14. Tess
Tess
T wo long tables draped in white linen fill the center of the yard, the cloths fluttering in the slight evening breeze.
The gleaming silverware matches the glinting silver candlesticks arranged in clusters along the crimson table runners.
Matching red napkins are sitting folded on each plate, along with what looks like pressed autumn leaves serving as place cards, with everyone’s names scrawled on them in looping silver letters.
The artificial candles flicker, reflecting in all the metal and making the whole scene glimmer.
There’s a man perched on a stool under one of the trees, strumming an acoustic guitar with chords melodious enough to convince me he’s not the dreaded nephew Luc.
The music seems to glide through the yard like a gentle current, turning everything soft and blurred.
The profusion of fairy lights strung along various bushes and branches adds to the effect.
The air is filled with the rich, earthy scent of falling leaves.
A few dozen people are milling around, most of them clutching beer bottles or wine glasses as they stand chatting in groups. A band of kids are poking around in the bulrushes lining the pond, squealing and giggling while they take turns dunking some sticks into the muck.
I feel like I’m in a scene from whatever the autumnal equivalent of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is.
I’m only a few feet away from the stifling bustle of the kitchen, but a dreamy calm has already fallen over me.
The only thing disrupting my wonder is the ache of realizing how much I wish Shel was here.
“ Maman ! Tess! Salut !”
I whip my head around and spot Jacinthe emerging from where I must have missed her in one of the bigger groups of guests.
As soon as we lay eyes on each other, I feel my jaw drop.
Jacinthe stumbles to a halt a few feet away from us, her eyes flaring wide with disbelief.
Gabrielle bursts out laughing.
“ Les filles , what is this?” she demands, looking back and forth between the two of us.
We’re wearing the exact same outfit.
There are some slight variations in colour and cut, but other than that, we’re a mirror image: dark leather dress shoes, black jeans, pressed button-downs, and brown houndstooth blazers.
“Did you…copy me?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow. She plants her hands on her hips.
“Did you copy me ?”
Gabrielle continues to titter with laughter. “ Mon dieu . This is something else.”
The door swings open behind us. Maddie and Natalie clamber out onto the deck.
They pause to take in the scene in front of them: Jacinthe still down on the lawn, standing in a face-off pose like a football player waiting to charge.
“Are you…matching?” Maddie asks.
“She copied me,” Jacinthe says, jerking her chin up at me.
“Hey, now! I didn’t even remember I owned this blazer until, like, yesterday,” I announce, “and I haven’t seen you all day.”
Natalie steps down off the porch so she can size us both up.
“Oh my god,” she says. “You two seriously wore the same outfit by accident. Brooke has to see this.”
She dashes into the crowd and returns a moment later with her girlfriend in tow.
“See!” she cries, pointing a finger at me and Jacinthe in turn. “They’re twinning!”
Brooke lets out a shocked laugh. “Wow, you weren’t joking. Huh. You two must be really in sync or something.”
Natalie slings an arm around Brooke’s shoulders. “Kind of like us.”
They’re both in blue tonight: Brooke in a navy cowl neck dress that makes her blonde hair look extra bright, while Natalie wears a sky blue collared shirt under a wool sweater, with some navy slacks that are the exact same shade as Brooke’s dress.
“We didn’t plan this either,” Brooke says.
The back of my neck heats at the insinuation that Jacinthe and I have a psychic connection, but I’m saved from having to say anything about it. Natalie gets the bright idea to have me and Jacinthe mirror each other’s movements to ‘see if anyone can tell us apart.’
We get a few laughs out of some other guests nearby as we wave our arms around in tandem. Then Maddie announces they’d better start getting everyone seated.
I find my place card—or rather, place leaf—across the table from the leaf with Jacinthe’s name.
We’re a couple seats down from the head of one of the tables.
I glance around at the other names and realize I’ve been placed right in the heart of the Balsam Inn owners’ circle with Maddie, Natalie, Brooke, and Gabrielle.
I figured I’d get a gap filler place since I’m here alone. There’s a strange tightness in my chest as I pull my chair out to sit among the most important people in Jacinthe’s life.
I do my best to shove the feeling aside. I’m just being dramatic. They must have put me here because I don’t know anybody else very well yet.
Jacinthe, Maddie, and Natalie are all busy running around getting the meal started, but as the spots fill up, I’m joined by Natalie’s parents as well as her brother.
