“Cart.” Rachael rolled her eyes. “Apple cart.”
“Well, whatever the apples is in.” Julien stood up, sliding out from under her. He stubbed out his cigarette in the sink, leaving the butt to float amongst the soaking dishes—something he would only do in anger.
“Rachael, we have a nice life…freedom. We don’t need to add childrens to this.” In the heat of an argument, he often got his plural endings confused. He lit another cigarette then placed his cup in the sink busily tidying up around him. He could feel her eyes on his back. She sat silently watching him from the table.
“I have said this before,” He said and took a slow, thoughtful drag from his smoke. “Parents are toxic to the children and children are poison to the parents. No one with childrens is ‘appy.” He turned to face her again; his accent escalating with his anxiety.
Rachael looked away, still straddling the chair and facing backwards. Her brown hair, damp, held up by a black wooden chopstick. Her oval jaw slackened and her bottom lip quivered. Julien knew she was trying hard to hold it together and was fighting back tears. He knew she would fear he might storm off, which he sometimes did during conversations such as this. Her voice morphed into the soft, non-threatening tone one might use to talk someone off a ledge.
“Julien, just because you and your father…”
She broached the topic but Julien lost it in an instant, interrupting her immediately.
With emphatic, ingrained, European hand gestures, he bellowed furiously, “We made our decisions a very long time ago! You know how I feel about this. You can’t change your mind then force it upon me. We agreed!”
He grabbed his coat, tucked his keys into his side pocket then the cigarettes and Zippo in the inside breast. He watched her peripherally, her back to him, still sitting at the table with her head hung low.
Frustrated, he paused and thought,
Why do you have to bring this up on our anniversary?
For him, this subject would be equally upsetting, any day, but for Rachael, she would use the poignancy of this special date to make him feel worse.
She is ruining the day for herself.
I did not do this.
“Rachael, I did not lie to you. I have make my feelings clear when we first meet. You agreed. I do not need to feel guilty about this now… as if I mislead you somehow, or am, am, robbing you of some feminine right.”
Rachael remained silent. Julien’s ire festering; he had all to do not to say something that would salt her wounds. Even more so, not to rub her nose in the fact that she was younger than he—something Rachael hated and Julien often held over her; his favorite excuse for just about any disagreement. He wanted to remind her that ten-years-earlier he had warned that their age difference could one day become a bone-of-contention between them. Now, at forty-five, he was content with their childless lifestyle. Rachael had recently turned thirty-two, barely passed her self-centered youth, and just now beginning to hear her biological clock tick.
Julien stared at her back as he put out another cigarette, nearly knocking the ashtray from the breakfast table. He stormed toward the front door confident she would follow.
Rachael rushed after him. “Wait!” she threw her hand past his shoulder and slapped a palm against the door, slamming it shut.
“I’m sorry…you’re right. Please, I don’t want to fight today.” She pressed up against him, hugging him from behind.
It was too late for Julien who was already overcome with guilt and anger. His sensitive mood swings, so easily triggered and difficult for him to get past. A conversation such as this could cost him a week of haunting intrusive thought. He had to find a way for both of them to let it go and get beyond this quickly. After all, he too wanted their anniversary to be a happy one. He forced himself to turn and hug her back. He kissed the top of her head, holding her for a brief moment—as much a comfort for him as for his wife.
“I need to go, Rach. I have a meeting at 8:30.” He released her and glanced at his watch. “You are alright?”
Rachael buttoned his coat in silence then reached behind him to open the door. “I love you, Jules. I’ll see you at the fountain at eight o’clock.” She was sullen but affable.
Julien left their apartment closing the door between them.
He was sure Rachael had given in purely to keep him from leaving in a huff and knew she would bring the matter up again soon.
Perhaps tonight.
Now, nearly ten hours later, their morning argument still heavy on his mind. He lit another cigarette just as Matt appeared beside him.
