Still With Me (5 page)

Victoria came back into the room. “All done. Your mother was even more surprised than I was. I think she cried a little. It turns out she just ate lunch. You’ll have to introduce her to Clotilde and Pierre. They’ve never met.”

“My mom? What about my dad?”

Victoria made a face. “She said it’s a bit too fast for him. She’ll try to persuade him, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Victoria stepped out to pick up some groceries. The baby slept. Jeremy took advantage of Victoria’s absence by searching the apartment for clues about the past two years.

He opened a large white wardrobe sitting across from the bed. It held a lot of clothes, ties, and dress shirts. All of them name brand. He saw a briefcase sitting near the
chair at the entrance to the apartment. It was inscribed with his initials, J.D. Inside he found a planner, some folders, a parking ticket, and a few receipts. In the planner was his schedule for the week: executive board meetings, team-building exercises, motivational meetings, meetings in Paris and the surrounding area. On Tuesday, he had had lunch with Pierre. Then again on Thursday. Pierre, his best friend. Other names were written down around the noon hour and often at dinnertime, but they told him nothing. The folders contained his work orders. On a business card he read, “Jeremy Delègue, Sales, Ile-de-France.”

He leafed through a booklet. It promoted the company he worked for and its products—adhesives designed for some use he couldn’t fathom.

None of these materials helped him. Quite the opposite: Jeremy felt a strange quiver of guilt, like he was violating someone else’s privacy.
I need to see some photos. They’ll tell me something about the past few years and maybe give me some clues
.

He quickly found three albums sitting on a shelf. On the faux leather cover of the first album, the year 2001 was written in gold ink. Elegant handwriting provided captions
for each of the photos taken in the course of his first year with Victoria. The first shot took him by surprise. He looked tired and wan, with vacant eyes. Victoria sat on his knees with her arms around his shoulders. She wore a big grin. He looked gloomy and sad. The contrast was obvious. According to the date, he was looking at a photo taken a few days after his release from the hospital.

He flipped through the album. The further along he got, the more life and vitality seemed to return to him. The captions helped him with the timeline. “Monastir, our first vacation,” “Luberon, weekend,” “My birthday,” “New Year’s Day.” He noticed several people who appeared to be friends but were strangers to him now.

Jeremy stopped on a snapshot of himself where he was alone, looking lost. His expression was hard to place. The longer he looked at it, the more he found it empty and very different from the ones he’d seen in other photos. He went back to the first pages and was surprised to see that in all the photos, even when he looked ecstatic, his eyes never changed. Like two black buttons sewn onto a teddy bear’s face. Then he told himself that everyone who looked closely at his own image
would feel the same way. A feeling of strangeness. It had happened to him before when he’d played a childhood game, staring at his reflection in the mirror while repeating his own name. After a few minutes, his face became unrecognizable, an amalgamation of someone else’s flesh and unknown features—his name a series of meaningless letters and syllables.

According to the title, the second album was devoted to his wedding. He and Victoria at the courthouse, she in a stunning white dress, traditional and elegant, and he in a gray suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie. They were both smiling at their guests, hugging them, laughing. He didn’t see his parents, and his heart quaked. He looked for photos of the religious ceremony, but they were nowhere to be found. They must have had a civil union only.

The third album was titled, “Our Family.” It opened with a few photos of pregnant Victoria. She had a baby bump, and it looked good on her. The world changed, and the people he loved changed with it; his universe altered, and he stayed the same.

Then came photos of the birth. The first photo of Thomas showed a newborn baby lost in the blue of an
oversized bib. The caption read, “Thomas, my prince.” The rest featured Thomas in different settings and outfits. In some, Jeremy played the role of father, baby in his arms or bottle in hand.

Dizzy, he closed the album. None of these photos brought back any memories. He had looked through them with curiosity and anxiety, like he was violating the intimate secrets of a twin brother he had never known. This life wasn’t his.

What can I do? Tell Victoria about this new bout of amnesia? Wait and count on a recovery? After all, these photos seem to show that I lived normally since my last episode
.

