“Pedro! Pedro! Take a look at this!” I shout, amazed.
“Far out... Get a load of that! Are they back together?” he asks, amused.
“Are you crazy? Didn't you know he’s queer? He even lives with some guy.”
“Maybe he’s changed his mind back,” says Pedro, unfazed as ever.
“What’s going on?” asks Lu with that smile that says, “Your group of friends is even more fucked up than mine.”
“You see those two?” starts Pedro. “A year ago they were engaged, but three months before the big day the groom-to-be pulled the plug on it because he discovered he’s gay.”
“No shit!” exclaims Lu, incredulous.
“She lost her head,” I continue. “She fled the country, she only came back a few months ago and apparently this is the first time they’ve seen each other since the fateful day.”
“Just that now they’re in the kitchen eating each other’s faces out, so maybe they’re back together and we don't know yet,” concludes Pedro.
“No way! You guys rock!” laughs Lu.
At this point we hear footsteps behind us.
“Hey, what are you doing there?”
It’s André.
“Have you seen this?” I ask.
“Maria and Nuno? Yes, they’re making up.”
“Aren’t they just,” says Pedro.
“It’s not what you think, his boyfriend’s in the living room,“ answers André, annoyed.
“And maybe he’s about to get a taste of his own medicine,” says Pedro, maliciously.
“Let’s go in shall we, before Joana comes and drags us by the scruff of the neck.”
We go in, and the look on Joana’s face has a sobering effect on us. Everyone’s already here, including António and Cátia, whom I haven’t seen for months (they’re another one of those couples that disappear from circulation after they get married, as if marriage is a pact that forces you to make a clean break with the life you led when you were single), and a good-looking guy who isn't fooling anyone; Nuno’s boyfriend, I presume. Pedro is effusively apologetic, gets on his knees at Joana’s feet and pushes Lu towards her before she can start to reprimand him. I’m in the clear because everyone knows I don't drive and always depend on others for a lift. That’s where I’m lucky.
We’re in the introductions and breaking-the-ice phase – this is Lu, this is Eduardo, so what do you do?, pleased to meet you – when Maria and Nuno come out of the kitchen laughing and holding hands. Eduardo turns purple, out of shame or fear, I don't know. Pedro smiles mischievously in anticipation of a scene and Joana, as usual, defuses the situation.
“Ah! There you are. I was just going to call you. You must try my mozzarella skewers.”
“Sorry for taking so long,” says Maria. “We had lots to catch up on.”
“Eduardo,” says Nuno, going up to him while he holds Maria’s hand, “this is Maria.”
“Pleased to meet you,” says Eduardo timidly, feeling every eye in the house on him.
“Not so formal, please, you make me feel old,” answers Maria with a placatory smile, putting paid to any ill feeling that might have been brewing.
I don't think anyone was expecting Maria to react so peacefully. I’m very happy for her. She’s been through a lot. I met her after she came back from Germany and she seemed very self-assured, but with these things it’s difficult to know if it’s for real or if it’s only front, so as not to appear weak. I give her a long hug.
“Haven’t you got any cute friends to introduce me to?” she asks with a genuinely pleasant smile.
“I have a few in fact, but you know I won't introduce you to any old scarecrow.”
“I should hope not. Those depressing dates that Pedro set me up on were quite enough.”
“Well if you ask Pedro to set you up, what do you expect? It could only end badly.”
“Right, and really I’m not that desperate.”
“You don't need to be. You’re a very sexy woman and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
“You could say that about anyone. I’m thirty-three already. I wouldn’t like to end up a spinster.”
“Thirty-three? I wouldn’t put you at a day older than twenty-nine,” I say, planting a kiss on her forehead.
