Two very handsome young men were ostentatiously cruising each other in the second-floor bathroom. They were as subtle as two dogs who meet on the sidewalk. I knew one of them, who merely gave me a little nod that meant hello, but also meant don’t talk to me, don’t stick around, I’m onto a good one, and also: what the hell are you doing with that kid? He hesitated for a moment between curiosity to find out who Sébastien could be and the risky, even dangerous (part of their charm) delights promised by the good-looking guy at the next urinal. He opted for the latter and I left before Sébastien could ask why those two men were taking so long to make peepee.

Mathieu was waiting on a lady I could see from the back, with whom he seemed to be having an animated conversation. When he burst out laughing and laid a hand on her arm I realized that she wasn’t a customer, that he was only pretending to serve her, and I felt an inexplicable lump of anxiety in my throat. And when Sébastien ran up to her shouting, “It’s Granny Rose! It’s Granny Rose!” I wanted to die.

I can’t remember ever feeling so uncomfortable. Mathieu was almost trembling when he introduced us. I shook a hand made icy by nerves. She didn’t dare look at me too closely and I merely nodded politely somewhere in the direction of her face. She leaned towards her son and I heard:

“Did you set this up, this little meeting?”

And Mathieu replied:

“Come on, Mamma, I didn’t know he was coming to see me . . . and he didn’t know . . .”

She quickly turned her attentions to her grandson, who was hopping up and down with excitement and tugging on her coat. She sat him on the counter. He kissed his father and immediately launched into the story of Bambi, starting with the first image in the first sequence.

Mathieu’s mother and I were left stranded in the crowded aisle surrounded by jostling last-minute shoppers. And the worst thing that could happen happened: a customer came looking for Mathieu. Rose appeared to feel faint. She leaned against the counter. Sébastien followed his father, asking where he was going with the man.

I decided there wasn’t going to be any awkward silence, that the two of us weren’t going to stand there like a pair of imbeciles, each pretending the other didn’t exist, so I said without thinking:

“Why don’t you come home for supper tonight, with Mathieu and Sébastien?”

I had risked her telling me to get lost or calling me every name in the book or simply walking away, but she turned her head towards me with the beginning of a smile.