Sleeping Awake (21 page)

"Hello stranger." Her
smile looked alien against the backdrop of her tired eyes and depressed
features.

I bent to give her a hug. She
was wearing her usual Number 5, but even if she had drowned herself in it, she
wouldn’t get rid of her newly acquired scent. Stale, musty air and bleached
linen: a hospital.

"Hello,
Maman
.
”
I kissed her lightly on her cheek.

Her hand reached up to touch
my fingers. I said nothing as the unmistakable purple bruise against her skin
yelled at me. She used to look like a walking caramel treat, but now her skin
was ashy and almost gray, like a baby who had overstayed its time in the womb.

“Philippe,” she said.

He stepped forward and kissed
Maman
on her cheek. I could see everything in his eyes. He was scared that she was
fading away, and he was trying to conceal it. We all were. The moment of
silence passed quickly and feigned bravery followed.

Camelea and Cienna rushed to
take Maman’s bags from the flight attendant. Philippe and I helped her out of
the wheelchair. We walked towards the exit. Camelea spoke endlessly about
everything that happened while
Maman
was gone. Cienna played with
her fingers behind her back in an apparent struggle to not to ask the question
that peppered our brains: Why do you look like death if you went there to save
your life?

*~*

Nino’s Positano was not
exactly my favourite place. Everyone on the Upper East Side felt that they
needed
to be seen there, especially since Victoria Gotti had chosen the restaurant to
introduce her new gravy. However,
Maman
was thrilled when Philippe
told her where we were going there. For Maman, I bit my tongue.

The maître d’ looked as if on
the brink of insanity as orders were fiercely whispered to get us a table
tout
de suite
. Philippe hadn’t bothered to call ahead and make reservations, yet
the restaurant all but came to a halt once we entered. He used to do this all
the time when we were younger.
Maman
would always politely protest
that it wasn’t necessary to move people out of their seat for us, and Philippe
would deliver looks when a table wasn’t cleared fast enough.

They had us seated with menus
and filled water glasses in two minutes. It was really no surprise to anyone
when Alfredo, the chef, came over to greet us.

“Philippe and Trischa! Such a
pleasure to see you both again! Are these your daughters? They are beauties,
like their mother.”

When he asked if they were
having their regular Lobster for Two and if they’d like to make their own
selection or if he should, Cienna put her menu down. Philippe cleared his throat
and told Alfredo to make the selection.

 “So.” Cienna’s smile was
sickly sweet once Alfredo had left. “Come here often, do you?”

“We’ve been here a few times,”
Philippe answered.

Cienna rolled her fists into a
ball. “How many might a few be?” she asked.

“That’s of no importance,
Cienna.” Camelea piped up. “How was your flight,
Maman
? We never
asked.”

Traitor. She was probably
overjoyed that they’d been going out together.

“I was a bit tired,” Maman
replied. “I slept through most of it.”

“Really?” Philippe looked
fretful. “Are you feeling ill? I can have the food delivered if you’d like to
go home and rest.”

Nino’s didn’t deliver, but I
doubted that anyone would point this out to him when he asked for the food to
be waiting for us at home.

“It’s alright,”
Maman
’s
hand reached for his. “I’m too happy to be home with my family to rest.”

“I’m glad that you’re home,”
Camelea said. She looked creepier than a Brady on crack as her eyes glazed over
at the sight of Maman and Philippe holding hands.

Maman
returned her smile. “So am I. I missed
you girls.”

The waiter arrived with our
appetizers. Beside me, Cienna looked as if she was struggling not to bring up
bile as she watched Philippe and Maman share crab cakes. Maman’s left hand had
not left Philippe’s.

I put down my fork trying to
abate the pending storm. “When do you find out whether or not the treatment was
successful?"

Maman
wiped her mouth with her napkin and
rested it in her lap. “I have a follow up appointment in five days. They should
have the results by then.”

“So we’re just supposed to lay
about the house in anticipation until then?” Cienna asked. “What ever happened
to advanced technology?”

“Not exactly,” Philippe said.
Judging by the look on his face, I knew that he was about to say something that
he thought would please us, but would just piss us off. “I spoke to your mother
last night, and since you girls had planned to go to the Dominican Republic at
the end of the summer, we decided to go now.”

