It was 5 a.m. and the percolator was already empty. Fabio’s flight was scheduled to leave at 11 o’clock that morning. Emmanuelle made another batch of caffeine which she poured into travel mugs. She left a note letting her mother know that she would be back around lunchtime. They headed to Fabio’s apartment, careful not to wake Nicole, who was snoring in the room off the entryway.
Emmanuelle hadn’t been to Fabio’s place yet. It was clean and tidy, with some basic furniture and minimal decor. A few magazines were lying on the coffee table in the living room, but that was it. No dust or knickknacks, no frills or flower motifs. Nothing to trip over. No way to get hurt. The living room walls were bare save one giant poster, a scene from the Mario Monicelli film I soliti ignoti. Emmanuelle had never seen it.
“Maybe you’ve heard of it: Big Deal on Madonna Street, Le Pigeon. It was one of the first movies I ever saw. I watched it with my grandfather. I’d like to see it again. We can watch it together when I get back.”
“I’m already looking forward to it. Watching the movie. And you coming back.”
“You’re sweet. Don’t worry, it will go by fast.”
“I know. It’s just… I’m sad I’m losing my co-investigator.”
“While I’m there I’ll make sure Hector didn’t escape across the pond. Promise.”
Fabio gave her a big smile and ruffled her tangled hair. Manue returned his smile without daring to get any closer. She hadn’t brushed her teeth in 24 hours and didn’t want to give Fabio any more reason to never return to Montreal.
While Fabio gathered his things, Manue dozed on the couch, a film magazine clutched in her hands. He covered her up with a blanket and let her sleep until close to eight o’clock, when it was time to leave for the airport.
Emmanuelle didn’t go into the airport with Fabio, claiming that she didn’t feel like paying $18 to park. The truth was that she left the car running while she dropped her friend off in front of the revolving doors, alone with his suitcase and his pain, because she didn’t think she could say goodbye without crying. The international terminal always gave her the blues.
When she got back, Manue stopped by a drugstore to pick up a cheap box of chocolates. She’d decided to make her own sort of advent calendar, eating one chocolate a day until Fabio came back. But since there were twenty in the box, she wolfed down the extra six on the spot. She’d need the energy to get through the day.
When she slipped the key into the front door of her apartment, she heard footsteps in the hallway. She pulled out her pepper spray, ready to attack the thief who had dared break into her house.
“Get out, you son of a bitch!” she cried in her most threatening voice.
“Calm down, Manue! What’s gotten into you?”
It was Nicole. Manue had completely forgotten that her mother was in the apartment. Relieved, she put away the weapon.
“You were the one who got this for me when I moved to Montreal, to protect me from ‘city creeps.’”
“Really? I don’t remember. Fabio isn’t with you?”
“I just drove him to the airport. You can take the car back now.”
“Actually, I was thinking about staying a few days. If that’s OK with you.”
“Why?”
“To spend some time with my daughter. If that’s all right.”
Manue hadn’t abandoned her good intentions to reconcile with her mother, but now that the peace offering was right there in front of her she wasn’t sure she had the courage to face her old demons. Forgiving Nicole meant the end of her mourning over Gabrielle, as if Manue’s resentment of her mother was keeping her sister—or at least the image she’d created of her—alive.
To put off any confrontation, Emmanuelle announced that she needed a nap. She escaped to her room and slept like a yule log no one has touched, having already gorged on stew and meat pie.
Manue woke up to a sparkling apartment and the fresh scent of Mr. Clean. Her mother, of course, had felt the need to give everything a good scrub.
“I saw you didn’t have any cleaning supplies so I went out and got a few things,” Nicole told her. “And I did a bit of mopping, since I was already at it.”
Normally Emmanuelle would have accused her mother of meddling, generous as the gesture had been. But this time, for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, it didn’t bother her. Why was she so slow to criticize her mother’s domestic initiatives? She must really be tired. Either that, or it was the beginning of a genuine amnesty.
The Vacancy
it might have seemed ridiculous for her to miss someone she barely knew—a boy she’d neither kissed nor officially dated—so much. But ridiculous or not, Manue missed him like crazy. For reasons still unclear to her, she felt extremely attached to him. She didn’t believe in soulmates or destiny, but she couldn’t help thinking that Fabio had a particular part to play in her life. Otherwise why would she feel so empty now that he was gone?
Emmanuelle ate her daily chocolate as soon as she woke up—her personal communion ritual. She savoured each small, slow bite, letting the cocoa melt on her tongue and imagining that if she ever kissed Fabio one day, that’s what it would taste like. Before closing the box, she took care to count the remaining pieces to make sure her countdown was on track.
Thirteen pieces. Twelve pieces. Eleven. Ten.
Fabio’s trip was by no means a vacation—at least not in the summer sense. A period of varying duration throughout which a person ceases all professional activities to rest and relax. A wake, an official farewell, a burial, funeral lanterns, handshakes, black raincoats, umbrellas—it was a far cry from beaches, parasols, picnics, sandals filled with sand, heatstroke, and the coconut smell of sunblock. The state of being empty or unoccupied. Vacant. This, on the other hand, could have been an appropriate way to define Fabio’s situation. When he looked to the west, towards a country that wasn’t his own but where he had decided to settle, he felt a hole, a void. When he thought about the life he was trying to build there, he realized that it was what he wanted; that returning was not an obligation, but a desire. His exile was not as forced as he had believed.
