Half-Blown Rose, page 34
When Loup arrives, he asks Vincent how she’s feeling and she says okay. They go to her bedroom and she begins to tell him about Cillian’s book, Tully, and the real reasons she ran off to Paris.
Loup, sweaty from soccer, confesses that he was at the bookstore a few weeks ago with Apollos and Noémie and saw Half-Blown Rose there. A stack of them. He saw Cillian’s name and the title and put it all together. He bought a copy and read the whole thing, wondering if she was ever going to say anything to him about it.
Vincent is crying on her bed. Lately, Vincent is always crying on her bed. She’d planned on spilling everything about Cillian’s book first, then telling Loup about the pregnancy. But now they’re stuck in a conversation circle about Tully and how her husband could do something like that.
“I don’t know, Loup. I don’t! Everyone likes to come to me for an answer to this, but I don’t have it!”
“I just don’t see how you can forgive him and go back to him after this,” Loup says. His hands are folded atop his head the same way Cillian stood in the hallway of their hotel. She loves it on Loup too, but it doesn’t matter. He’s pacing the rug on the floor in front of her bed.
“I have to forgive him because he’s the father of my children,” Vincent says. The tears come harder, thinking not only of Cillian being the father of her children, but Loup being the father of the tiny almost-baby in her uterus too. “And who says I’m going back to him?”
She’s barely able to keep her own stories straight now.
What had she told Loup she was doing in August? No way is she not going to the villa, but will her heart stay in Paris? What good is a body without the heart?
“You’re going back to him, I can tell…You didn’t even renew your visa,” Loup says, raising his voice a little. He stops walking. She explains again that the visa thing was an honest mistake. Yes, she has to leave in a week or so, but that doesn’t mean she can’t return.
She apologizes for not telling him about the book and the rest spills out—her correspondence with Tully and how he’s become friends with her dad. The villa. She shows him pictures of it and taps the YouTube app on her phone to show him Tully’s page too.
Loup is sitting on the edge of her bed now, looking at her.
“Also…and this is a shitty time to tell you with everything else we’re talking about…and I already told Agathe because I needed to talk to a woman first…but Loup, I’m pregnant. And before you say anything to piss me off, it’s yours. I didn’t sleep with Cillian when I was in New York and that’s not how pregnancy works anyway. I haven’t slept with Cillian for over a year. It was opera night when there were no condoms in my drawer. That’s the night it was…my dress and your…tuxedo. If it wasn’t that, it’d be the stripes or your hair…your fucking thighs, my God,” Vincent says, flicking her hand at him.
Who’s Wolf? her daughter had asked her.
Who’s afraid of this gentle wolf sitting on her bed?
Loup’s dark eyes warm quick and the side of his mouth turns up. He reaches out for her, hugs her.
“Tu es sérieuse?” he whispers against her ear.
“Yes! Loup! I’m serious! Don’t you think I have enough going on right now? Do you think I need to make something like this up just for my own amusement?” She fusses, pushing her hair off her face.
“And you want to have this baby?” Loup asks carefully. “I’ll say up front that I want you to keep it…if you want to.”
“C’est moi qui décide,” she says.
They’re quiet and quiet, but the church bells are ringing.
“You’re…insouciant,” Loup says. “You won’t say anything else about it?”
“Insouciant? I am not! Just because I stopped crying for a millisecond, I’m insouciant? You’re judging my feelings so closely and I don’t even know what I feel yet! And who says that? Insouciant?”
“I’m sorry. Please…I just can’t read you anymore,” he says. “But if you run off to Italy with the baby there’s nothing I can do about it. You could disappear and I’d never see you…either of you again.” He puts his head in his hands.
“Loup…why do you think I…why would I do that? How could I do that?” she asks.
She’s so tired. She feels hungry and full at the same time; she’s dizzy. Her head hurts. She remembers these feelings from when she was pregnant with Colm and Olive. With Colm, they had lasted a full fifteen weeks. With Olive it had been easier, or she’d been more used to it, she didn’t know which was the truth.
“And if I do keep it…you’re young…it would be my choice and I wouldn’t expect anything from you. I don’t need your money and you wouldn’t have to do…anything. I just wish you were older! I can’t help but feel like I’m stealing time from you. I’m sorry, but it’s true. This is a mess,” Vincent says.
Her tongue feels numb. It’s like she’s talking about someone else’s life. She said the words, but it doesn’t sound or feel like a real thing she needs to process and figure out yet. She’s detached herself from the baby already, at least for now, just to practice and see how it feels.
“It doesn’t have to be a mess. We don’t have to look at it like that. I can’t change how old I am, and I don’t know how to respond when you’re actively pushing me away,” Loup says. His face is sad. So sad, it makes her cry.