“Hey, give me one of those.” Matt grabbed for Julien’s cigarette pack just as a hulk of a man knocked into him, never stopping to acknowledge or apologize as he lumbered swiftly away. Julien’s first reaction was to go after the guy, grab hold of him, but he disappeared into the crowd too quickly. Matt shook his head. “Fucking asshole!” he blurted.
“You’re okay. Forget about it.” Julien brushed off Matt’s shoulder, lit his cigarette then snapped his Zippo shut with a flick of his wrist before returning it to his pocket.
His co-worker’s lanky frame placed Julien about half a foot shorter than Julien’s six-foor-three. Matt, at the age of thirty-five, had the perpetual look of an awkward teenage boy, complete with a blotchy complexion. His curly brown, fall where it may, hair; too shaggy for Madison Avenue. Cheap suits, scuffed shoes, and a denim jacket over a zipper hoodie; it was as if Matt had a neon sign above his head, flashing, I don’t fit in. For all of his idiosyncrasies, Matt was one of the most creative ad-men on Julien’s team—when he wasn’t playing video games on his iPhone.
Julien did not make friends easily and usually avoided gatherings unless they were work related and unavoidable, but Matt managed to break him down, relentlessly following him around the office and inviting him to various outings and events. With the exception of Rachael, Matt was the only person Julien spent time with outside of work. Their wives, inseparable companions, had formed a bond after becoming acquainted at an office Christmas party three years earlier. Regardless of the time they spent together, Julien kept his conversations with Matt relatively mundane. Matt, on the other hand, was an open book, wearing his emotions on his sleeve and including Julien in every thought, every minute detail of his life.
“What were you doing? What took so long?” Julien asked as he led them through the crowded sidewalk.
“Phil,” Matt referred to one of the partners at the agency. “He stopped me on the way out about the pretzel ad thing. I think I might be getting that raise after all.”
“Yeah? Good for you.” Julien suppressed a grin.
“What the hell does that mean?” Matt said bumping into Julien on purpose.
Once again, perhaps for his accent, his intent was misconstrued.
“It means good…for…you,” Julien reiterated.
He found Matt’s paranoia both amusing and endearing. Besides, he already knew Matt was getting a raise. Julien had gone to Phil himself, letting him know how indispensable Matt had become to their clients and suggesting a pay increase was overdue.
They rounded the corner and entered their usual Friday night spot. The door to Brennen’s Pub opened and AC/DC’s Back in Black spilled loudly into the street. As always, the place was packed. Matt spotted three women getting up from a pedestal table. He reached between them and slapped a hand down on the tabletop to stake his claim. One of the girls shot him a disgruntled glare. Matt smiled at her, bouncing his eyebrows a few times for effect.
“Why don’t you stay and have a drink with us?” he suggested to the obviously repulsed blonde.
The girl’s lip curled and Julien thought she might empty the last of her drink in Matt’s face. He stepped between them.
“Please, forgive my rude friend.” He worked the accent and looked deep into the girl’s eyes.
Her expression relaxed instantly.
Julien continued, “Can we buy you and your friends a drink?”
Th
e girl smiled, but before she could respond, one of the others grabbed her arm and dragged her away.
Matt and Julien could hear the young girls cackling and teasing the blonde as they left in a hurry.
Matt shook his head. His voice shot up an octave. “How the hell do you do that?”
“What? I can’t hear you.” Julien lied, pointing up at the sound system hanging over their heads.
“It’s the accent.” Matt narrowed his eyes in contemplation. He envied Julien for more than just his way with women.
Julien flashed him a grin, then laughed, “That girl was about to neuter you.”
Matt ignored Julien’s words, bouncing a finger as if to indicate he had it all figured out. “It can’t be the French thing alone,” he shook his head, and added, “… you look like money…and you’ve got that rugged I’ve taken a punch or two face...” He continued to scan Julien up and down, searching for his secret.
Matt’s choice of phrasing flooded Julien with memories of his father’s assault, “You scare me sometimes, you know?”