Nine pieces. Eight pieces. Seven.
Manue had already devoured a week’s worth since Fabio had left. Nicole, meanwhile, was still staying with her daughter and—surprisingly—neither woman had yet to make an attempt on the other’s life. Nicole took advantage of her time in Montreal to go to the theatre, raid the stores on Mont-Royal Avenue, and dine in the best restaurants. She would gently suggest that Manue join her, but didn’t demand anything of her. “Only if you feel like it,” she kept insisting.
On the seventh night, Nicole brought her baby girl (as she liked to call her) to one of the city’s fanciest restaurants. They ate like kings and drank like fish. With the wine flowing, their tongues began to loosen faster than Nicole’s purse strings.
“Mom, why are you suddenly acting so different?” Emmanuelle asked naïvely.
“Different how?”
“I don’t know, you aren’t acting like you usually do. You’re being sweet, generous, you’re giving me space…”
“So usually I’m annoying, self-involved, and demanding?”
“A little, to be honest.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Look, I’m not trying to insult you. It’s just… You know, we’ve never really had a model mother/daughter relationship, right?”
“Maybe not. And that’s probably just as much my fault as yours.”
“Mmm hmm. So why is everything different now? You aren’t sick, are you?”
“Why would I be?”
“I feel like people decide to turn over a new leaf when they find out they’ve got terminal cancer.”
“Well I guess I’m no different from the rest of the world… It’s nothing serious, don’t worry. I just need a hysterectomy. I’ve got a fibroid
. It’s not cancerous. But the recovery could take some time.”
“…”
“I’m having it done next week. I imagine that’s why I wanted to come spend some time with you.”
An odd feeling came over Emmanuelle as she listened to her mother talk of the fairly routine surgery. Nicole was getting her uterus removed. The vortex where she and Gabrielle had been conceived, had grown and developed. The origin of their union. The only place that had indulged their hopes and dreams: living together; discovering the world, men, and their individual quirks together; laughing together; crying together; being together. This womb, the first home she ever knew, would soon be destroyed. It would become Gabrielle’s tomb. To Emmanuelle, this was the ultimate sign that it was time to bury her sister once and for all. Nicole, for her part, was dreading the moment she would go under the knife. She was scared of losing such an intimate part of herself. She, too, couldn’t help thinking of the embryos her now-sick insides had once carried. She was long past childbearing age and the diseased organ no longer served its purpose. And yet. Its impending removal signified the official end to maternity. She would never be able to bring back Gabrielle. Her stomach would be a vacant space, the aborted landscape of a childhood that had never emerged.
Boomerang
there were two chocolates left in the box, but Emmanuelle had forgotten to eat one the day before. Fabio would be back in less than 24 hours. She was ecstatic, yet anxious. In the short time they’d known each other, they had spent more time apart than together. What if Fabio had realized he didn’t need her in his life? Then she got an email that reassured her. Fabio, it seemed, was just as excited as she was.
Dear Emmanuelle,
I’ve told you before, but I think your name is really pretty. I can’t wait to say it out loud again. I’m coming back tomorrow, remember? I imagine your mother already took the car back to San Nicolò, so I won’t ask you to come get me at the airport. But I have another favour to ask. I managed to lose the key to my apartment while I was caught up in the whirlwind of emotions over here. I’ll need to contact my landlord and have him make a new copy. Do you think I could stay at your place for a night? If not, I understand. I can always go sleep on a bench in Champêtre Park. It will remind me of you and the wonderful time we had there together. It will make me happy.
A presto,
Fabio
Emmanuelle was torn from her romantic reverie by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. She opened the front door to a panic-stricken Serena.
“I’m freaking out, Manue!” she blurted out. “My cat got sprayed by a skunk and my place reeks!”
“It’s not just your place. You smell like rotting eggs.”
“Shit, I knew it. No wonder everyone on the bus was looking at me so weird. You’ve gotta help me!”
“Help you do what? Smell better?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know! Get the smell out of the apartment and recover my dignity. Can I stay over tonight?”
“I don’t know… I still haven’t forgiven you for the blind date with Bertrand.”
“You aren’t over that yet? Come on! It was just a joke. And he’s not that bad. He’s sweet.”
“He’s cross-eyed, he stutters, and he’s overweight.”
“OK, OK, so he isn’t the man of your dreams. But can I please stay the night?”
“Fine, but just tonight. Fabio’s staying over tomorrow.”
“Fabio? Who’s that?”
“A friend.”
“You never told me about him.”
“I haven’t known him that long.”
“Have you slept with him?”
“None of your business.”
“That means yes!”
“No it doesn’t!”
“Well then it means you’re in love!”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Ohhhhh! Manue’s in love! Manue’s in love!”
“God, how old are you?”
“I’ll be 31 next week, why?”
