Page 110 of You + Me – Against the World

Arcadius: But since you don’t need me to speak for you, and I prefer to let women speak for themselves, I’ll introduce you to her soon. That way, you can show her yourself all the qualities that make you irresistible.

Alma_from_paris: Good point. But I’ll pass.

***

The following week we go back to class, but I don’t go to Abrams’s house. I work alone on my short film, continuing to edit the footage I shot in Paris, Los Angeles, and Santa Monica. Vadim from every angle. All the places we’ve been to together. The good memories and the heartbreaking ones. My doubts, my fears, my irrational heartaches, my overflowing feelings, my overwhelming joy, every flutter of emotion. A pure distillation of You + Me.

Meanwhile, along with his classes, Vadim continues his community service at the university. He talks about Cheyenne less, but I don’t know whether I should be relieved or worried. He also did his first photoshoot for the shampoo brand. Michelle Kerry told him he had done a great job, and that the advertiser was blown away by the photos. But Vadim hated it. He spent an entire evening criticizing the whole world and everything in it, tearing everyone down, himself included. He planned a move to France so he’d never have to see his giant face on the city buses. He also considered tearing up his first paycheck, but decided there were too many zeros on it.

Michelle Kerry has just contacted him about another casting, this time for a filmed commercial, an edgy project with a young, up-and-coming director that Vadim likes. So, he’s decided to go, just to see what it’s like, just this once. I already know it won’t be the last—far from it.

Between my boyfriend’s busy schedule, the distance I’m keeping between Abrams and me, and Clémentine spending one hundred percent of her free time with her mystery boyfriend—whose existence I’m starting to doubt—I have no other choice but to spend a lot of time at home. I’m dismayed to discover the kind of atmosphere that currently reigns there. My mother spends all her time calling my father to find out where he is, when he’ll be home, if he’ll be home for dinner, and if not, why. He spends his time ignoring her calls or hanging up on her, claiming he’s in an important meeting, closing a big deal, or in the middle of negotiations and can’t be disturbed. With an offended expression and pursed lips, she hangs up on him sometimes too, then takes it out on the first person who crosses her path: Lily, because she never tidies her things; Georgia, because she tidies too much; or me, because she’s not used to me being home so often.

Sometimes, with teary eyes, she takes me aside and lets her heavy hands rest on my shoulders. “Promise me you won’t shut yourself away at home, that you’ll enjoy your youth, and that you won’t waste your precious time—because it passes far too quickly. Make sure you love Vadim as long as the passion is there, but never become dependent on a man, even out of love. Never, do you hear me?” she insists, her throat tight.

“Got it, Mom.”

I don’t intend to ruin my life for a guy with pretty eyes, but I dare anyone not to fall into the trap of Vadim Arcadi’s crystal-clear, dizzying gaze. This is the first time I feel like I’m starting to understand my mother and the mistakes she made.

One evening, my father doesn’t come home at all. It’s a Saturday, so he has no reason to be at the office. My mother calls his cell phone twenty times, until well past midnight. Basile suggests we call the police. And then a voice answers—the voice of a very young woman, who giggles before hanging up. When my mother bursts into tears, it hits me hard. I try to comfort her, to reassure her, even though I know that I won’t be able to mend her broken heart.

“What Dad is doing says nothing about you or your worth. His actions are about him. They say who he is, not who you are. He’ll have to answer for them. I just hope he knows what he’s losing…”

“Wait, there’s no need to jump to conclusions,” my brother says in a fraught voice, trying to defend our father.

“Go to bed, kids. It’s not your place to get involved in your parents’ problems like this. I’m sorry I dragged you into it.”

Reluctantly, we do as she asks. After one last hug, unable to think of anything else to say, I leave her alone with her grief. From my room, I hear her sobbing in her bed like a little girl.

I’m too shaken to sleep, so I message Vadim.

[My mother just found out

that my father is cheating on her.

If you ever do that to me,

I’ll kill you.

And your mistress, too.]

[Poor Marie. Your dad kept that well hidden.

Do you want me to kill him?]

[No. I love you.]

On Sunday, my father still hasn’t come home. But he has a huge bouquet of white roses delivered to my mother. I don’t know what the message on the little card says, but she cries again when she reads it. And yet she still puts the flowers in a pretty vase, which she sets on the dining room table. Then, she sits in my father’s place and stays there, without moving. Looking out the window, as if it’s the only thing left to do. Waiting for him.

I don’t know how she can accept this. But I know I’m not in her place, and I don’t want to judge her for what her heart is telling her to do, after an entire night spent fighting against reason.

Suddenly, I feel like I’m in the way. I kiss my mother goodbye and hurry over to Vadim’s. I need to see him, smell him, hold him. I spill everything I’m feeling, and he listens without interrupting. He just pulls me close until we are sitting together on the floor, our backs resting against his sofa bed. I stroke his hair, one of my favorite ways to quiet my mind. He rests his big hand on the back of my neck, the way he often does. It comforts me more than he knows.

“That’s the only advantage of not having parents,” he says, attempting a joke. “Not having to take care of them as if they were your children.”

I smile sadly and nod, then he kisses me. We spend the whole afternoon cuddling, imagining what we’ll be like at forty, at fifty—what our relationship and our family will look like, what kind of parents we’ll become. We don’t have any answers.

My mother calls me and tells me in a casual tone that my father is coming home tonight and that we all need to be there for dinner.