Julien got the attention of their favorite server. He held up two fingers and she knew what their order would be. He turned his attention back to Matt, all the while attempting to shake the memory of his father’s crushing fist.
“Maybe if you ironed your shirt now and then the birds would give you the time of day.” Julien placed his cell phone on the table. “Why…you have Lily, and she’s beautiful. What do you want these little girls for anyway?”
Matt ignored the question and continued his analysis of Julien, “…and that moody thing…that, that… aloof thing you do...anyway, so Phil…” He hopped from topic to topic rambled incessantly about his conversation with their boss while Julien checked his phone.
There was one text from Rachael.
Don’t 4get! 8@the fountn. C U soon.
Luv U. XO
Julien text her back…
How could I forget? Happy anniversary, Mrs. Grenier. xoxo
Their drinks arrived. The server knew them well. In her mid-forties, a former exotic dancer now dressed in a catholic schoolgirl uniform—the bar’s required garb. Matt placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her close for the moment. He knocked his drink back, draining it in one swallow, and requested another.
He pointed to Julien. “You…?”
“No, I’m good with this. I have to leave soon. Meeting Rachael at the Met, remember?”
The server winked. “How you doin’, Julien?”
“Good, Brandy, et toi?” He winked back at her.
“Rockin’ n’ rollin’, gorgeous…rockin’ n’ rollin’,” she said before leaving the table with an overstated swish of her hips.
Matt extravagantly mimed air-drums to Poison’s Talk Dirty To Me; Julien did everything in his power to ignore him.
Matt, still banging his head, drained some ice into his mouth and crunched it quickly, “The Met, that’s right. Couldn’t get out of that one, huh?”
“There are certain things we shouldn’t try to get out of, Matthew,” Julien said with a heavy sigh. He checked his phone again—No reply.
“So what do you think about that?” Matt asked.
“What? The Met?” Julien struggled to keep up with Matt’s erratic conversation.
“Phil! Dude, the account thing? Jeez…Julien, are you even listening to me?” Matt burst into another air-drum fit.
Julien smiled. “I’m sorry, Matt. I have a lot on my mind today. By any chance, did you have ADHD as a child?”
“No, I didn’t…and like what stuff’s on your mind? Everything’s okay, right?” Matt paused his drumming. “Rachael’s okay?” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning closer.
“Oui, yes, nothing like that. We’re just…discussing things.” Julien glanced at his phone again, now checking for the time of Rachael’s last text.
5:03p.m.
He was surprised she had not yet replied, but assumed she was in the shower or blow-drying her hair.
Matt knew Julien was not longing to talk about his private life, but tried to coerce him anyway. “Like what?” he asked. “What kind of discussion?”
“Nothing,” Julien insisted. He was not about to get into this with Matt.
A goofy smile spread across Matt’s face, “Stuff about the baby?” he shifted one eyebrow higher than the other.
Julien stared at him.
How could Matt know their discussion had anything to do with having a baby?
He said THE baby.
“THE baby? What baby?” Julien snapped.
Matt took his second drink from Brandy. “Lily told me, man. It’s all good.”
Julien changed his mind and motioned for a second drink of his own.
He grew impatient. “Lily told you what?”
“When were you going to tell me?” Matt slapped Julien on the shoulder proudly.
Julien felt his blood pressure rise.
What the fuck is he talking about?
“What did Lily tell you, Matt?” It was Julien’s turn to drain his drink in one go.
“If our wives weren’t friends I wouldn’t know a damn thing about you, Julien,” Matt said. “I know you probably don’t want it getting around the office just yet, but I think it’s great, man. My brats are my life. You’ll see. You’re getting a late start, but…” Matt paused and set his drink down. The look on Julien’s face was suddenly obvious; Matt knew he had made a huge mistake.
Julien stared down at his drink. The room was spinning.
How could this be?
Rachael has an IUD.
She wouldn’t…
Impossible.
Matt walked around the table to Julien’s side. “C’mon, let’s go have a smoke outside.” He wanted to get Julien out of the bar where they could talk away from the blaring music and house full of onlookers, and where he would have a better chance to perform damage control.
