13. Tess
Tess
I prop my phone up on the kitchen counter and take a couple steps back so my mom can get her requested full-length view of my outfit.
“Well, don’t you look dapper!” she gushes, surveying me on the video call screen.
I flick some lint off my black jeans and straighten the lapels of the brown houndstooth blazer I completely forgot I owned until pulling it out of a moving box last week.
“You think so?” I ask. “I went with jeans because I didn’t want to look too fancy. It’s not supposed to be super formal. Is it weird, though? Should I try slacks?”
Mom shakes her head. “It’s perfect, honey. You’re going to have all the Québécois girls falling at your feet tonight.”
I laugh, but I still feel a flush burning my cheeks as I grab my phone and sit back down at the table.
“Come on, Mom. You know I don’t date anymore.”
I expect her to make another joke or move the conversation along, but instead, she draws in a sharp breath and then presses her lips together, like she’s sealing up whatever she wants to say.
I tilt my head. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
She wraps her hands around her mug of mint hot chocolate. We decided to make our traditional drink before having a quick pre-dinner chat today. I watch her take a sip and then swallow.
“Well, it’s not my place to say,” she adds.
I huff a laugh. “Way to be cryptic. Come on. You have to say it now.”
I’m keeping my tone light, but there’s a prickle of apprehension skittering along my skin.
“I just don’t want to see you missing out on anything life has to offer you.”
The prickle turns into fiery jolts that make me grimace and ball my hands into fists in my lap.
“I’m not missing out on anything,” I say in a low, rumbling voice. “Shel is my life. I don’t need a relationship to be happy. I am happy.”
I’ve spent a whole decade trying to explain that to friends, dates, and even random strangers who think they deserve an opinion on my life.
I didn’t miss out on the fun of my twenties because I chose to have Shel. My twenties were fun because of Shel. She makes me laugh like no one else, and even on the tough days, just looking at her fills me with more love than I knew a person could feel.
I thought my mother understood that.
I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find any words. My chest aches. I press a hand to my sternum.
Mom’s eyes flare wide with alarm.
“Oh, honey, that’s not what I meant at all. I know that. Of course I know that.”
I quit straining my fists, relief loosening the tension in my arms when I hear how sincere she sounds.
“It’s a perfectly valid choice not to date again until Shel is older,” she says. “I know you have your reasons. I guess I’m just worried about you settling into your new life okay. It’s hard when you’re so far away. I’m sorry.”
I release a heavy exhale and shake my head.
“No, I’m sorry. I know you’d never think Shel is holding me back. I just really hate the idea that she could ever end up thinking that about herself.”
That’s what this whole move is supposed to help with. Shel deserves a life where she’s not just the daughter of the twenty-two year-old who had ‘so much going for her before the baby.’ She deserves more than pitying glances from friends and neighbours who watched all my plans change.
She deserves a place where she fits, right from the start.
“She won’t think that.”
There’s a firm determination in my mom’s voice now.
“That girl is so loved and wanted, and she knows it. You’ve done a great job at that, sweetie.”
The corners of my eyes start to burn.
“I hope so,” I murmur. “I really miss her. I know it’s only a long weekend, but it feels like she’s been gone for months already. Like, it physically hurts . Isn’t that crazy? After ten years, I still feel this ache, like she’s my baby and I just have to hold her right now.”
Mom gives me a soft smile.
“I know the feeling, even after thirty-two years. It doesn’t ever go away.”
“I miss you too, Mom,” I say around the lump in my throat.
“I miss you every day, Tess.” She sniffs, and I can see her eyes are getting shiny too. “But I know you’re doing the right thing for your own family. You have to trust that.”
I reach for my mug and distract myself with a few sips before I can start crying for real. There’s no way I’m showing up to dinner with my eyes all puffy.
Mom takes a hot chocolate break too, and after a couple minutes, I no longer feel like the waterworks are going to switch on at any second.
“Oh, I wish I was there,” Mom says after setting her mug back down. “It sounds like it’s going to be a really fun Thanksgiving.”