We take our places at the table and, as is only to be expected at a dinner thrown by Joana, the silver cutlery is gleaming, the crystal has not the slightest smudge on it and every place has markers with the names of all the guests. The only thing that puzzles me is why she wrote Kati on Cátia’s place marker when Lu’s reads Maria Luísa. Well I do know really, but anyway. I’ve decided not to pick trouble with her tonight, so I won't say a word to anybody. All these formalities, all these clothe napkins; it’s like having dinner in my parents’ house. In fact, now I look at the decoration of this living room, I don't think I’ve ever seen curtains like this in anyone’s house that wasn't at least fifty years old. I know everyone has their own tastes, but how can someone my age honestly like such conservative decor? Worse still, it’s taken straight from a home design magazine, like it’s only there to look good in a photograph and nobody’s allowed to touch it. I’m almost afraid to start eating and spoil the layout of the table.
Joana
I’ve tried to seat people so that nobody will feel at all awkward. André and I at either end, António and Kati beside me, André flanked by Filipe and Maria, Pedro and his girlfriend and Nuno and Eduardo in the middle. Nobody seems at all uncomfortable with this arrangement, which takes an enormous weight off my shoulders. I do hate dinners where people are ill at ease and unable to hide it. Obviously that kind of thing is unlikely to happen in one of my dinners, as I’m sensitive enough to know where to seat my guests.
I made a point of using Mummy’s linen tablecloth and the Cozinha Velha service we got as a wedding present. I love to see an elegantly set table, even if all we’ll probably get in return is paper napkins. André has brought some excellent wines from the cellar and is carefully decanting them now. That’s just one of the advantages of living in a detached villa. You can have a proper wine cellar, with the right temperature and lighting. And that’s something André specializes in – I’ll give him that much. He adores wine and built the cellar with all the necessary equipment. There’s even an armchair where he can sit and observe his collection. It’s his secret place. I think we all have one. Mine is my old bathtub with silver-plated feet, which I fill with foam and surround with scented candles.
After serving the first course - courgettes with shrimp stuffing – I allow myself to observe the company for a while. What a strange group. It’s as if someone had chosen some couples at random in the street and put them together in the same room. From occupation to lifestyle, manners to appearance, we’re completely different. For example, I never imagined having people like Pedro and Lu in my group of friends. Pedro is useless. For years he pretended to be going to university when he actually spent his days on the beach, surfing. I don't know how his parents fell for it. Just let one of my sons try it. Now Pedro has a surf shop or school or something that’s usually closed, as he’s in the water most of the time and the business doesn't earn enough to pay an employee. He’s a great guy and I know he does everything he can for his friends, especially André, but I hate to see him behaving (and dressing) like he’s still eighteen. And what about when he wants to raise a family? How is he going to have money to feed the children, for schools and doctors? It perplexes me terribly. As for Lu, I don’t know. But she must like that kind of life if she’s going out with him. I don't want to jump to conclusions, because she’s an absolute darling, but she’s already getting on my nerves a little with that condescending way she’s looking at my collection of bisque ducks in the sideboard.
And then Nuno and Eduardo, exactly the type of couple I wouldn't expect to invite to my house. Not that homosexuality bothers me, but I can't see where else I’d be meeting a gay couple if it weren't in these circumstances. But they’re sweet.
I didn’t much like Nuno before, I must confess. He was rather a posed, always involved in festivals of independent cinema and contemporary dance. And then he’d say whatever he wanted, including he didn't care what people thought about him, but it seems he did care, otherwise he’d have come out before causing all that mess. But he seems humbler now. And Eduardo is just wonderful. So elegant and well mannered. You can tell he has breeding.
António’s hand resting on mine brings me to my senses.
“Wouldn't you like some wine, darling?” he asks, acting the gallant, without removing his hand.
“No, tonight I’m not going to drink,” I stammer.
“Aw, come on, it’s a superb wine.” And his hand is still there.
“António, if Joana says she doesn't want any, it’s because she doesn't want any. Don't be a bore,” says Kati, coming to my defence but without noticing my predicament.
