Still With Me

Jeremy walked obediently to the bathroom.

Clotilde was the kind of girl who was extremely pretty and completely annoying. A cold beauty, full of confidence. Jeremy didn’t like her. She was a poseur. An imposer as well. Her feelings and opinions prevailed over others, whom she barely listened to. Her relationship with Pierre seemed to be established on a tacit agreement: in exchange for her beauty, Pierre let her play the intellectual. Sometimes one of Clotilde’s opinions or attitudes kindled a spark of annoyance in his eyes or smile before he caught himself and looked at her again adoringly.

Jeremy was shocked by how much affection Victoria seemed to have for Clotilde. They were so different.

By now they’d been sitting on the couch for twenty minutes. When Victoria served the aperitifs, she’d placed a glass of whiskey in Jeremy’s hand without hesitation.

Pierre had hugged Jeremy warmly when he came in. “Happy birthday, buddy.” He held out a bottle of wine. “Your favorite.” Clotilde had given him a silent peck on the cheek.

The conversation had by now turned to birthdays and other celebrations. Clotilde, with the help of several extremely conventional arguments, admitted that she saw nothing in these rituals but an impulse to consume. Jeremy would’ve appreciated the irony of the conversation if his mind had not been filled with questions.

Then Victoria nudged him. “Darling, could you get Thomas? I think he woke up.”

“Oh yeah,” Pierre said. “He probably misses his godfather.”

Thomas turned over when he saw Jeremy appear above his crib. Father and son peered at each other with the same curiosity. Each seemed to question the other in silence. Jeremy watched the baby’s facial expressions, his features, his bright eyes that seemed to ask for nothing more than hugs. Jeremy tried to step into reality by embracing his growing affection for the child.

He’s mine. This is my son.

He picked the baby up awkwardly, and, afraid of hurting him, pressed the little body against his own. Just as with the first time, the physical contact felt good.

“Ah, there they are,” Victoria exclaimed. “They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”

“Thomas is magnificent. I don’t know if I can say the same about Jeremy,” Pierre said, laughing. He held out his arms. “Look, he wants his godfather. He knows me.”

Jeremy watched Victoria and Pierre trying to entertain the baby with funny faces and exaggerated chirps. Clotilde made do with a conditional smile. Jeremy even thought he saw some slight irritation with her fiancé’s childish behavior. She locked eyes with Jeremy and stared at him until he turned away.

Why is she looking at me like that? Her cold, inquisitive appearance annoyed him. He tried to force her to lower her eyes, turning toward her suddenly and saying, “Do you want to pick him up?”

Surprised, she stammered, “No, no thank you…”

Happy to have rattled her, Jeremy wanted to gain more of an advantage. “You don’t seem very interested in babies,” he said provokingly.

A heavy silence fell on the room. Victoria looked at Jeremy, stunned. He realized he had made a mistake. Pierre, who initially watched for his girlfriend’s reaction, tried to hide his embarrassment by smiling at the squirming baby. Clotilde clenched her teeth and continued staring at Jeremy with intense rage.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry. I’m tired,” he blurted halfheartedly.

Victoria steadied herself and announced that she had to finish preparing the meal. As she got up, her eyes bored into Jeremy, concentrating all the anger she wanted to express out loud.

“Clotilde, come with me. I need help carrying the crostini.”

Clotilde followed her.

Pierre hadn’t looked up. “Why’d you say that, Jeremy?” he asked.

Jeremy was as puzzled by the question as Pierre’s mournful look. He’d been hurt. But by what exactly?

“I don’t know. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“You know we’re having trouble conceiving, and you throw that in her face?” There was no anger in his voice, only a frustrated desire to make sense of Jeremy’s words.

Jeremy felt ashamed. “I’m sorry…I’m an ass…”

“I know you’re an ass. But that doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”

The doorbell rang. Clotilde and Victoria came back into the room. Victoria waited for Jeremy to react. But he just sat there, petrified, so she walked to the door. “That must be your mother.”

Pierre handed the baby to Jeremy.