lost Things

by Kelly St-Laurent

  Or, maybe it’s that I’m trying to look like I have my shit together, even when it’s the exact opposite of how I feel.

  Walking inside the chic, low-lit restaurant, I glance around to see if Fiona’s already there. The place is busy, but there’ll be a table for us no matter what. The hostess sees me and gives me a smile. I’ve met her before but can’t remember her name. I want to say it’s Alice.

  “They’re over by the fireplace,” she tells me.

  “Thank you.”

  I head in that direction, passing the candlelit tables occupied by dreamy-eyed couples. Fiona spots me and stands. There’s a martini already in front of her.

  “Charlotte!” She almost screams my name as she pulls me into a hug. “You look gorgeous.”

  “So do you.” Her red hair is pulled up, a few curls left down to frame her face. She’s wearing an olive green dress that accentuates her new curves. “Is it just me or are your boobs bigger?”

  “I’m wearing an actual bra for a change.”

  We sit down, and I steal a sip of her martini. “How’s Kayla doing?”

  “She’s amazing. And Exhausting. Adorable. Did I mention exhausting?”

  Fiona is the first of my friends to have a kid. In the two months since she gave birth, I’ve watched her emerge into an incredible mother. The whole process looks daunting to me, the sleepless nights, the upheaval of everything you’ve ever known, but I can’t deny that she seems happier than I’ve ever seen her, if not more tired.

  I scan the room. “Where’s Zoe?”

  “I think she’s talking to Pierre.”

  My eyes go to the open kitchen where I see Zoe’s husband hard at work. No sign of Zoe though. I only spot her as I turn back to Fiona. She’s by the bar, picking up a tray of martinis. I watch as she walks over to us.

  It’s hard not to watch Zoe. She’s gorgeous. Vietnamese-American, effortlessly stylish, and always radiating confidence. She reaches the table, puts the tray of drinks down on it, and then stares at me.

  “Did you cut your hair?”

  I touch the ends, wondering if I have since I saw her last week.

  “No, that’s not it. You’re wearing eyeliner. Yep, that’s the difference. I haven’t seen you wear eyeliner in months.”

  I’ll have to take her word for it. I haven’t exactly been in the mood for dressing up much lately. I’m still not sure why I did tonight, but it’s helped a little. Reminded me that it’s okay to feel good in my skin every once in a while.

  Zoe sits down and hands me a martini. “It feels like forever since the three of us have gotten together for drinks. Why don’t we do this more often?”

  “Because having a baby fucks up your social life,” Fiona says, taking a sip of her drink.

  “And you and Pierre opening this place has kept you slightly busy,” I add.

  Zoe picks up her cocktail. “Says the virtuoso shaping young minds. Oh,” she adds excitedly. “Did you guys hear that Dave and Tom are getting married?”

  “They’re dating?” Fiona asks in mock surprise.

  Fiona, Zoe, and I met during our college years when we all worked at the same restaurant. Dave and Tom worked there also. Over one summer we watched what can only be described as the most epic love story unfold. Dave was out, Tom wasn’t. Their clandestine relationship got uncovered when one of the managers walked in on them having sex in the washroom. During work hours.

  “I still can’t believe they didn’t get fired,” Zoe says as though reading my mind.

  “Like you and Pierre haven’t had sex here.”

  I almost choke on my drink. Fiona has never been one to shy away from delicate subjects. We both look at Zoe and see a slight smirk on her face.

  “Where?” Fiona asks eagerly.

  Zoe glances around quickly, and then leans forward. “Where haven’t we?”

  “Ugh, I miss sex.” Fiona takes a larger sip of her drink. “My body feels like it’s someone else’s. I don’t recognize my vagina anymore.”

  “You’ll just have to get reacquainted,” Zoe says suggestively. “Some you time. A bubble bath, put on some Bowie.”

  “Bowie?” Fiona and I ask at the same time.

  Zoe shrugs. “Does it for me.”