I bob my head. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.”
It hits me then that I have no idea how long we’ve been on the call for. I tap my screen to bring up the clock in the corner.
“Actually, I’m supposed to drive over there with Gabrielle in about ten minutes.”
“Don’t let me keep you, then.” She waves like she’s shooing me out the door to go play with friends. “Go have fun. Take lots of pictures for me, okay? I want to see all the decorations.”
“I will. I love you.”
She puckers her lips and blows a kiss at the screen.
“Love you too, my baby!”
We hang up, and the silence of the house falls over me like a shroud. Shel has only been away for two nights, and the quiet is already making my skin crawl.
I give my outfit a final once-over and smooth down my hair before locking up the back and strolling around to the front of the house. I’m just in time to catch Gabrielle stepping out onto the porch.
She’s wearing an old puffer coat over a long burgundy dress with a beaded hem, and she’s got some beaten-up tennis shoes on her feet.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the people of La Cloche, it’s that no matter how artistic the town’s reputation might be, good old-fashioned practicality will always win out over fashion.
I walk over to the porch with my hands shoved in the pockets of my blazer.
“Heard you might need a ride, Madame Gauthier.”
She spins around and grins at me. She’s got two sparkly, bow-shaped clips holding her hair back that make her look absolutely adorable.
“Ah, très jolie !” she says, motioning at my outfit. “You look very nice.”
“So do you. How you feeling today?”
She pats the sides of her thighs. “It’s a good day. I didn’t even have to take any painkillers.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say, beaming at her.
She had a bad streak last week. I didn’t even see her for a couple days in a row. During our morning barn chores, Jacinthe told me Gabrielle had barely gotten out of bed, but just when we were wondering if we should call in a doctor, the pain began easing off.
I had no idea how unpredictable of a disease MS could be, but Gabrielle seems to take it all in stride.
“Should we take my truck?” I ask her.
She agrees, and we pile in to make the short drive over to Balsam Inn. The parking situation is nothing compared to the open house, but we still end up having to walk from down at the end of the street.
“So, who exactly is coming to this?” I ask Gabrielle as we get closer and closer to the sound of chattering voices. “Is it mostly just family, or will there be lots of people from around town?”
Gabrielle chuckles. “There would be lots of people from around town no matter what, ma belle . There is no such thing as a private party in La Cloche.”
I laugh too. “You know, now that you say that, I totally get it.”
I still have a freezer full of casseroles to prove the people of La Cloche will turn out en masse for pretty much any occasion.
“Ah, they have music!” Gabrielle grins as the hum of a few guitar notes reaches us. “I hope it is not my nephew Luc playing. You can never tell anyone I said this, but he is not very good.”
She drops her voice to a whisper and looks guilty enough that I have to stifle a laugh.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I assure her. “I’ll make a note not to ask Luc for lessons. I’m still on the lookout for a teacher for Shel.”
“Ah, Shel wants guitar lessons? You should ask Jacinthe to show her a few things.”
I stumble to a halt.
“Jacinthe knows how to play guitar?”
She’s seen Shel practicing dozens of times, and she’s never even mentioned it. Not that I’d actually ask her for lessons when she’s already doing so much for us, but the fact that she plays at all seems like a natural thing to bring up.
Then again, I can’t picture it. There’s something about the way Jacinthe is always storming around like a pint-sized hurricane with a foul mouth that doesn’t exactly scream sensitive musician.
Gabrielle gives me a wry grin, like she’s aware of the inconsistency.
“She will be mad I told you, but yes, she does. She learned it to impress a girl in high school.”
She presses a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle, and I crack up too as I imagine an angsty teenage Jacinthe hunched over an acoustic guitar, swearing at the strings and plotting some awkward adolescent courting ritual.
It’s actually a pretty cute mental image, and my chest twinges with something like tenderness when I think about the fact that even in our completely separate lives in different parts of the country, we both grew up taking the same fledgling steps into our queerness.
