The evening was drawing to a close. I was almost sorry I’d recounted my misadventure in the presence of people who weren’t part of the family and might, who knows, enjoy spreading the word that I’d gone senile or that the first good-looking guy I’d met had made me impotent. So while I’d felt relieved during dinner, now the glooms that had been preying on me all day were back in force.

Jeanne must have noticed because she said softly:

“Come on, Jean-Marc . . . we think it’s cute, what’s happening to you . . .”

“Cute! That’s exactly what’s wrong! I’ll tell you something, at thirty-nine the last thing you want to be is ‘cute’! You don’t have all the details yet, right? I told you we’ve got a date tomorrow, but I didn’t say where . . .”

At once I regretted my words. Johanne and Marguerite, who were preparing to leave, casually settled a little deeper into their chairs to hear the end of my story.

Mélène was fidgeting with excitement.

“Jean-Marc, you’re a joy to have around. I don’t know what I’d do without you . . . Where are you meeting him? Come on, quick, I can’t take any more . . .”

I took a deep breath, then plunged:

“On Saint-Denis.”

Triumph! They laughed, they slapped their thighs, Mélène even shouted, writhing in her chair: “Oh wow, a macramé!”

“Come off it girls, don’t lay it on so thick . . . It’s not that funny . . .”

Assuming a contrite expression that oozed insincerity, Marguerite said:

“You’re right, let’s not pass judgment yet . . . After all, we don’t know if they’re meeting above Sherbrooke or below . . .”

I was almost expecting Johanne to nudge her like a schoolgirl who’s just made a gaffe, but no, they both kept their serious expressions while the other two were still ­doubled up with laughter.

The Mother of Us All wasn’t barking now, she was ­trumpeting.

“That’s right, Jean-Marc, where are you going? A trendoid terrace north of Sherbrooke or a subsidized hangout for fake welfare bums down around Emery?”

I waited for the laughter to cool down before I replied.

“Don’t lay the Saint-Denis trip on me, girls . . . You’re always dumping on it, but I notice you don’t stay away.”

Johanne reacted as if she’d been stung by a horsefly.

“Not us! Ever since they’ve started developing Bernard we hardly ever leave Outremont . . . I don’t know why we’d go to Saint-Denis when we have everything we need right at our doorstep!”