“I don’t think it’s wise to move in with someone for good just like that, after such a short time . . . You saw the fuss we made tonight, over nothing? I don’t want to live my life that way . . . Sure, it was sweet of her to bring us supper after everything, but you have to admit it wasn’t very cool . . . Those women are part of your daily life, Jean-Marc, so I’ll have to get used to them! You practically live in a commune! But it freaks me a little, Jean-Marc, having to deal with that every day!”

I was on my way to being seriously drunk. I’d rested my cheek on a pillow that felt surprisingly cool. I’d have gladly fallen asleep there, under Mathieu’s nose, and slept straight through. Then I felt a hand in my hair; I smiled. When I opened my eyes Mathieu’s face was very close to mine.

“Shall I put the icing on the cake right now, Jean-Marc? Have you given any thought to my son?”

I hadn’t, but I pretended I had and I bluffed, even though the mere thought of a child in the house gave me the shakes: “Bring him over! Introduce us! We’ll see what ­happens then!”

Mathieu

Mathieu

“You still use too much salt . . .”

Mathieu looked up from his plate, ready to answer back. Louise was smiling, that little smile he used to love so much, even when he wasn’t sure if it indicated amusement or mockery, though it always transformed her face ­suddenly and surprisingly, like a blush.

He scraped his plate with his spoon because he knew it got on Louise’s nerves and returned her smile.

“Yes I am, and nobody nags me about it any more.”

“Another of Jean-Marc’s wonderful qualities . . . He lets you eat your brine without a word?”