The New Sense

Sunday, August 25, 2002

Well, well, well! Not quite what I expected from mom. We took the bus out there and she picked us up in town. Big caravan. So not her. Belongs to her boyfriend. Big moustache. Belongs to him too. She'd told me he worked for the municipality, but I just can't believe he's a cop! She's so fucking hilarious. It's finally reached its logical conclusion, this life of hers. From artsy-fartsy dad to smalltown cop René (who must be at least eight years older than her, or looks it anyway. He said he had two kids who were in their late twenties, so that makes sense). He stayed in the driver's seat. She got out to kiss me and shake B— 's hand while staring at him like he was a forgotten container in the fridge.
The drive was uncomfortable. I didn't know what to talk about because of the big thing I had to talk about. B— was freaking out because he knew that René was carrying a gun under his jacket (this was before we found out he's a cop). In fact I had the impression for a couple of seconds that B— was going to bolt for it before we even got in the car. I thought he was just nervous about our announcement!
What seemed weird was that we drove to René's house — a log-cabin affair only two minutes away, but nevertheless somehow in the middle of nowhere. Then she broke her big news, matter-of-factly, while taking off her safety belt. She's selling her bungalow and moving in with him. "Ah-ha!" I thought. "This cushions the blow a bit, morally-speaking. She knows damn well that I'll think she's nuts to take the plunge with this guy she only met six months ago." It was perfect!
Suddenly all my nerves vanished in a puff of anticipated indignation in the face of her disapproval. She showed me around like it's already her place (and to a certain extent it already is, poor guy) while René backslapped B— into the living room and showed off his fishing paraphernalia. B— revealed to me with glee on the bus back home that the humungous fish in the display cabinet above the fireplace had actually been shot. As René went into great detail about the Moby Dick-like struggle and the line almost snapping, B— was trying not to laugh because he could sense the bullet still lodged near the tail, and could even sense it's trajectory from the gill back through the body. Apparently the side of the fish facing away from public view wasn't nearly as perfect and shiny as the one on display. Oh well, I guess he doesn't get to use his gun much out there in the boonies.
We sat on the deck out back drinking, while I tried to find the perfect moment to tell her. B— did a pretty good job of being non-specific about his 'photography', just mentioning fashion and advertising. René then asked him if he would photograph his fish for him. I couldn't help laughing, and had to pretend to be all girly and silly to allow René to regain some self-esteem. B— just replied that he was more of a photographer of living subjects, and the conversation ended there.
She had prepared a big spread of dip and veggies, little quiche things, salad and cheese cubes. I waited until she'd brought them all out so that B— and I would have something to do during the uncomfortable part. She sat down, said 'Bon appetit' and I said, "Oh, I have a very good appetite. I'm eating for two."
She was about to put a cheese cube in her mouth. The mouth opened but the cube stayed where it was. She stared at me and I stared at her. René took a long swig of beer. A small fly landed on the cheese cube, then met an unexpected demise as she sprang into life and thrust the cheese into her mouth. She chewed frantically for a few seconds, then I suppose she tasted the fly, and kind of shuddered, before gulping it down. All this time B— just sat there with a plastic smile on his face.
René looked anxiously at her, beer bottle paused in the (hee hee!) coppice planted on his upper lip. There's a reason I noticed this detail: I now know that this is one of those occasions when time slows down, like when you're in the middle of having a car accident, and you keep spinning or rolling or skidding for ages. You actually have time to think, "I wonder what's going to happen? Am I going to die? Probably not. Hmmm…still spinning. Round and round. Oh, look, there's a tree coming…maybe I am…" before you find out. I suppose cliff-hangers in movies and TV series are actually quite realistic in that respect. Even in reality you don't get to find out what's going to happen right away.
So, telling mom I'm pregnant was pretty similar to having a car accident. In fact it turned out to be more bloody than the accidents I've actually been in because she stood up to either hug or slap me (the former, I think, to keep up appearances with René), but tripped on the leg of the table and pitched forward onto René's lap. She reached instinctively for his arm which was holding the beer and smashed the bottle into his teeth. Lots of blood flowed (though it turned out that his teeth were okay) and mom ended up with her face in his crotch while he yelled out in pain. B— had an expression on his face which I can only describe as, "I-can't-believe-what-happened-I-so-want-to-laugh-but-I-shouldn't-oh-god-it's-hilarious-don't-laugh-don't-laugh-don't-laugh."
I helped mom up from her position of indignity and handed René a napkin to try and staunch the impressive flow. He waved his other hand at mom either to show her that no major damage had been done or to ward off another attack, I'm not sure which. René went into the house while mom sat down in shock, looking at me, then at B—, then back to me. I grabbed B—'s hand and said, "We're in love, mom. We're really happy."
She nodded slowly, then got up without saying a word and followed René into the house. B— whispered to me, "Maybe you should go in and talk to her," but I knew better. There was nothing to talk about. She knew it and I knew it.
The two of them reappeared a couple of minutes later, René with cotton wool in his mouth like the Godfather, mom obviously having just splashed water on her face. They sat down. She turned to B— and said, "Congratulations. Can I get you another beer?" He said yes, and from then on it was like nothing had ever happened. Just a regular Sunday afternoon in the country; beer, snacks and mosquitoes.
They drove us back into town to get the six o'clock bus back to Montreal. I swear she's unbelievable — no mention of anything, just, "Call me next week then," and "Nice to meet you," to B— .
I was feeling a bit upset in the bus. I guess that's the effect mom has on me. No mater [sic!] how much I pretend not to care what she thinks, it bugs the hell out of me when she acts like that. Or like anything, to be honest. B— tried to cheer me up, telling me about the stuffed fish, but I guess I had stupidly secretly hoped that she would actually be happy for me.
After we got back and ate dinner I told B— I wanted to be alone for a couple of hours. He was very understanding and went out for a walk, which gave me time to write all this down. It cheered me up, realising how funny the day's been and putting it into words, but I hope he gets back soon, because now I need a hug.

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posted by Sara