Chapter Thirteen
Chris was right as usual. I only used this diary for a bit, then forgot about it. I dug it out today because I figured I needed to add a page or two. Things change in a year and half. Things can change in a moment, for that matter.
Anyway. They did it. Tied the noose. I mean the knot. Yep. Jean-Paul and Mom got married today. In Nana and Poppie’s Fitch backyard, with the garden in full bloom. It was a picture-perfect day. I kept thinking it was going to rain. I figure Poppie made sure it didn’t.
Chris and I walked Mom up the garden path to where Jean-Paul was waiting. Mom looked scared but beautiful. Her dress was this floaty, lacy thing and she had flowers tucked in her hair. Like wow! Not bad for an old bride! There were big bouquets of pink and purple balloons on either side of the patio where they said their vows. In English and French, of course. The balloons were a big hit. There were almost more kids than adults in the crowd. Almost every kid who ever went through Thumbalina’s Day Care Center showed up.
Anyhow, Chris and I took part in the ceremony too. Well, all we had to say was, “I do,” after some prayer about committing to this new family. I did. Say, “I do,” I mean. And it was the only moment I was a smart-ass all day. I scratched my head first and said, “I dunno,” then, “Oh, yeah, I do!” It got a laugh. Well, we needed a break at that point. Comic relief. They gave me and Chris rings, too. Mine’s too big. I’ll grow into it.
Maybe when I do, I’ll have grown used to Jean-Paul, too. Most of the time, we get on. My French is better and so is his English. He wants me to go scuba diving with him sometime. We’ll see. I don’t trust him that much yet! We had one big scene after we all moved in together last year.
One Friday night, I stayed out past my curfew. Okay, so the sun was coming up by the time I made it home. Jean-Paul was waiting. Mom was in bed. I have a feeling she heard it all.
“You’re supposed to call if you’re going to be late,” he said. In almost perfect English.
“Sorry,” I said. I just wanted to get to bed. I tiptoed past him, stumbled and knocked over a chair.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“A few beers.”
“Looks like a lot of beers to me.”
“Goodnight,’ I said.
I hurried to my room and prayed for the ceiling to stop spinning. Then I grinned. Well, I thought, that was easy. He never even yelled. The wuss.
At seven o’clock the next morning he pounded on my door. “Get up, Julian.”
“Why? It’s Saturday.” I moaned.
“I need your help.” He was still outside my bedroom door.
“What for?”
“I need your muscles. Have to bring the tub in the house.” He was re-doing the bathroom.
“Later,” I mumbled and turned over.
“I have to do it now.”
“Sorry,” I said.
He opened the door quietly. In a voice just as quiet he said, “It will only take ten minutes. ”
“Get out!” I yelled.
“Want the cold water treatment?” He was holding a pitcher of water over my head.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He started to tip it. So, I huffed and threw off the covers. “Get out,” I said, “I’ll be right there.”
“I’ll be in the driveway,” he smiled.
I pulled on a shirt, hauled on my sweats and stuffed my bare feet into my sneakers. I stood up. That’s when it felt like someone hit me with a two-by-four. And my stomach. It started to churn as if someone was in there trying to make butter.
That tub was a heavy monster. “Lift on three,” he ordered. “Un, deux, trois.”
I grunted and groaned and pulled. I couldn’t budge my end. Then, I lost it. I don’t mean my temper. I mean the contents of my stomach. I threw up in the driveway.
Jean-Paul just stood there with his arms folded. His grin was dorkier than ever. No patting me on the back this time.
“Your mother was worried sick last night,” he began. “So was I. Why did you drink until you got drunk?”
“It was a p-p-party.” I was still retching.
“Pretty stupid thing to do.”
“No one. I said it was a stupid thing to do. You could poison yourself and die that way.”
“Why would you care?”
“Anyway, you’re grounded. Not because you got pissed. You’ll pay today for that. You’ll suffer. Believe me. We ground you, your mother and I, for breaking curfew and not calling, for not thinking about the results.”
“Who are you to tell me—you’re not —”
“Your father? I know this. I never will be. But, I am going to be here, Julian. For your mother. And for you, if you need me. Always. Toujours.”
“Always?” I was wiping the dribble from my mouth. My throat was burning, filled with bile. “I don’t believe in toujours, okay? That’s for idiots like you.”
I expected anger, hollering. He started to laugh.
“Who looks like the idiot at this moment?” I looked down at myself. Gross. “Go back to bed and sleep it off. I’ll get a neighbor to help me with this… monster tub. And… don’t go near your mother yet. She’s ready to…” He drew his finger across his throat, “you know, make you suffer more.”
I was sick all day. He brought me in toast and tea after supper. “Eat slowly,” he said. “When you’re ready, go tell your mother you are sorry.” Oh, was I sorry.
The wedding reception was a huge party and dance. All J.P’s family was there (yeah he’s J.P. to me now)—including Bernadette. Sweet Bernadette. I boogied the night away with sweet Bernadette. I even got a real French kiss before the night was through. Maybe two. Maybe three.
Don’t go there.
Tomorrow, Chris has to leave for his summer job out west. He was away at school all this last year and I hate to admit it, but I missed him loads. Even the look.
I’m glad for him though.
“I spent the year being bad,” he keeps telling me. He won’t give details. Probably finally kissed Becca or used a condom.
So, I’m off to spend a week with Dad and Erika and the Munsters. We’re camping in the valley. Should be cool. Since J.P.’s been around, it seems Dad has made more time for me. Or maybe, I’ve made more time for him.
Until the lovebirds come home from their honeymoon, I’ll be here with Nana. She’s so lonesome without Poppie, it breaks my heart.
“Julian, you’re so like him,” she keeps telling me. “Stubborn and bow-legged and immature for your age.” Now, that, I take as a compliment. When I am at their place, I think Poppie’s still around. I half expect him to come up behind me and put me in a headlock and shout, “Say Uncle!” I go to the basement and fool around with his electric train set. He left it to me. It came with a note. Nana says he wrote the note years ago when he thought he had cancer. “To Julian. Remember, Poppie loves ya. And son, all us men realize sooner or later, we must learn to be fathers to ourselves.” I think a lot on that. I’ve had a lot of role models to pick from.
I don’t know what’s ahead for us as a family, really. I showed them edited videotape of our trip to Quebec last night. With music and everything. They loved it. Especially what I called “The Lovebirds in Moonlight or Caught Ya!” Even got a high-speed shot traveling down that toboggan hill. Seems like a long time ago now.
“In good times and hard times,” they said in their vows to each other. Instead of “for better or worse.” I guess they know, at their age, there’s no real happy ever after. There’s just… after. But that’s something. It’s really something. Maybe it’s everything.