Julien snapped and grabbed Matt by the lapel of his denim jacket drawing their faces close.
“You’re not joking, are you?” He would vow to forgive him immediately if Matt would only admit it was all a bad joke.
Matt glanced around the room nervously, but no one seemed to be looking in their direction.
“Hey man, c’mon. Let go, okay.” He could see beads of moisture forming on Julien’s temples. “Come outside, have a smoke with me.” He took hold of Julien’s wrists and pried his friend’s hands off his jacket.
“Tell me you’re fucking with me. You’re fucking around with me, right?” Julien was begging now.
“Julien… Man, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.” Matt winced, furious with himself. “I’m so sorry, man. How could you not know by now? I’m such a freaking idiot!”
Matt continued to reason, “Rachael’s known for over a month...Lily’s known for almost as long...I just found out a few days ago, I swear.” He held up his hand as if to pledge.
Nothing Matt said was helping. He had witnessed Julien in a wide array of emotions, but never had he seen such a pained and frantic look in this man’s eyes.
Matt’s shoulders slumped. “C’mon, Julien, fuckin’ come out and smoke with me, man. Let’s go outside, okay? Get some air. You’re sheet-white.” Matt walked away leaving Julien behind.
A moment later, the door swung open and Julien appeared. He groaned angrily, slapping his hands against the brick wall, then turned on a dime and pointed a finger inches from Matt’s face and latching onto his lapel once again.
“You don’t understand. Nobody can understand.” He let go and turned away from Matt.
Julien paced in the falling snow. He lit a cigarette. “Mon Dieu.” He threw his hands up into the night air; he begged of some higher power, “What is she thinking?” he slapped a cupped hand to his forehead in despair.
Other smokers watched Julien’s display then, perhaps out of respect, went back into the bar.
Matt waited for the door to close behind them, “Julien try to calm down…you have to calm down.” He f
umbled for the right words. “This is a good thing. You guys are set financially… Hell, Lily and I don’t make half your income and we’re raising three kids. I don’t understand what the big deal is…” He flinched as Julien spun in his direction.
Matt held his hands up before him as if attempting to calm a wild animal. “Not that having a kid isn’t a big deal. I mean…you’re reaction is… it’s a little more than I would have expected, is all, but…” He was only making it worse; he feared uttering another word.
“It’s got nothing to do with money.” Julien said. It was times like this when he wished others knew what he had survived as a child. “It’s about experience, choice...” Julien shook his head and was about to storm off but turned back abruptly.
“I had a plan, Matt. I’m forty-five...I knew my future.” He threw his hands up at his sides and shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. You can’t.” He backed away. “I don’t want kids. It’s that simple, no?”
Julien took a long drag and flicked his cigarette to the curb. “I’ve got to go,” he said, disappearing around the corner. He still had an hour before he would meet Rachael at the Met.
* * * *
Matt felt awful. Lily would kill him for this. How could he possibly explain such a fuck-up to his wife? Nevertheless make this up to Julien…or Rachael. It dawned on him that he had just destroyed their anniversary, adding salt to his own wounds.
What have I done? He thought. Disgusted with himself, he turned back into the bar to pay their tab and head home to face the music with Lily; he was sure Rachael would be calling his wife soon.
CHAPTER THREE
Rachael tossed a twenty-dollar bill through the Plexiglas window that separated her from the taxi driver.
“Keep it,” she said, leaving the cab in a hurry.
The doorman rushed ahead of her to hold the lobby door. “Good evening, Mrs. Grenier. In a rush, I take it?”
“I’m so late, Arthur.” She flew past him skidding on the marble floor, the soles of her high heels wet with snow. She ran for the elevator hopping from one foot to the next and fumbling to remove her shoes on the go. Barefoot, she heard the bell sound and called out for someone to hold the door. Rounding the corner, she ran smack into the back wall of the elevator from the momentum. She attempted to catch her breath.
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