“Do you remember when we were on the train to London and I told you this would be like one of those tragedies…one of those old books written by a man where the woman takes a lover and has sex for pleasure and has to die in the end? It’s the only way the universe can sort out women like me. Some sort of punishment. Pregnant at forty-four…forty-five when the baby is born. And doing all of that over again. I can’t believe this is happening, really. I…we messed up. That’s all there is to it,” she says. She wipes her nose with the crumpled tissue by her foot, dabs at her eyes.
Loup lies down on the bed and looks up at her ceiling. She asks him what he’s thinking.
“I don’t know.”
“Loup, I do love you. That’s getting lost here, but it’s true. I do.”
“Maybe it’s not punishment. Maybe we didn’t mess up. I want you to keep it. I could buy you a villa. Tuscany is full of them,” he says. He’s crying too, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Vincent’s glance lands on the shelf.
Mon cœur mis à nu. Bonjour tristesse. Vivre sa vie.
She gets up from the bed and goes over to the stack of books by the dresser.
Pulls out Two Trains Running by August Wilson and, remaining silent, holds it up until Loup eyes it.
“Quoi?” he says.
Vincent taps the title and touches her mouth with her finger.
Once he realizes what she’s doing, he pulls out Roots and flashes it at her. She gives him Brave New World and he’s already picking up Tender Is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Hers is Remembrance of Things Past by Proust. His, The Volcano Lover by Susan Sontag. She takes her time and follows with Their Eyes Were Watching God. And when he holds up Kindred by Octavia Butler, she starts crying all over again.
He holds her and they cry together because everything is changing and sometimes when everything is changing the only thing left to do is cry.
They eat a little. They sleep.
In the morning, Vincent gets up early and tries to get some work done. Loup helps her bake clay and put packages together. She’ll go to the post office before her jewelry-making class. It’s almost the end of July, almost the end of her time at the museum; on her way out of the apartment building, Mr. Laurent gives her a sad smile when he reminds her of it.
9
Our memories make up who we are. And I don’t say that lightly. Our hippocampus helps us to store and recollect them. Our brains contain a vast wealth of memories in their storehouses. Imagine our minds, our hearts, without our memories. I believe that you’d find yourself wanting to hold on to even all of the bad ones if met with the idea of losing every memory in one swoop.
What is something you’ve learned from this journaling class that you’ll take forward with you? Something you’ll revisit via memory? Do you have a favorite memory of this class? Not only within these walls, but on your walks to the museum or as you entered or left the building? There is nothing too small to consider and nothing too big to attempt to process.
A young man who’s also in Vincent’s jewelry-making class talks about the day they shared their negative memories and how hearing everyone talk made him realize he wasn’t the only one in the room with bad memories that haunted him. It made him feel more connected to everyone, not just in the class but in the world. That feeling of being connected makes him want to be kinder to people. The young man’s name is Guillaume and he’s from Bordeaux.
An older woman shares a story about how halfway between her flat and the museum, she’d gotten hot and stopped to get her water bottle from her backpack. She sat by a fountain and noticed a small gray cat cleaning itself next to her. They sat there together, two little creatures in need of a break. It’d helped her to realize it’s okay to slow down, and that she’s an animal too.
Vincent shares a memory from the first day of class. How she’d dropped a cup of colored pencils outside the door and everyone stopped to help her pick them up. How it’d been a great icebreaker and something she should probably do on purpose from now on. She also shares a happy memory of going to the opera with a friend. How they walked to the Palais Garnier and how breathless the sky was on their walk back to her apartment.
Loup has returned for the last class and his eyes are on her intently as he’s listening to everyone and chewing on the end of his pen. He sits directly across from her in the circle in his Sunflowers shirt with his ankle resting on his opposite knee. When a woman shares the memory of the day she found out she was pregnant, Vincent puts her hand on her own stomach. She looks up to see Loup still watching her. She’s astonished that the museum doesn’t shake and sink under the weight of everything left unsaid.
One night I walked to her window and watched her, moving around in the light. She didn’t know I was there.
One night I walked to his window and watched him, moving around in the light. He didn’t know I was there.
10
Vincent’s Travel Playlist | Train | Paris to Tuscany
“Une tigresse” by Anchois
“Come Back to Me” by Tully Hawke
“The Girl from Ipanema” by Stan Getz and João Gilberto
“America” by Simon & Garfunkel
“Clay Pigeons” by John Prine
“Mambo Italiano” by Dean Martin
“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
“(What a) Wonderful World” by Sam Cooke
“Buona Sera” by Louis Prima
“Harvest Moon” by Neil Young
“Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” by Sufjan Stevens
“Postcards from Italy” by Beirut
“Forever Young” by Rhiannon Giddens and Iron & Wine
“iMi” by Bon Iver
“Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell
“Gypsy” by Fleetwood Mac
“The Weakness in Me” by Joan Armatrading
“All I Want” by Toad the Wet Sprocket
“Butterfly” by BTS
“Delicate” by Damien Rice
* * *
It’s the longest train ride Vincent has ever taken alone. Paris to Lyon. Lyon to Torino. Torino to Milan. Milan to Bologna. Bologna to Tuscany. She’s seated next to a nice, older Italian woman who reminds her of her grandmother. Vincent sleeps a little and gets up at regular intervals to pee. Sometimes, puke. She eats crackers, drinks fizzy water.