I don't know what to make of it either. I’ve known António for years and he’s always like this, covering all the women with his charm. But this time, I don't know why, he’s arousing me. I can even feel myself going red. It must be my hormones running riot. Maybe we should make the announcement before there’s another situation like this.
“André, darling, don't you want to tell our friends the news?” I ask, drawing my hand away from António’s at the same time.
“Ah yes, of course. Your attention, please,” André begins, getting to his feet. ‘The original motive for this dinner was no secret to anyone; we wanted to get together with our oldest friends, like we used to do quite regularly. I know life changes and don't always let us be with all the people we love, but it’s been too long. Sometimes we see each other individually, but this is a chance for us all to be together. A toast to that.”
After everyone drinks a toast, André continues, “But this afternoon the dinner took on a whole new complexion with some fantastic news my wife gave me.” After a long pause he announces, “My friends, we are going to have a baby!”
There are exclamations of surprise, kisses and lots of congratulations. André fetches a bottle of Dom Pérignon that we’d been saving for an occasion like this, and for a few short moments I feel very happy. I have everything I’ve always wanted. A husband, a child on the way, a lovely house full of friends... It may not be exactly what I had in mind, especially the part where the friends are concerned, but I have to admit it’s pretty close.
“That’s great! António, at last we’ll have someone to take the kids out with,” says Kati. “You can’t imagine how boring it is to go on holiday just with the kids. All I have to talk about by the end is cartoons. Now the four of us can go, we can hire some babysitters and go out all the time!”
“Yes, it’ll be great!” I answer, although I hate the thought of leaving my child with a stranger just to go out for a few drinks.
I don’t even like going out. I like to visit new places, go there just the once and have a cocktail, but I begin to feel uncomfortable after an hour. All that loud music and low lights, bumping into people, it’s frightful. I’d rather stay a little later in a good restaurant and then go somewhere I can manage to hear the person who’s talking to me.
Predictably enough, the conversation now revolves around the baby. I’m pleased to note a certain enthusiasm in André, maybe because everyone’s reacting naturally, as if this was the thing most to be expected after a few years of marriage. And obviously it is. The only one who refused to see that was him. Sometimes I think people just won't realize how old they are. One thing is being young at heart; another is making a fool of yourself or denying the obvious, like André was doing.
Meanwhile, we already have lots of volunteers for godparents. I bet André would choose Maria and Filipe, his best friends, but I’m not going to back down there. It has to be a couple, preferably with a solid family structure, since according to tradition it’s the godparents who care for the child if the parents can’t. I would, at a push, approve of António and Kati, but obviously it has to be my sister and her husband. And this matter is not going to be open to discussion.
I see Filipe is looking puzzled. When André gets up to take the plates to the kitchen, he goes after him. There’s another one who never seems to be happy with anything. I know he never really liked me, but I don’t care. The feeling is mutual. And I’ve no intention of him and André staying best friends forever, either.
Filipe
I can't believe it. Not two weeks ago André had lunch with me and said he was going to do a MBA and that he wanted to concentrate on his career for the next two or three years, precisely before coming a father, and now this? If he was already planning to have children he could have said so. It’s not as if I would have criticized him. On the contrary, I actually find children great fun. I just don't understand why he didn't tell me he wanted to have a child.
I’ll help him clear some things off the table and I’ll ask him. Joana’s looking at me, as if she knows what I’m up to. What a fucking pain. Doesn't want anyone in the kitchen, its only eight plates. But I insist – it’s quicker. And I take off for the kitchen carrying a heap of crockery.
“Well then, you’re going to be a father?“ I ask, giving him a slap on the back.
“That’s right... It’s brilliant.”
“Not half. Tonight we have to celebrate like in the old days.”
“Definitely!”
“But what about that conversation we had the other day?”
“What conversation?” he asks, surprised.
“About the MBA. You won't be able to go now, will you?”
“No, I suppose not... What can I say? I haven’t even thought about it very much yet. She only told me a few hours ago.”