I watch him chat with Brooke out of the corner of my eye. They’re polite with each other, even sharing a couple casual jokes. If I didn’t have the dramatic back-story from Jacinthe, I’d never guess they were engaged a decade ago.
The emergency bread rolls I carried inside are being passed around in baskets by the time Jacinthe and her friends finally take their seats.
“There are no speeches,” Natalie assures us as we all hesitate to start eating. “We’re not that classy. Everybody, please, eat.”
I look around and realize both tables are in need of some direction. Before anyone can take a gentler approach, Jacinthe climbs up to stand on the seat of her chair.
“Jacinthe!” Gabrielle hisses, tugging on the hem of her blazer.
Jacinthe doesn’t heed the order to stop. Instead, she cups her hands around her mouth and bellows in French loud enough for the whole yard—and possibly the whole town—to hear.
“We’re here! We’re thankful! Now, let’s eat!”
That seems to do the trick. There’s a clatter of silverware as people begin digging into the pumpkin soup that’s joined the bread rolls as a first course.
Gabrielle hangs her head in shame over Jacinthe’s antics, but I give her an approving nod as she sits back down.
“Short and sweet,” I say. “I like it.”
Brooke gives Natalie a nudge with her elbow. “See! They are in sync.”
Jacinthe locks eyes with me, and even though I can feel the weight of everyone else watching us, I can’t make myself break her stare.
“Maybe that’s what happens when you live on the same farm,” I suggest.
Jacinthe nods like I’ve made a grand realization. “I bet Joaquin has us brainwashed.”
The rest of dinner goes down without a hitch.
Much beer is consumed, but there are no additional fires.
The main course is a typical spread of golden turkey, mashed root vegetables, and crispy stuffing, all of it served with pitchers of mouth-watering gravy and a thick cranberry sauce that’s the perfect blend of tart and sweet.
By the time dessert rolls out, I’m convinced I won’t be able to fit in another bite, but I somehow manage slices of both the apple pie and the pumpkin pie, with a side of whipped cream.
“You will have to roll me home,” Jacinthe announces, dropping her fork on her empty dessert plate and then leaning back in her chair to pat her stomach. “I do not think I can walk.”
“I am definitely in sync with you on that,” I tell her.
Maddie reaches over to clap her hand on Jacinthe’s shoulder. “Too bad, cuz. It’s your job to light the bonfire.”
“Sending me away from my own table,” she groans, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a pantomime of betrayal. “All alone. Out into the cold dark night.”
“Take your doppelganger with you,” Natalie offers, nodding at me.
I follow Jacinthe over to the fire pit, which is around the far side of the inn, out of flammable distance from the towering balsam firs that flank the house.
A random assortment of benches and chairs have been dragged over to join the wooden stumps that serve as rustic seats around the large ring of stones.
The pit is already set up with the logs and kindling Jacinthe tells me she arranged before dinner. She digs around in her pocket, jangling the carabiner that pokes out from under her blazer, and produces a plastic lighter.
There’s not much for me to help with, so I settle onto one of the stumps and watch as she sets a few crumpled pieces of newspaper ablaze.
The flames lick along the torn edges, rising higher and higher as they catch on some small twigs and begin flicking the undersides of the logs.
The scent of smoke fills the air. The fire crackles, a few sparks popping in the dark.
“Good fire,” I say. “I’ve never learned how to do that. My dad was more of the just pour gas on it and call it a day kind of guy.”
Jacinthe grins as she claims one of the stumps for herself. “My dad said that’s cheating.”
We’re both quiet for a moment before I mumble, “You don’t talk about him much, do you?”
She shrugs. “There is nothing to say. He left. He’s a maudit coward who cheated on my mom and then didn’t bother to stick around for us. We’re better off without him.”
I fight not to raise my eyebrows.
“Well…that’s not nothing.”
I cringe. This probably wasn’t the time for a smartass remark.
Jacinthe glares into the fire, and I wonder if I’ve totally blown whatever this moment was.
Then she tips her head back and laughs.
“No,” she agrees. “It isn’t. You got me there. Maybe I have a bit to say.”
She doesn’t seem to be shutting the conversation down, so I risk letting curiosity win.
“Do you mind me asking…how old were you when he left?”
She grimaces for a moment, but then she launches into an explanation.
“Depends if you mean the first time or not. He started leaving for a few days at a time when I was maybe ten? Then sometimes it was weeks. Then it was months. Then he left forever when I was thirteen.”