by Glynis Astie
I nodded, reaching for his hand. “Of course; they haven’t seen you in a while. They must’ve really missed you.”
He leaned in and kissed me. “I missed them too.”
I put my arms around him. “It must be hard for you to live so far away from them.” I suddenly felt very guilty for taking him away from his family. “Are you sure you’re happy in the U.S.?”
He held my face in his hands. “I am happier with you than anyone deserves to be, mon coeur.”
I leaned my forehead against his and sighed. “I don’t deserve you.”
He laughed. “It’s only been a little over a year, Syd. You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into yet.”
I glanced up to find Louis’ parents watching us while having a discussion of their own. Inserting their own dialogue, perhaps? That was going to be me over the next few days, as I was the lone English speaker in a large crowd of Frenchies.
Suddenly, the phone rang and Simone leapt up to get it. Louis had told me often how his mother could stay on the phone with her friends for hours discussing all of the local gossip. I relished the idea of witnessing this practice firsthand. I was hoping he would translate for me. With no TV shows available which I could understand, I needed a soap opera. Preferably one I wasn’t starring in.
Simone answered the phone with an emphatic, “Allô?” and took off talking at warp speed. It would be a wonder if anyone could understand her. I turned to Louis in amazement to find him with an extremely angry look on his face. What had happened in the span of thirty seconds to piss him off so much?
Louis pushed back from the table and left the room in a huff. After a quick glance at his father (who was unsuccessfully squashing a chuckle), I scurried after him. I definitely wasn’t going to need any TV on this visit. It seemed Louis’ family had enough drama for a lifetime. I was kind of scared since I was part of it now, but I would have to think about that later.
“Bluey! Wait!” I called after him.
Louis stopped when he heard my voice, but the expression of pure rage was still very much on his face.
“What happened? Why are you so upset?” He was really starting to worry me. Where had all of the happiness gone?
“She....” He attempted to slow his breathing. “She invited the priest for lunch today.”
Oh shit. I didn’t see that coming. He was angry enough about the priest attending the wedding. This was not good. His mother was asking for trouble. Was she purposely trying to create drama? Or did she simply do whatever she wanted without regard for anyone else’s feelings? Honestly, either possibility was equally petrifying.
“Um...why would she invite him?” I asked carefully.
“Because she always does whatever the hell she wants to. The man is such an asshole. I get angry just seeing his face.”
I touched his arm. “I’m really sorry, Louis. What can I do?”
He closed his eyes and took a moment to collect himself. Then he smiled tentatively at me. “You can come with me into town. We will spend the morning there and have lunch at my uncle’s bistro.”
“I’ll do whatever you want, Bluey. But...what about your mom?”
“She knew exactly what she was doing when she asked him. I told her I wouldn’t see him other than at the wedding and I meant it. She will have to deal with our absence.”
I kissed him tenderly on the lips. “Let’s go.”
He exhaled what seemed like an extreme amount of tension. “I will go grab your purse and let them know we are going. Please, wait for me in the car.”
“Are you sure?” I didn’t want him to face the music alone. Not that I could say anything, but maybe his mother wouldn’t cause as much of a scene if I were there. Then again, maybe not…
“Yes, I am. I don’t want you to witness another battle. One is enough for one morning. You are still a novice.” He grinned.
I pulled him into my arms. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He buried his head in my hair. After a long moment, he pulled out of the hug and squeezed my hand. “You are my sanity, Sydney Durand.”
After nodding his head for emphasis, he kissed my hand and walked towards the house. I shook my head as I watched him go. That poor bastard was in big trouble if I were the source of his sanity. But I was ecstatic to find our marriage in a good place. We would face the challenges of this trip together. And it appeared there would be many…
Chapter Twenty-One
The next three days passed in a blur. During that time, no fewer than fifty people came to Louis’ parents’ home to visit the prodigal son and his questionable bride. I use the word questionable because this is how I would qualify the looks I received from a good portion of our visitors. I was scrutinized, probed and generally picked over from every possible angle. Many of our guests took ridiculous advantage of my lack of knowledge of the language and openly mocked me to my face.