“Forget it. So what did you do with your cat?”
“I locked him in the bathroom.”
“Poor guy, he’s going to suffocate! He’s been breathing in his own stink for hours!”
“You’re right, we should go get him.”
“You should go get him. I’m not stepping foot inside your apartment. I don’t want to smell like skunk too. Your stink’s probably already gotten all over my place.”
“Come on, I need you.”
In the end, Emmanuelle gave in. They went over to Serena’s apartment together. They could smell the stench of dead animal as soon as they turned onto her street. They couldn’t imagine what it was like inside the building. At least they’d stopped by a drugstore and picked up surgical masks and latex gloves.
As they opened the bathroom door, a nauseating cloud wafted into the room. Cyrille, Serena’s white cat, was crouched inside the bathtub, terrified. He was frantically licking his back and paws as if to say: I’ll never get rid of the smell! The two girls grabbed him and dunked him in tomato juice, following the advice they’d found on various blogs. Never trust the old wives’ tales gleaned from sites ending with infinit.net. The tomato juice did absolutely nothing other than leave Cyrille a little pink and unimpressed. Not only would he have to lick away the smell that still clung to him, he had to redouble his efforts to erase the horrible bubble-gum pink colour. The lemon, potato peels, and boiled vinegar that were supposed to help with the smell in the house had equally poor results. Serena was doomed to live in a one-bedroom that reeked of skunk. She packed a few items of clothing, her toothbrush, and her deodorant. It seemed silly to worry about smelly armpits when her whole body stank, but dignity is dignity.
Shouldering her survival kit, Serena bid goodbye to the cat, who she’d released so he could move freely through the apartment. She would come back for him the next day, hoping to give the smell time to fade.
As she let them both back into her apartment, Emmanuelle reminded her friend of the rules of their temporary arrangement.
“I’m just warning you,” she began, “I can’t party with you tonight. I’ve got work to catch up on. I have a poster due in three days and I haven’t done anything all week.”
“You didn’t do anything because you were getting it on with Fabio! I knew it!”
“What are you talking about? We weren’t getting it on. He’s in Italy.”
“You must have gotten a quickie in before he left.”
“No, we were in Quebec City looking for Hector.”
“Not that stupid goldfish again! You haven’t let that go yet? And he went along with it? Come on, Manue. You need someone more serious than that.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to take relationship advice from a girl who only sleeps with married men or gays who haven’t come out yet.”
“That was low.”
“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got work to do. You can watch TV and eat anything in the fridge, but don’t bother me.”
But when she sat down in front of the computer, Emmanuelle couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand. She was distracted by thoughts of Fabio, but even more so by Serena, who was pacing up and down the hallway calling everyone in her contact list to tell them what had just happened. If Manue told the entire world every time something unusual happened to her, she’d spend her whole life with her ear stuck to the receiver. She had agreed to help Serena, but she wasn’t thrilled about it. She’d done it more out of a sense of obligation than out of the goodness of her heart. She knew that genuine friendships didn’t turn every act of generosity into a chore. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she and Serena were dependent on each other. Their relationship was more a force of habit rather than real affection. She would have liked to end their superficial friendship, but didn’t know how to go about do
ing it. When a romance goes sour, the couple simply breaks up. But what about a friendship? What is the socially acceptable way of ending that kind of relationship? The main reason keeping Manue from calling the whole thing quits was that, other than Fabio—who she’d only known for three weeks—Serena was her only friend. She had always judged couples who stayed together after decades of marriage, long after they’d stopped liking each other, people utterly bored of their passionless routine. But she had to admit that she was not much better when it came to Serena.
In an awful boomerang effect, Emmanuelle’s actions were coming back to bite her. She had always avoided fully committing to relationships, constantly keeping her feelings at arm’s length. Now, just when she was looking for a deeper bond, she was forced to admit that she didn’t know anyone who was truly honest and loyal.
Manue was a skunk that had been sprayed with poison by a creature even more noxious than she.
The Sting
unable to sit still, Serena spent the night running from bar to bar, one after-hours club to the next, one Prince Charming to another. Emmanuelle hadn’t slept either, making the most of her insomnia to work on the poster. She finally fell asleep around dawn and woke up with a start at 1:07 in the afternoon. The last time she’d gotten up so late had to be the day after her high school prom. She was expecting Fabio around five o’clock, which left her enough time to run a few errands and make dinner. Emmanuelle wasn’t a great cook, but she figured she’d be able to whip up something more appetizing than whatever his in-flight meal had been.
After throwing back a cappuccino and a croissant from the bakery around the corner, Manue headed to the Jean-Talon market. She wanted to pick up cured meats from the Magdalen Islands and some specialty cheeses and fresh vegetables. She wound between stalls displaying fruit, eggs, and herbs, a smile playing on her lips and a bounce in her step. She hadn’t felt so light in a long time. She was buoyed by the idea that she’d finally have an opportunity to start fresh and turn over a new leaf, with her mother as well as with Serena and Gabrielle—unhealthy as those relationships were. And Fabio was the icing on a cake that tasted of happiness.
Behind the eyes we meet Page 8