Luc
I watch a dozen thoughts and emotions flicker and fade across my son’s face.
“I was only telling the truth,” he mutters eventually, still staring at this hands.
“You were trying, and you succeeded in making your sister feel small.”
“She is small,” he mutters.
“Isn’t that all the more reason for you to be kind?”
I stifle a sigh. The pair used to be the best of friends. I don’t have siblings, so there is something about the change in their dynamic I don’t understand. The insults, the constant competing, warfare that pivots to an alliance in a heartbeat, but only to suit their purposes.
The only thing I can put the change down to is Felix’s age.
The flip side of this is that he ought to know better.
To do better. He’s leaving for boarding school soon, and I can’t say I’m looking forward to him being in Switzerland.
In fact, it would seem the only person ready for the change is him.
It doesn’t seem like two minutes ago he was stressing over his first day in kindergarten.
The thought catches somewhere beneath my ribs. No more breakfast squabbles and bad moods. No more arguments over card games or movies. By the time he comes home for his first school vacation, the dynamic will have changed. And each visit, he’ll seem further away. From her. From me.
“You are older than Sylvie. Bigger, as you were so pleased to point out. But that doesn’t make you better than her. It gives you a responsibility.”
“To what?” His brows pull down.
“To be the person she can rely on,” I say evenly. “There will be enough people in this world willing to make your sister feel she isn’t good enough. Your job is not to be one of them.”
His eyes narrow. “What do you mean? What people?”
I inhale then pause. How to explain this without giving him a lecture so far above his head that he’ll stop listening to halfway through? “People who will assume they know what Sylvie can and can’t do simply because she’s a girl. “
“What people?”
“People who will expect her to be quieter than you. To keep herself smaller, be less ambitious, perhaps. More agreeable. People who might listen to you first even on topics she knows more about.”
“Like llamas?”
“Like llamas.”
“Why would they do that?” He looks genuinely confused.
“Because men have spent an age telling themselves they are superior. And because some ideas are hard to get rid of.”
“Do you think that way?”
“That women are less?” I shake my head. “If I ever did, meeting your mother put me straight.”
“Sometimes I don’t remember her so well,” he says sadly. “Primrose says when we miss Maman, we can close our eyes and think of her, and our hearts will fill with love.”
“Did she?” Something twists strangely inside me.
He nods. “It feels like my chest is filled with sunshine.”
“Love can feel like that.”
“Maman would be disappointed in how I have behaved.” As his eyes brim with tears, I find myself fighting a lump in my own throat.
“No.” I reach out, putting my hand to his slender shoulder.
“She would never be disappointed in you.” I touch my hand to his hair.
“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t strive to do better.
We all should.” The strange twist deepens.
I should take my own advice. Respect Primrose’s choices and leave her the fuck alone.
I haven’t touched her since that morning in my office, though I’ve undressed her with my gaze a thousand times. And she knows it.
“I didn’t mean to tell Sylvie that being a boy made me better. I just mean I am better than her at Uno. And swimming. But she’s better at drawing and horse riding, and she makes people smile with her jokes and silly dances. I can’t do that.”
“Maybe you ought to tell her the things she’s good at.”
He gives a jerky nod. “I will.”
I push on. “In your life, the way you behave towards a person with your words is going to make that person feel this way or that, whether you mean it to or not. You must be mindful of this happening.”
“I will, I promise.”
“And as you grow, how you use your body will make a person feel those same feelings.”
“You mean because I will be bigger than them?”
“Yes.” Physically. Socially. “That goes for your sister and your classmates, the girls in your future you will date. Just be aware.”
His next nod is pensive. “I want to be a good man. Like you.”
I don’t have an answer for that. “You don’t have to fix the whole world, son. But you can make sure you aren’t helping to make your sister feel smaller in hers.”
“May I go and talk with her?” He looks like he’d rather not, and that’s what makes it more important that he does.
“I think she’d like that.”
He stands, then lifts his chair under the table. “I will try better.”
“That’s all any of us can do.”
As he leaves the terrace, Primrose comes the other way. Her smile is a soft thing just for him. In return, he gives a very formal nod. Does she see he’s just a kid? That he will do better? I don’t want her to judge him, I suppose.
