Chapter Ten

My mother’s got some nerve. There she was, meeting all his family for the first time and what did she do? She put on her clown suit and painted her face. And did a one-woman show. I grabbed the camcorder.

Roll camera! Take One:

Bonjour, says the first card she holds up. No one says a thing. So she leans forward. She points at the card again and cups her hand over her ear. They get it.

“Bonjour,” they all say back.

Je suis Molly, says the next card.

Je suis une anglophone, says the third. Then a fast fourth, MAIS…

A fifth: Parfois, la langue n’est pas le problem!

There’s a lot of giggling and some polite claps. Then she grabs Jean-Paul and makes him sit in a chair. He doesn’t know what’s going on. For ten minutes my mother, with almost no words, tells the story of how they met and fell in love. “Vroom, vroom,” and “Oh là là” are the only sounds she makes. When she says, “Oh là là” she wiggles her butt, which is stuffed with pillows. And honks her red nose. And does a little hop.

She’s a hit. They clap and pat Jean-Paul on the back.

She comes over to me and let’s me honk her nose. Well, all you see is my hand of course. She blows kisses at the lens. Crosses her eyes. Fade to black.

Both my parents are clowns.

About nine o’clock the guys played broom-ball on the ice in the field out back of the lodge. I got two goals and a good body check from Jean-Paul. I gave him a good one right back. Everyone cheered.

When I got back in, Bernadette came over to me

“You want to play?”

That’s what she said. Honest to God. I stood there like an idiot. Then she repeated the question.

“You want to play card with us?” Only she said hus. Like Jean-Paul does. It’s sexy when she says it.

“You speak English?” I finally spit out.

“If you speak not too fas’.”

“What’s the game?”

She turned and whispered something to Jean-Paul. She giggled with her hand over her mouth.

“Asshole,” he said.

“What?”

“That’s the name of the game, Julian. In French, it’s called Trodaycue.” That’s how he said it. “You must know how to play that, Julian.”

Ouch.

“Funny. Well. I don’t. Troo-de-cue?” I repeated. Bernadette nodded.

“I teach you.”

Jean-Paul handed me a beer halfway through the game. Mom tried to protest.

“He’s in Quebec,” I heard him tell her. “It’s a party.”

I realized all the other kids my age were sipping beer, too. This province is distinct. Like when would this ever happen at home?

I took the beer and drank it like this was something I did every day. I can’t say I liked the taste. The game didn’t end, really, but we stopped to count down the New Year.

Backwards and in French. Dix, neuf, huit—it was a challenge. “Bone année! Bonne année! “Everyone started to go around kissing each other. Before I knew it, Bernadette was there in front of me. I started to just peck her on the cheek.

“No, you mus’ do it the French way.” I thought I’d die.

She meant on both cheeks, not a French kiss. Darn it.

It took at least half an hour to get around that room kissing everyone on both cheeks. By that time I was warmed up. I wanted to find Bernadette and give her another one. Mom found me first. She squeezed me so hard her new earrings made a dent in my face.

“They’re going to pray,” whispered Mom.

Jean-Paul pulled me down beside him. He held one hand. Bernadette had my other. It was something. Seventy-two people all on their knees, holding hands around a circle.

Jean-Paul’s parents were in the middle.

His father was in a wheelchair. He was ancient and he spoke very slowly. Everyone was crying quiet tears. I saw one run down and drip right off Bernadette’s chin. They all crossed themselves when it was over. I tried to do that like it was something I did every day, too.

We ate again! A feast, this time! I was feeling a bit dizzy from the beer and so much sugar pie so I went to our room to lay down for a bit. I was supposed to sleep on the top bunk. Mom and Jean-Paul were going to be on the bottom. Real cozy, I was thinking. Then I saw them.

They were outside, on a path near the woods. The moonlight was shining right down on them. I suppose I should’ve looked away. But I couldn’t. Instead, I got out my camcorder. He was holding her face with his hands. And planting these little quick kisses on her mouth, her nose, her chin, and her forehead. Kind kisses. Sugar kisses. Then he just looked at her. And looked at her. I mean, how long can you look at someone’s face that close up without going cross-eyed? Then he wrapped his arms around her and they sort of just rocked from side to side like a rocking chair. For the longest time.

That’s when it crept into my mind, sideways, when I wasn’t on guard. The thought. Jean-Paul was going to be around for a while. That maybe he wouldn’t be like all the others.