No, I’m not being paranoid. I have enough of a French vocabulary to understand when people are being rude. The words dumb, unattractive and uncultured are fairly easy to understand. I must say, my fan club was very careful to only make these types of comments when Louis was out of earshot. It seems they were well aware of both the depth of his feelings for me and his swift delivery of retaliation. Personally, I hoped the assholes got what they had coming to them. I also hoped I had a front row seat.
The only good thing I can say is none of these words were uttered by Louis’ relatives. Every one of his aunts, uncles and cousins treated me with the utmost kindness. I communicated as well as I could with them by the hilarious combination of my pocket French dictionary and good old-fashioned pantomiming. Though I had a wonderful time getting to know them, by the end of the third day, I had severely aggravated my carpal tunnel syndrome. I would have to find a new form of communication. Maybe it was time to bust out the smoke signals?
Though the first few days had been riddled with stress, there were certainly good things about being in France. The best thing? Say it with me: the FOOD. My absolute favorite part of the day was our trip to the local bakery. The entire experience was pure bliss. From the first heavenly scent to the last morsel consumed, I experienced nothing but joy. There was no judgment, no fear and no chance of disappointing anyone. There was only a myriad of mouthwatering options, and I had every intention of trying them all. Since freshness is of the utmost importance when it comes to pastries, Louis and I ventured to the bakery in the morning, thereby ensuring a magnificent start to the day.
In direct contrast to my stress-free trips to the bakery were my cooking sessions with Louis’ mother. Because she had scheduled a minimum two events per day starting Monday, our time together in the kitchen had to take place during our first few days in France. But there was no reason to feel stressed. Nooo! No reason at all. I mean, it’s not like I had trouble understanding his mother’s southern accent or her prodigious use of slang! And, it’s not like she spoke a million miles a minute or fully expected me to be fluent in French! And it certainly wasn’t the case that she has a very different idea of personal space than I do when it comes to a freshly slaughtered chicken!
Breathe, Sydney, breathe. My apologies for the outburst. As you can imagine, I was quite on edge during my French cooking lessons. I’m happy to say, I wasn’t expected to pluck a chicken, as Louis had so dangerously joked with me about before our departure. However, I’m quite sorry to say I did have to endure the odor of burning feathers throughout a two hour lesson on making cream puffs. The cream puffs were amazing. Consuming them while breathing in charred plumage was…um…a bit…unpleasant.
Beginning Monday morning, we were roused at seven am by loud knocking and a lot of yelling. (Louis not only had locked the bedroom door but also had hidden his mother’s key.) I felt an instant sense of foreboding when it dawned on me that I would be separated from Louis for the majority of the next three days. His mother was taking me to a variety of women-only events and Louis was accompanying his father to the correspondi
ng men-only events. As I thought about what was coming my way, I began to literally quake in my boots. Well, they were bunny slippers, but this doesn’t mean I was any less scared!
Louis and I were allowed a short breakfast together and were promptly whisked away to our respective events. While I attended his aunt’s garden party and viewed every flower known to man, he went to a shooting range. Later that afternoon, while I desperately tried to remember the rules of bridge, Louis raced motorcycles with his childhood friends. Over dinner (to which Simone had conservatively added ONLY eight family friends), Louis reveled in his adventurous day as I tried to steel myself for the next round.
Our second day of gender specific events was no better than the first. The morning held a lecture and lunch with his mother’s church group for me and hunting deer for Louis. My afternoon was composed of a particularly lively session of ballroom dancing, while Louis spent his afternoon on the docks with his uncles drinking beer and eating oysters. You will be happy to know, although I fell down far more often than I care to admit, I didn’t sustain any real injuries, other than my pride.