  “You’re having newlywed sex,” Fiona laments. “That’s the best sex. It’s all carnal and spontaneous. You wanna have sex in the kitchen? You just do it. No baby monitors, or breast pumps, or a sink full of dishes you don’t have the energy to clean.”

  “Maybe,” Zoe says. “But I remember it wasn’t too long ago when you and Denis were unable to keep your hands off each other.”

  I pick up my martini and take a long drink. Five months ago, I would have happily joined in the conversation. But five months ago, Joel and I were still together. Now, it’s just a reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.

  “Are you alright?” Fiona asks me.

  I look down and realize that I just drank half my cocktail. “I think I might lose my job.”

  “What?” Zoe looks around and flags down one of the servers. “Zeke, can we get three more martinis please?” She waits until he goes. “What happened?”

  “Simone says I need to do the PhD or they’re going to replace me.”

  “Why?” Fiona asks. “You’ve been working there for years.”

  “It’s been coming on for a while now. She told me six months back that I needed to think about it. But then everything with Grandpa ... I sort of pushed it from my mind.”

  “So, why don’t you do the PhD then?” Zoe asks.

  “Because she doesn’t want to,” Fiona says. “You don’t do you, Char?”

  I’m saved from having to answer by the arrival of Pierre with a large plate of food. He puts it down in the middle of the table like a magician making a rabbit appear from thin air. It’s full of different meats and vegetables. A server follows behind with even more plates of sides. I eye the array of food with sudden hunger.

  Zoe smiles up at him. “Thanks, darling.”

  Pierre kisses her on the head. “How are you ladies tonight?”

  Even though he’s been living in the US the past five years, he hasn’t lost any of his French accent. I see him squeeze Zoe’s shoulder, and she clasps her fingers around his. They’ve always been so comfortable showing displays of affection. I envy it. PDA has never been something I’ve been at ease with. Joel was always reminding me of that.

  “You’re making all my dreams come true,” Fiona tells Pierre as she scoops a helping of Coq au Vin onto her plate.

  “This looks incredible,” I say, adding some to mine. “Thank you.”

  He smiles proudly. “It’s our pleasure.”

  “Everything going okay in the kitchen?” Zoe asks.

  “All under control. But I’ll get back there and let you ladies enjoy.” He stops before leaving and looks at his wife. “Did you ask her?”

  They both train their attention on me. “Ask me what?”

  A sheepish look crosses Zoe’s face. “You can say no, but we were wondering if you might play a little after dinner.” Her eyes go briefly to the corner where the upright piano is.

  “Earning my meal?” I ask.

  Zoe leans forward. “You don’t have to.”

  “It’s okay. I’d be happy to.”

  “See,” Pierre says enthusiastically, “I told you she wouldn’t mind.”

  “You thought I’d mind?” I direct my question to Zoe.

  “No, well, maybe. It’s just, you haven’t played much since ... well you know, and I didn’t want to push you.”

  Zoe and Fiona have never been ones to tiptoe around me. It’s the reason we became such good friends in the first place. We’ve always been able to be ourselves around one another. Lately, though, I’m starting to realize they’ve been handling me with care, as though I could shatter at any moment. It’s simultaneously endearing and infuriating.

  I attempt to lean more to the former. “I don’t mind playing.”

>   Pierre gives Zoe a knowing look, and then with a smile in our direction, heads back into the kitchen. Seconds later a server arrives with another round of drinks. We each take one.

  “Here’s to you, Fi,” Zoe says, lifting her glass toward Fiona. “For being a fucking superhero and a kickass mom.”

  Fiona smiles and lifts hers toward me. “Here’s to you, Char. For your strength in getting through these impossible months and still showing up. Still being there for us.”

  I swallow back the unexpected emotions her words bring up. Looking at Zoe, I raise my glass in her direction. “And here’s to you, for opening up this incredible place through hard work and determination.”

  We clink our glasses together. Our ritual complete.