He didn’t hear Victoria come in. “What are you still doing in your underwear? Get dressed. It’s almost noon. Our guests will be here any minute.”

Jeremy walked obediently to the bathroom.

Clotilde was the kind of girl who was extremely pretty and completely annoying. A cold beauty, full of confidence. Jeremy didn’t like her. She was a poseur. An imposer as
well. Her feelings and opinions prevailed over others, whom she barely listened to. Her relationship with Pierre seemed to be established on a tacit agreement: in exchange for her beauty, Pierre let her play the intellectual. Sometimes one of Clotilde’s opinions or attitudes kindled a spark of annoyance in his eyes or smile before he caught himself and looked at her again adoringly.

Jeremy was shocked by how much affection Victoria seemed to have for Clotilde. They were so different.

By now they’d been sitting on the couch for twenty minutes. When Victoria served the aperitifs, she’d placed a glass of whiskey in Jeremy’s hand without hesitation.

Pierre had hugged Jeremy warmly when he came in. “Happy birthday, buddy.” He held out a bottle of wine. “Your favorite.” Clotilde had given him a silent peck on the cheek.

The conversation had by now turned to birthdays and other celebrations. Clotilde, with the help of several extremely conventional arguments, admitted that she saw nothing in these rituals but an impulse to consume. Jeremy would’ve appreciated the irony of the conversation if his mind had not been filled with questions.

Then Victoria nudged him. “Darling, could you get Thomas? I think he woke up.”

“Oh yeah,” Pierre said. “He probably misses his godfather.”

Thomas turned over when he saw Jeremy appear above his crib. Father and son peered at each other with the same curiosity. Each seemed to question the other in silence. Jeremy watched the baby’s facial expressions, his features, his bright eyes that seemed to ask for nothing more than hugs. Jeremy tried to step into reality by embracing his growing affection for the child.

He’s mine. This is my son
.

He picked the baby up awkwardly, and, afraid of hurting him, pressed the little body against his own. Just as with the first time, the physical contact felt good.

“Ah, there they are,” Victoria exclaimed. “They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”

“Thomas is magnificent. I don’t know if I can say the same about Jeremy,” Pierre said, laughing. He held out his arms. “Look, he wants his godfather. He knows me.”

Jeremy watched Victoria and Pierre trying to entertain the baby with funny faces and exaggerated chirps. Clotilde
made do with a conditional smile. Jeremy even thought he saw some slight irritation with her fiancé’s childish behavior. She locked eyes with Jeremy and stared at him until he turned away.

Why is she looking at me like that?
Her cold, inquisitive appearance annoyed him. He tried to force her to lower her eyes, turning toward her suddenly and saying, “Do you want to pick him up?”

Surprised, she stammered, “No, no thank you…”

Happy to have rattled her, Jeremy wanted to gain more of an advantage. “You don’t seem very interested in babies,” he said provokingly.

A heavy silence fell on the room. Victoria looked at Jeremy, stunned. He realized he had made a mistake. Pierre, who initially watched for his girlfriend’s reaction, tried to hide his embarrassment by smiling at the squirming baby. Clotilde clenched her teeth and continued staring at Jeremy with intense rage.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry. I’m tired,” he blurted halfheartedly.

Victoria steadied herself and announced that she had to finish preparing the meal. As she got up, her eyes bored into
Jeremy, concentrating all the anger she wanted to express out loud.

“Clotilde, come with me. I need help carrying the crostini.”

Clotilde followed her.

Pierre hadn’t looked up. “Why’d you say that, Jeremy?” he asked.

Jeremy was as puzzled by the question as Pierre’s mournful look. He’d been hurt. But by what exactly?

“I don’t know. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“You know we’re having trouble conceiving, and you throw that in her face?” There was no anger in his voice, only a frustrated desire to make sense of Jeremy’s words.

Jeremy felt ashamed. “I’m sorry…I’m an ass…”

“I know you’re an ass. But that doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”

The doorbell rang. Clotilde and Victoria came back into the room. Victoria waited for Jeremy to react. But he just sat there, petrified, so she walked to the door. “That must be your mother.”