On our third day, we were finally allowed to cross gender lines for our daytime activities, yet somehow Louis and I were still separated. My morning consisted of hanging out with Louis’ Uncle Remi’s fishing club. I was taught how to set up and cast a fishing pole as well as how to descale and gut a fish. Though there were several moments during the disemboweling process when I thought I would hurl, the worst moment came when I finished. Due to the absence of an apron, my clothes were coated in extremely fragrant fish parts. Since we didn’t have time to go back to the house before our next event, I was forced to accept a spare ensemble my mother-in-law kept in her car for emergencies.
I’m not quite sure what kind of emergency would necessitate a bright orange jumpsuit with fuchsia sequin accents, but then again, there really was no other choice. Coupled with the fact that Simone is a good eight inches shorter than I am and you can easily picture one of my most unfortunate ensembles EVER. I resembled a seventies Vegas showgirl who tried to modernize with capris…
Even more unfortunate for me was our afternoon activity of…hunting. A bright orange jumpsuit is rather less than ideal as a form of camouflage while hunting. Following the round of raucous laughter at my impractical attire, I was given Uncle Luc’s spare hunting jacket. Once everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE, had taken photos of my latest fashion exploration, I was informed we would be hunting hares. That was it! It was time for me to take a moment.
You know how most kids have a favorite stuffed animal growing up? It’s often a bear, but may also be a dog or a tiger or maybe even a damn dinosaur. I had a stuffed RABBIT. Her name was Cinnamon and she held a very important place in my life as a child. In fact, she currently resides in the back of my closet because I can’t seem to part with her. So, please tell me, how am I supposed to shoot one of her closest relatives???
After a number of deep breathing exercises, I returned to the hunt and proceeded to spend the entire afternoon “missing” clean shots at a number of hares. Louis’ uncles smiled and shook their heads, probably thinking I was just another city slicker who never learned how to shoot. Though a number of furry little creatures lost their lives that day, I was happy to know I hadn’t been involved in any way.
Upon our return to the house late in the afternoon, we found Louis and his dad sitting on the terrace relaxing. They were talking animatedly and burst into fits of laughter often. As we approached, the smile instantly faded from Louis’ face. Michel; however, took one look at me and laughed so hard that he doubled over to catch his breath.
Louis jumped up quickly and came over to me. “Mon coeur, what happened to you?” I could see the corners of his mouth twitching. He appeared to be struggling between his concern for my current mental state and his desire to join in his father’s appreciation for my, um, exotic appearance.
I sighed. “I learned how to gut a fish.”
One look at his face told me it wouldn’t be long before the laughter won out. I couldn’t blame him. I must be quite a sight. Besides the stellar outfit choice, my hair was beyond windblown, I was covered in dirt and I still had traces of fish guts in awkward places.
I rolled my eyes. “Go ahead.”
He cackled like a complete idiot. He was so far gone, he couldn’t even speak.
“I’m so glad to be the source of your amusement.” I patted him on the back. “I’m now going to take the longest bath in human history. Feel free to attend tonight’s event without me.”
Without a backward glance, I stalked into the house and began removing my dirt, fish and humiliation soaked garments. As I gathered clean clothes for this evening, I thought about the events of the week thus far. It made perfect sense to me why Louis and I had been separated for the uber girly events of the past two days, but I failed to understand why he was not included in fishing and hunting. I can already hear you telling me I’m being unreasonable, but I have a sneaking suspicion his mother purposely excluded him from these events to see how I would fare on my own. (Seriously, he spent the day with his FEMALE cousins at the beach. That activity has my name written all over it!) I choose to consider today to be part of the unworthy American hazing process.
After a very, very long bath, I felt somewhat better. Once I had put myself back together, I ventured outside to find Louis and his father still relaxing on the terrace. There was no sign of his mother anywhere.
I regarded him quizzically. “Where’s your mother?”
Louis thought about how to respond. “She, um, elected to attend tonight’s event in the town square by herself.”