  For the next little while, we barely speak, giving our full attention to the incredible meal. Fresh bread, cassoulet, truffle fries, pommes dauphine, and beans with shaved almonds in lemony butter. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed such a meal.

  “Oh my god,” Fiona says, finishing her last bite and leaning back in her chair. “That was orgasmic.”

  “I don’t think I could eat another thing,” I tell them.

  “Are you sure?” Zoe raises her brow. “Because there’s crème brûlée.”

  Fiona and I look at each other. “Well, I’m sure we can find space for dessert,” Fiona says.

  I nod, sitting up a little taller, thankful that there’s a stretch to my jeans. “There’s always space for dessert.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the crème brûlée has been consumed and another round of martinis brought over. The conversation turns to summer plans.

  “Are you guys going to France again this year?” Fiona asks Zoe.

  “Not this year, we’re going next June. Pierre’s grandparents are having a big celebration for their seventy-fifth wedding anniversary.”

  I almost spit out my drink. “They’ve been married for seventy-five years?”

  “They grew up together. It’s kind of romantic, actually. He proposed when they were sixteen. But then the war happened, and he lied about his age so he could fight. She became a nurse, and they didn’t see each other for three years. Then one day, she was working in the hospital and he came in.”

  “As a patient?” Fiona asks, fully invested in the story.

  “No, he walked in, looking for her. He’d been shot a few months earlier and had been sent home. So, he went into the hospital, calling out her name, desperately searching for her, and they locked eyes across the room. And he asked her, in front of everyone, “Do you still want to be my wife?” And she yelled back, “Yes. A week later they were married.”

  “Wow,” Fiona says. “That’s like something from a movie.”

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Zoe smiles and then looks at me. “Your grandpa fought in the war, didn’t he?”

  I nod and put down my drink. “He was a paratrooper.”

  “Did he ever talk about it?” Fiona asks.

  “He used to have annual visits with some of the men he fought with, but he didn’t like to talk about the war. I think it was too painful, even after all those years.” There’s a tug at my heart. Though it’s been six months since I lost him, I still can’t believe he’s gone.

  “He was a really good man,” Zoe says gently.

  “Yeah,” I agree, my voice breaking. “He was.”

  Fiona raises her glass. “To William. An incredible man who raised one of the best women I’ve ever known.”

  “To William,” Zoe repeats.

  I lift my glass with theirs. A swell of emotions forms a lump in my throat, but I swallow it down with a large sip of my martini. Needing a distraction, I glance towards the piano. I figure it’s as good a time as any. “Is there anything specific you’d like me to play?”

  It takes Zoe a moment to catch on. “Whatever you want.”

  I see a look pass between her and Fiona. I don’t need to read minds to know what they’re thinking. They’re worried they’ve asked too much. Six months ago, it wouldn’t have given them pause to suggest it. Chances were, if there was a piano in the room, I’d end up at it.

  Now, though ... I don’t know. There’s no one reason I can point to why I stopped playing. There are excuses. Plenty of them that I’ve told myself over and over. But the truth is, I don’t know why I gave up doing the one thing that’s always made me happy.

  I have a feeling Zoe knows. It’s why she’s asked this of me. A gentle shove out of handle-with-care into proceed-with-caution.

  With a smile that I hope looks real, I get up from the table and walk over to the piano. Lifting the fallboard, I touch my fingers to the keys, pressing them gently without applying enough pressure to make a sound. Moments later, someone turns off the music coming through the speakers. The room is filled with the sounds of conversation. The fact that no one seems to have noticed me at the piano gives me the confidence I need to continue.

  There isn’t any sheet music, but I don’t need any.

  With a deep inhale and slow exhale, I begin Henry Mancini’s “Moon River.” I let myself disappear into the music as the world around me falls away. I know every note, every chord by heart. It was Grandpa’s favorite song. In those last weeks, he’d wanted to hear it every day.

  The lyrics float through my mind. Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker. Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way. Though it stirs up emotions, I welcome it, play through it, feeling him closer.