“Would this be classified as a
family vacation?” Camelea asked. She leaned towards them and all but fell off
the edge of her seat.

“Yes.” Philippe nodded in
confirmation.

“Wow,” she said wistfully. “I
can’t remember the last time that we went on a family vacation.”

“Well I can,” Cienna declared.
She placed her napkin on the table. “It was the weekend before
he
left.”

The color drained from
Philippe’s face.

Cienna rose. “Please excuse
me.”

Not wanting to bear witness to
the treachery, I stood as well.

Without waiting for
permission, we walked away from their perfect family dinner.

**~*~*~**~*~*~**

The marvels of the DR ceased
to be appealing once Philippe announced the sleeping arrangements for our
three-bedroom bungalow. 

“Since Noira is the oldest,
your mother and I thought that she should get her own room,” he explained.

I was about to slink off to my
room when Philippe continued. “So that leaves you two to share the next room.”

I paused. There were three
bedrooms in the bungalow. If Camelea and Cienna shared a room, that could only
mean than Maman and Philippe would be sharing the master suite. No sooner than
a calculated this did Cienna speak.

 “And if
Maman
gets the master bedroom, then where will you sleep, Philippe?” Cienna asked.
Her eyes were wide as she batted her eyes. All that she needed was the halo to
complete the façade. Philippe and
Maman
exchange a look.

“Well we didn’t plan on
telling you girls like this but…”

“But what, Philippe?” Cienna’s
eyelashes batted away. Somewhere in the distance, I was sure that I heard angels.

“This really isn’t the time,
Cienna.”
Maman
said.

“Did something else happen?”
Cienna’s hands sprang up over her heart. “Is Philippe sick as well?”

Camelea
gave her a reproachful look.

“Nothing is wrong with me,
Cienna,” Philippe replied. “But perhaps we should wait for …”

“No, I’d like to hear now, if
you don’t mind. I don’t think that I could stand the suspense,” Cienna said,
feigning innocence. “It has been
such
a stressful few weeks…”

It was like watching two cars
collide in slow motion. As we descended the stairs and arranged ourselves on
the living room furniture, I waited to hear the bang of the crash.

“Like I said earlier,”
Philippe began. “Your mother and I hadn’t planned on telling you like this…”

Beside me, Cienna sat up
suddenly. She was rather interested in
Maman’s hand; it was intertwined
with Philippe’s.
 

 “Coming here wasn’t only
about having something to do while we waited on news; it’s a chance for us to
see if we can work things out,” Philippe replied. He only had eyes for Cienna
as he spoke.

“And what have you and Maman
decided to try and work out?”

“Cienna stop being annoying.
They obviously mean their marriage.” Beside me, Camelea looked even more
irritated than Philippe.

“And when was this decided?”
Cienna demanded. She looked alarmingly dangerous for such a tiny person.

“That really is none of your
business, Cienna,” Philippe said.

“Then what will be my
business?” Cienna stood. “Hearing on your wedding day that you’re renewing your
vows?”

“We’re not renewing our vows,”
Maman said.

“Whatever. Is this what you
had to tell us? That you and Philippe are in love again and the world is brand
new? Seeing life through rose-coloured glasses and everything?”

Maman
stood as well, and the two of them
stared each other down. Around us, the walls went tumbling down, crushing our
parents’ hopes of a real family vacation.

“Fabulous,” Cienna said. “Soon
you’ll be pregnant with his demon-spawn son, and we’ll be able to have coffee
with
G
rand-mère
in her parlour and not feel like the shit
that comes out of her ass!”

Not even the wind from the sea
could penetrate the thick silence that surrounded us as Cienna bounded the
stairs.

I will neither forget the way
that
Maman
’s eyes closed as a door slammed shut, nor the single
tear that ran down her face.

*~*

Cienna’s surly behaviour
proved to be a blessing in disguise for me. No one was bothering to keep up the
pretence of a family vacation anymore; I could have danced naked in the living
room and no one would have noticed. I took full advantage of my all-inclusive
band and made myself very familiar with the hotel’s bars. Alcohol was out of
the question, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t get away for a cigarette.

“May I buy you a drink?”

I exhaled, sending a cloud of
smoke in the man’s direction, and smiled mysteriously.
“Je ne comprend pas.”