I sat down next to him. “She went to the town square event? The one where she was planning to introduce me to every single person in the town?” That was tonight? Oh shit.
I felt all the blood drain from my face. This was a really big deal to his mother. And we weren’t there. By now, you’re well acquainted with his mother’s…excitability. I felt dizzy imagining the swift retaliation I would be met with for this. (This tendency runs in the family.)
Louis put his hand on my shoulder. “Syd?”
I stared at him with terror in my eyes. “She’s going to kill me. Not figuratively, Bluey. I’m talking literally. She’s LITERALLY going to kill me.”
I got up and started to pace around the terrace. The usual look of jocularity on Michel’s face was replaced by confusion. It was clear even he was starting to doubt my mental stability. And he was definitely the most easygoing of the bunch.
As my mind raced through possible ways to make up for this huge gaffe, I heard Louis and his dad speaking quietly. I mean, what could I possibly do after embarrassing her in front of the entire town? She had been looking forward to showing me off as Louis’ new bride for quite some time and I completely wimped out because of some fish entrails and a few dead bunnies. I wracked my brain for a way to make her happy, but at this point, even killing a chicken with my bare hands wasn’t going to be enough. What the hell was I going to do?
At that moment, Michel put his hand on my shoulder. I turned to him with tears in my eyes, while he gazed at me sympathetically and began to speak in French. I was in such a manic state, I couldn’t focus enough to understand any of his words. I smiled at him warmly, squeezed his hand and looked to Louis for an explanation.
He laughed. “My father is worried about you, mon coeur. He said you are much too sensitive and you cannot worry about every thought his crazy wife has.”
I felt a small smile pulling at my lips. Did he just call HIS wife crazy?
Louis grinned at me. “He said the reception in the town square was far too much pressure to put on you, especially since my mother has put you through the wringer since the moment you arrived. He is impressed with how well you have done so far.”
Slowly, the tension began to dissipate from my shoulders. Louis’ father took my hand and led me back to the table. He gestured to the chair and poured me a glass of wine.
I gratefully accepted the wine. “Merci beaucoup, Michel.” The ruby liquid went down with ease.
Louis chuckled. “One more thing, Syd.”
I sighed contentedly as I felt the wine warm my stomach. “What’s that?”
“My dad suggests from now on, you travel with a change of clothes.” He paused. “He doesn’t want you to look like a deranged muppet ever again.”
Oh my God! I had totally forgotten about Michel’s love of Le Muppet Show.
Thankfully, I hadn’t taken another sip of wine, since it would have come out of my nose. And no matter how good a wine is, it won’t give you the desired flavor if you imbibe it (or in this case expel it) through the wrong orifice.
The three of us laughed so hard, we had red, tearstained faces. I was fairly certain I resembled a matted troll, but I didn’t care one bit. I hadn’t felt this relaxed and happy at any point thus far on our trip.
Louis and I spent the next hour listening to stories of his father’s youth. Louis had heard every one of them a dozen times, but Michel had a great time retelling them for my benefit. He would relay the information with great animation and then sit back and enjoy my prudish reaction to his bawdy tales, once Louis had translated for me. Apparently, Michel was quite a ladies man in his youth and had a very…adventurous sex life. There were many tales of public, um, turns of affection which sometimes ended up involving the police.
By the end of our conversation, I felt infinitely better and I happily realized Michel reminded me of someone I was very close to. My father was often the one to pull me out of a dose of insanity with a crazy tale, though his tales usually involved profanity, not profane acts. Either way, Teddy Bennett and Michel Durand were going to be fast friends. Language barrier be damned!
Following two glasses of wine and some bread with cheese, I excused myself to call Kate. She and her family were leaving for France this evening and I promised to check in with her before she left. I was thankful the nine hour time difference gave me the opportunity to speak to my sister before she boarded the plane. Her voice had immense healing power which I sorely needed.