Although I never went so far as to learn the guitar just to woo a crush.
“She still plays a little,” Gabrielle says as we approach the driveway. “Well, en fait , I can’t remember the last time she had her guitar out, but I’m sure she could give Shel some tips.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask that,” I tell her. “You two are already doing way more for us than you need to. I’ve been meaning to say, if you ever want me to pay you for the times you’ve kept an eye on Shel when I’m running late at wo?—”
Now it’s Gabrielle’s turn to grind to a halt. She holds a hand up to silence me.
“ Pas du tout ,” she says sternly, sounding exactly like her daughter. “ ?a suffit, ma belle . Do not speak of it. I’m happy to watch her as much as you like. She’s a sweetheart. You know, I’ve learned more interesting things about animals from her in a few weeks than I did in all of sécondaire .”
I have to laugh at that. Shel could probably already pass a high school ecology test.
The sound of a car door slamming makes us both turn. There’s a woman peering over at us from the top of the driveway, her arms loaded with a few plastic grocery bags.
“ Ma tante, c’est toi ?” she calls.
That’s when I recognize her as Jacinthe’s cousin Maddie.
We’ve met a couple times at the farm and around town, but I haven’t seen her all dressed up since the grand opening here at the inn.
She’s wearing a floor-length black dress with a long, knitted blue cardigan on top that somehow looks chic instead of frumpy.
“ Ouais, chérie !” Gabrielle answers. “We’re coming.”
Maddie is shifting the bags around on her arms when we reach her.
“I had some extra bread rolls and things waiting in the car in case we needed them,” she explains, “which of course we do, since there are already at least ten people here who weren’t on the guest list.”
Gabrielle gives me a ‘told you so’ wink.
I insist on helping Maddie with some of the bags.
She slides a couple of them onto my arms and then leads the way up to the porch.
Warm light spills through the windows onto the array of wicker couches and chairs stuffed with pillows.
The sound of the crowd is coming from around the back of the property, which must be where the party is happening.
The inn itself is nearly empty when we step inside.
There’s a distant racket of clanking dishes, simmering pots, and frantic voices in the kitchen, which is where Maddie takes us to drop off the bags.
Gabrielle told me most of the food is being handled by a catering company all the families pitched in to cover.
That hasn’t stopped the kitchen from turning into chaos, though.
Caterers are rushing around to get things heated up and plated, barking orders at each other as they careen around the island like too many hamsters piled into a wheel.
Natalie bursts through the back door while we’re still hovering on the threshold. Her thick, curly hair is doing its best to escape from a slicked back ponytail, and her face is bright pink and shiny, like she’s been sprinting laps in the backyard.
Her eyes lock on us with the desperation of a drowning woman.
“Bread rolls?” she calls across the kitchen.
Maddie holds up one of her bags. “Lots!”
“Oh, thank god.”
She swoops over, somehow avoiding any collisions with the caterers, and scoops the plastic bags out of my arms.
“Oh, hi Tess,” she says once she’s already turned away to settle the load on the counter. “Hi, Gabrielle. Sorry about all this. We blew a fuse on one of the ovens, and also a table caught on fire outside, so it’s been, um, an eventful start.”
“A table caught fire ?” Maddie barks.
“Just a little,” Natalie says. “One of your cousins is already like three beers deep and knocked a candle over. Just a minor scorch to the tablecloth, but I’ve been running around replacing all the real candles with those battery-operated ones from the storage closet.
I don’t know why we ever thought our relatives could handle alcohol and fire. ”
She lets out a tittering laugh that’s verging on hysterical.
“Is there anything we can do?” I ask.
Natalie waves me off. “No, not at all. You’re a guest. Jacinthe is out back supervising the cousins now. You two should go say hi.”
With a lot of cautious maneuvering and only twice getting rammed by caterers, Gabrielle and I make it to the back door. I step out onto the deck, and at first, all I can register is the shock of the chilly October air after the boiling heat of the kitchen.
Then I gasp.
I’ve stepped inside a fairytale.