  It’s only as I reach the end that I realize the room has gone quiet. Everyone’s full attention is on me. I play the last notes and am greeted by the sound of applause.

  I don’t bask in it long, however, before moving onto the next song. This time I play something a little more vibrant. Mozart’s “Rondo alla Turca.”

  For the next half hour, I play through a variety of other songs, some classical, some jazz, ending on a favorite of mine, Elton John’s “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me.”

  The applause is enthusiastic. For the briefest moment, the last six months melt away from me. I turn to Fiona and Zoe and see them clapping louder than anyone else in the room, their smiles wide. I can’t help but smile myself.

  That is until I see him.

  At a table at the back of the room. His eyes are on me and I feel my heart sink. Zoe follows my line of sight, her expression souring. With as much calm as I can muster, I walk back to our table.

  “I had no idea he was here,” Zoe says as I sit down.

  “Who?” Fiona glances around. When her eyes land on him, an angry sigh escapes her lips. “What the fuck is Joel doing here?”

  “I don’t know. Shit. I’m sorry, Char.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, though it’s the last thing I feel. “He’s Pierre’s friend. He’s allowed to be here.”

  “Who the fuck is he with?” Fiona asks, and we all turn to look.

  The woman at the table with him is beautiful. She reads from the menu, oblivious to our stares. Joel catches us looking, and we quickly turn away.

  “He’s a piece of shit,” Fiona seethes. “I always thought he was a coward, but what he did, leaving you a month after your grandpa died—”

  “I don’t need the play-by-play, Fiona. I remember it well enough.”

  “Char...” Zoe’s expression is troubled. “There’s something I need to tell you. Fuck, I should have told you this months ago, but I didn’t want to make it worse.”

  “What?” An uneasy feeling takes root in my stomach.

  Zoe lowers her gaze, but then forces herself to look at me. “The woman he’s with. It’s his girlfriend.”

  “I figured.” My words come out hollow.

  “That’s not all.” This time she doesn’t look at me as she speaks. “She’s pregnant.”

  I stare at her, hoping she’s joking. “Pregnant? We only broke up five months ago.”

  “How far along is she?” Fiona asks.

  Zoe doesn’t respond, and the pit in my stomach doubles in size. “How long?”
<
br />   “Six months.”

  “Six months, but that would mean...” I can’t finish the thought out loud.

  “That dirty, fucking, no good piece of shit.” Fiona doesn’t attempt to keep her voice low.

  The world around me blurs from view, but I focus on Zoe. “You knew?”

  “I only found out a couple of months ago.”

  I stand from the table, my anger finding a target. “You’ve known for a couple of months?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

  I can barely look at her. Of all the betrayal, hers stings the most. “I can’t believe you.” Grabbing my bag, I walk away from the table, toward the exit as fast as possible.

  When I get outside, I pull out my phone, fumbling with the keypad. I manage a few deep breaths as I order an Uber. My mind is a dizzying array of questions. I hear someone exit the restaurant behind me, and turn, expecting to see Zoe.

  Instead, I find myself face to face with Joel.

  Tonight is the first time I’ve seen him since he unexpectedly ended our year-long relationship. For five months, I’ve wondered why. He gave me no reason. I’ve blamed myself, believed I wasn’t enough.

  “Are you okay?” he asks me as though he has the right.

  “Six months,” I say, and let the weight of my words fall on him. “She’s six months pregnant?”

  He at least has the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “How long?” I demand. “How long were you cheating on me?”

  He puts his hands in his pockets, bowing his head slightly. His blonde hair is cut shorter than I remember it. For some reason, he doesn’t seem as tall as he once was.

  “It started last June.”

  I do the math quickly. Last June. About six months into our relationship. “You were with her that whole time?”

  “I should have ended things between us sooner, but with your grandfather being so sick, I couldn’t do it.”

  The laughter that comes from me is harsh. “So you waited until he’d died, thinking that would be kinder?”

  “When I found out about the baby, I knew I had to do it. I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m really sorry.”

  “Fuck you.”