She got the blood test at the doctor’s office and he told her she was almost six weeks pregnant, and asked if they wanted to hear the heartbeat via transvaginal ultrasound. Yes. Loup was there with her, smiling and holding her hand even though she told him she was fine. She didn’t want to keep reminding him that she wasn’t some clueless girl who hadn’t done this before, so she let him touch her shoulder and ask if she was okay. Loup had gotten tears in his eyes when he heard the hummingbird beat of their baby’s heart; Vincent stared out the window in a sort of sweet, disenchanted wonder.
Agathe is still the only other person she’s told. Vincent let Loup know that she didn’t want to keep him from sharing the news with his friends, she just didn’t think they should talk about it until they knew what they were doing. But she didn’t want him walking around with that heavy secret either, so she told him it was okay to tell Apollos and Baptiste, knowing that once Baptiste found out, Mina would know too.
When Vincent left Paris she promised to let Loup know as soon as she got to Tuscany, but he was still texting her anyway, saying he missed her, telling her again that he was so excited about the baby and nothing had changed just because she was leaving for a bit.
He sent her a song he made for their baby. He named it “La lentille” because the doctor told them their baby is now the size of a lentil. Loup had recorded their entire appointment and hooked his phone up to the heartbeat monitor to get the sound as clearly as possible.
Their baby’s thumpthumpthumpthump whooshes in the background of the song like a drum machine. Vincent cries listening to the soothing, hypnotic beeps on repeat for so long with the Italian countryside blurring by, she can’t tell whether her world is ending or beginning.
Loup texts her again. A baby! Made in Paris.
Made in Paris. She cries some more and thinks tenderly of the staring, crying woman she and Loup saw on the train to London.
The woman next to her touches her arm and asks if she’s okay and Vincent nods and says yes, thank you. She’s okay. She tells the woman she’s pregnant and the woman says she could tell just by looking at Vincent’s face. That it’s a gift she has and she’s never been wrong about it, not once in seventy-three years. She tells Vincent her baby will have lots of hair and probably be a boy, but she’s only been right about that a little more than half the time.
* * *
Safe in Tuscany! Breathtaking, really. Don’t worry, though! I do miss you.
Glad to hear it. Talk to me soon, Saint Vincent. Please?
* * *
Outside the train station, Cillian is standing by a little pencil-yellow Fiat holding wildflowers. When he sees Vincent he opens his arms wide and she falls into them. He tells her how glad he is to see her and how lovesome she looks in that white dress. Cillian has a thing for her in white dresses and she considered not wearing it for that reason, but it’s her favorite too—breezy dotted Swiss.
“Your cheeks are flushed. Was it hot on the train?” he asks, touching her hair.
“No, it was nice. I’m fine.” He hands her the flowers. “Thank you, Cillian.”
He puts her bags in the car, and they’re off.
They have to drive a half hour north to get to the villa and when they arrive, Vincent covers her mouth in disbelief. It’s more beautiful than the pictures or what she imagined—blond and brown stone, pretty and hot against the blue, gold, and green—straight out of one of her favorite movies. She wants to linger outside, but Cillian takes her hand and leads her inside, where he’s brought some of her things from home to make her feel comfortable.
Her gray cable-knit blanket from their bed, the pillow she left behind. Her teapot and teacup, her little white cappuccino mugs. A cardigan she doesn’t wear often anymore, but she used to. It is folded on the couch and she picks it up and smells it.
It smells like their house. It smells like home.
Because of Olive’s schedule, they’re flying her and Colm out in two days. They’re flying in Tully and Siobhán too. Vincent has told them to bring their significant others. She asked, but Tully’s younger sister couldn’t make it. There are four bedrooms in the villa; they have plenty of room.
* * *
Their first night in the villa together, she lets Cillian kiss her in bed, knowing where it’s headed. And she’s missed him, she has. He’s the same and he’s different.
He’s inside of her and so is Loup’s baby.
They sit there afterward with the windows open, sharing a peach.
“Your necklace is flickering…like a little fire,” Cillian says across the candlelight, leaning over to touch the tiger.
Her mouth is sweet and sticky and she’s the one with the big secret now.
“You don’t want wine?” he asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Just because.”
“Do you think you’ll ever put your wedding ring back on?” he asks.
“Maybe,” she lies through the dark.
They spend the next two days lounging under bougainvillea, swimming in turquoise glow. Cooking and eating. Spilling some stories they’ve been saving. Vincent shares hers like an embroiderer following a difficult pattern. Sometimes stitching and sometimes skipping over, revealing only what she wants him to see.
They are together three times and all three times, Vincent pretends she’s with Before Cillian.
All three times she thinks of Loup and wants Loup and misses Loup.