Pierre handed the baby to Jeremy.

From where he was sitting, Jeremy couldn’t see the door. He heard the crests of a conversation. He held Thomas tighter. When his mother appeared in the foyer alone, Jeremy’s heart flew into a panic. His mother dropped her purse and stared at him, motionless.

She looked tired and older, and that unnerved him. In his mind he had seen her only a few days ago, still beautiful, energetic, vibrant. And now here she was, weak and distant. In her little brown jacket and cream blouse, he recognized his mother’s elegant, discreet taste in clothing.

“Allow me to introduce Clotilde and her fiancé, Pierre,” Victoria blurted out. “Close friends. And this is Jeremy’s mother, Mrs. Delègue.”

“Call me Myriam.”

Pierre and Clotilde moved in to shake her hand. Myriam smiled politely and then turned to face her son again. Everyone tried to appear relaxed, but the palpable effort weighed heavily on the room.

“We’ll leave you two,” Victoria continued. “Pierre, Clotilde, I need you to help me set the table.” She moved to take the baby from Jeremy, but he shrugged her off. He thought the little one might play an important role in the next few minutes.

“Hello, Mom,” he murmured.

“Hello, Jeremy.” Her voice was calm and controlled, but her emotion was not entirely contained.

“Dad…didn’t come,” Jeremy remarked.

“It’s too soon for him.”

“I understand. And you?”

“Me?” She smiled with a mixture of bitterness and exhaustion. Her eyes tried to express all the feelings she’d stored up in the years of separation. She would’ve liked to show more hostility—or at least reluctance—for a few more minutes, but the barricade of anger started to collapse under the onslaught of her emotions.

She’s mad at me. She wants to me to know how much I hurt her
.

Thomas wiggled his tiny arms and legs, trying to turn and face this new presence.

When the small child turned his eyes to hers, Jeremy’s mother gave up her silent dialogue and adjusted her mannerisms. Her face softened, and an infinitely tender smile played across the wrinkled outline of her lips.

“Look, I think he knows who you are. A family bond…”

“Family bond? That’s funny. Sometimes values skip a generation,” she scoffed, letting a sad smile slip through.

The comment hurt him. But he knew it was her last one. An attack meant to defend her honor after giving in too rapidly.

“He’s so cute. Watch out, you’re not holding him right. He’s going to hurt his neck.” She approached slowly.

“Here,” Jeremy said. “Come sit next to me and hold him.”

His mother already held her arms out to receive the child. She sat down next to Jeremy, holding Thomas so that he faced her, and smiling, visibly pleased. Jeremy could smell her scent. The same one from his childhood. A mix of lavender spray and fabric softener. The fragrance of honesty and virtue.

Jeremy wanted to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to kiss her. “Mom…I’m so…I don’t know how I could…” But what could he say to heal her injured love? The words piled up in his mouth. “I love you, Mom.”

She stiffened but pretended not to hear him and went on smiling at the baby. “He’s so cute. I wanted to meet him
so badly. I’m his grandmother, after all.” Her voice broke. Tears sprang to her eyes. She pressed the baby’s face to her own and kissed him, hiding behind her grandson. Jeremy felt so helpless.

“I’m sorry for making you suffer, you and Dad. It wasn’t me. I don’t even recognize myself. I love you so much.”

She raised her damp eyes toward Jeremy and continued to pepper Thomas’s forehead with little kisses. “We always did our best, Jeremy, believe me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. How could I let you blame yourselves like that? It wasn’t you, Mom. I was immature, and I felt lost. I was in love with Victoria. Madly in love. She didn’t want me. And a life without her, I didn’t want that. I know it’s ugly to put it so plainly, but suicide is always ugly outside the moment you go through with it. It doesn’t exist except in the few seconds and minutes leading up to it. And in that moment, it’s devastating. But you didn’t have anything to do with it. As for the rest, everything since then, I don’t know what to say. I think it was a lasting sickness. Or maybe I was ashamed of myself. I don’t have an explanation.”