“He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders,” she says as she watches him disappear into the house, leaving me free to look at her without being caught.
Concern lingers in the small crease between her brows.
The sweep of her lashes, the honey-gold of her hair, and the luscious mouth I have far too many sensory memories of.
She is, quite simply, lovely.
And now she’s looking at me. Busted, as Felix might say.
“Everything okay?” Her steps turning hesitant as she draws closer to where I stand. She makes a gesture as though asking me to sit. I don’t.
“Yes, I think so.” My gaze slides to the house as though following my son.
“He’s going to apologize to his sister.” Maybe I should do the same to Primrose, but perhaps it wouldn’t be sincere.
She isn’t threatened by me. Exasperated, maybe.
Tempted, occasionally. Even aroused once or twice. “How is Sylvie?”
“She fine.” The smile she gives at my daughter’s name gets me right in my chest. “She’s ready to hear him out.”
“Good.” I run my hand down the front of my shirt. Her eyes track then bounce away. “That is good.”
“That weight on his shoulders,” she says, her eyes on the doors again.
“I heard a little of what you said to him. I was impressed. Anyway,” she adds quickly before I can ask if that has helped my cause.
“I’m just here to grab my shoes. Last time I left them out here, I lost them for days to the pool guy. ”
“For a big guy, Manu must have tiny feet.” My eyes drop to hers, and I notice her toenails no longer painted pink. Her toes curl as though reluctant to be seen, so I return my attention to her lovely face.
“Lol.” She gives a dramatic roll of her eyes, then she must notice me still staring at the space Felix just left. “He’s okay, you know.” She closes her mouth as though she didn’t mean to speak.
“I do worry sometimes.”
“Like all parents, I’m sure. Kids can be totally self-absorbed at his age. His empathy well is still under construction. Not that I’m trying to tell you about your own kids, of course.”
I make a gesture: go ahead.
“I just remember studying this stuff at uni.”
“As part of your medical degree?”
“My psychology one, actually.” She gives an uncomfortable looking shrug as something tugs at my memory. Something Jacques said.
“Impressive.”
“Not really.” Her nose scrunches adorably. “More like I made a mistake my first time.”
“Mistakes are how we learn. Don’t sell yourself short. People can see the real you.” I see the real you.
She looks pensive for a beat. “Anyway,” she says with a shake of her head as she reaches for the chair, her shoes under it.
I grasp the back of it before she can and pull the chair out.
“Sit,” I instruct, putting my hand to her shoulder.
In my mind’s eye, I see my fingers sliding down her tan arm, my fingers eventually twining with hers.
“Stay, please.” I reach for the rosé, ignoring the white service cloth and the water that drips over the table.
The wine gurgles from the bottle as I top up her almost empty glass.
“Roofies?” A smile sneaks into her response.
“You know I wouldn’t cheat either of us of the experience.” She gives a low, huffing laugh. “Enjoy the peace.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’d better make sure my children don’t need a referee.”
“I wasn’t planning on staying. You don’t need leave on my account.”
“I think I do. Thank you, Primrose. For being here. For all that you do.” I turn away before I get any more sentimental. Dieu, there must be something in the air. Besides the sounds of the cicadas and chirp of geckos.
“They’re good kids.”
I pause, but I don’t turn.
“You’re doing a good job with them.”
“That means a lot,” I say, rotating to face her. She looks so lovely. Her skin seems to shimmer, sun-kissed, her hair falling in soft honey waves around her shoulders.
“There is one more thing.” She gives a tiny grimace as she reaches for her glass. “Sylvie is sort of expecting Felix to have to muck out the llama stalls.”
I give a soft laugh as I turn away. “No doubt.”
I’m halfway to the stairs when the thought strikes me: did she mention the llamas to make me think of the viticulturist?
Has she been on a date with him—or more?
My footsteps falter at that thought, but I push on, telling myself I would’ve known if she’d left the house.
Maybe they didn’t leave the house. Maybe they’ve been having late-night picnics, looking out for shooting stars. And fucking.
My hand squeezes the balustrade. I will not imagine that. I’ll buy a vineyard far away and banish the fucker to it.
C'est n'importe quoi! I’m being ridiculous. But before I can chastise myself further, from below, I hear a piercing scream.