“Yeah, right. I’m just surprised you didn't tell me you two were trying for a baby.”
“We weren’t,’ he snaps. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. Joana was on the pill and everything. We’d agreed to start trying in two or three years’ time.”
“So what happened?”
“Apparently she changed pill and by the look of it the new one didn't work.”
“Really? I’ve never heard that one before,” I say, suspicious.
“And I hadn’t either, but she says it can happen because of the change in dosage and so on and so forth. But none of that matters now. What matters is that I’m going to be holding a child in my arms in a few months’ time!” he exclaims, happily.
“You’re quite right. You’re going to be a father, you old bastard! Give me a hug!”
We return to the dining room with our arms around each other, bringing another bottle. I wasn't at all convinced by his answer. I think Joana’s tricked him; always an excellent way to start a family. Nobody gets pregnant just like that, without wanting to, these days. I think. I hope. Otherwise one of these days some girl’s going to come knocking at my door to introduce me to my child. But then again I don't think this is the best time to have this conversation. To be frank, I don't quite know when would be a good time. It hurts me that I can't talk to my best friend about what I feel. Leaving things unsaid, holding back, and so on.
This kind of stuff does my head in. André was always so resolute and intelligent, and he went and fell for someone who not only has nothing to do with him but doesn’t even seem to like him all that much. She’s so prim and formal; he’s laid back and never paid much attention to formalities. She likes luxury; he’s the king of the bargain hunters. She wanted to come and live in the country, so she could have a garden, a pool, a guest room; he’s always preferred the city and couldn’t tell a lettuce from a cabbage. The examples don't end there, but that isn't what bothers me; after all, I know a few couples who are totally different and they get on beautifully. What really bothers me is, he isn't happy. I can see it in his eyes. I know him too well. He works hard to give Joana the lifestyle she aspires to, does everything she wants, lets her make all the decisions for him, from where they’re going on holiday to the friends they invite to dinner, but despite it
all nothing ever seems to be enough for her. Not only that; it was like that even before they got married. Honestly, I don't understand why he asked her to marry him. Did he think it would be different once they were married? Did he think she would change? She would become less domineering, less critical, less of a bitch?
To make matters worse, there were so many cute girls after him. Even post-Matilde. On the two or three occasions he got involved with other women during his romance with Joana I had hoped he’d open his eyes and finish with her. But no, the next day he’d call me, full of remorse, asking me to promise not to tell anyone, then he’d go back to his sad little life with her. I can only find one explanation for this, Joana must be great in bed. I don't know if that’s enough to make a marriage go the distance, but whatever.
And anyway, who am I to hold forth about relationships? All opinions and judgments and I’ve never managed to make a relationship last longer than six months. I have a marvellous gift for fucking things up when everything’s going well. It’s so effortless it almost seems deliberate. Like I did today with Helena, for example. Obviously the last thing I wanted was a relationship with Helena, but even if I did, leaving my war trophies where she’s likely to find them isn't exactly very bright. I see that now, it just didn't occur to me at the time. Not that being single and uncommitted is a bad thing, especially when I look at my married friends, but sometimes I can't avoid feeling a certain envy of married couples. The togetherness, the romantic walks, the falling asleep with your nose buried in long hair.
I don’t think men were born to live alone. Women are better than us at that too. They bear up well alone, they know how to look after themselves. They know they have to take vitamins in autumn to avoid catching a cold, they know you have to wash dark clothes separate from light, that leaving a saucepan on the stove too long with the lid on leads to trouble. Their houses are always clean and fragrant, they have matching curtains and cushions, wallpaper, pressed bed linen. I admire that brio. The way everything’s in its place, even if they know no one’s going to appear. I need that order in my life. I need to hang out tiny, delicate garments to dry. I need scented candles, hair in the plughole of the bathtub, a bottle of nail polish left on the windowsill.
Thirty Something (Nothing's How We Dreamed It Would Be) Page 5