The stranger flashed me a
toothy, nervous smile before slipping away into the crowd. He’d been the fourth
man to approach me since I first entered La Caña Bar an hour ago. My phone
rang. ‘Conchobair
, Bryn’ flashed across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Surprised that I’m calling?”

“Yes,” I replied. It was so
good to hear his voice. I smiled.

“I’ve decided to accept that
the laws of communication don’t apply to you,” he replied. “How are you?”

“I suppose that you could say
that I’m fine.” I took a sip of my fruit punch. “I have a new outlook on life.”

“Oh really? What is it?”

“Let go and let God.”

He laughed. “Let God? You?”

I saw another man approaching
my table and took it as a sign to leave.

“Yes,” I said, standing. “I
slept in this morning and spent my afternoon painting the scenery. It was
fabulous. I just sat there letting the paint and the brush lead the way. Then I
meditated for half-hour. It’s easier to get through each day without having to
actually
feel
anything.”

As I spoke, I walked out onto
the veranda and descended the stairs onto the beach. The night was cool, and
the air was salty as the waves crashed onto the shore. I breathed deeply; I’d
forgotten how much I loved the sea.

“Still hiding from your
problems then?” Bryn asked.

“I do not hide,” I said. I
walked all the way to the shoreline and sat down. The water washed over me,
soaking my dress, but I didn’t mind.

“Yes. You do.” Bryn cut me
off. “And I’m not arguing with you either.”   

“Whatever. I haven’t run away
from anything. If you must know, I’m on a family vacation.”

“But it’s not the end of the
month,” he replied.

 “This is the time that
my father thought appropriate,” I explained, pausing to light another
cigarette. “Apparently he wants to make good with his mistakes and try love
again.”

Bryn snorted.

“Don’t believe in love, Mr.
Conchobair?” I teased.

“Oh I do, babe,” he said. “I’m
in love right now, and it fucking hurts.”

“Tell me about it.” I sighed.
The sand scratched against my palm as I dug my fingers into it. It reminded me
of how I felt whenever I thought of Nicolaas.

“Still having troubles with my
dear cousin?”

“How do you know about me and
Nicolaas?”

“Noira, it’s high time that
you accept that I know everything,” Bryn replied.

“He told you, didn’t he?”

“After we shared a bottle of
Appleton Estate, yes,” Bryn admitted. “You should have seen him today; he
looked like shit.”

“What?” I couldn’t imagine
Nicolaas looking anything short of perfection.

“He looked like shit,” Bryn
repeated. “What do they say in those horrid novels that you girls like to
read?”

“I wouldn’t know, Bryn. I
don’t read those kinds of books.”

“I remember! His eyes, black
as death, announced that he had lost his zest for life.”

I dug my fingers deeper into
the sand and replied, “Nothing a good fuck won’t fix.”

“Do you really want him to
make
love
to someone else?” Bryn gasped.

“I never said anything about
making love.”

“Because you only want him to
do it with you, right?”

“Yes,” I replied. The words
were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Bryn always knew how to get
the truth out of me. It was no wonder that he and Nicolaas were related.

“Quit while you’re ahead,
Bryn.” I warned.

“Where are you? I can arrange
to have a villa booked for the two of you and fly him out. If you’re good, I
may even toss in some strawberries and champagne.”

“I said that you were to quit
while you are ahead.”

“Fine. Sit there alone on the
beach when you know that you should be frolicking on the sand with the man that
you love.”

“Why aren’t you off frolicking
with Anjali?” I asked. It was time to change the subject.

“Because she’s like you and
chooses to run away and play the ass instead of swallowing her pride and doing
what needs to be done.”

“Don’t give up, Bryn. She’ll
come around.”

“I know. But until then, I’ll be
sitting here with my cock up to my belly and watching as it turns blue at an
alarming rate.”

I laughed so hard that I had
to wipe away the tears from my eyes. I would never find anyone like Bryn.

“Look, let’s be serious for a
second, yeah?” Bryn said. “You have a problem. Nicolaas is in love with you,
you’re in love with him, and yet you’re running around like a chicken without a
head. What are you going to do about it? Running away isn’t going to make your feelings
go away any faster.”

“I’m not going to do
anything,” I replied. A turtle was waddling up shore.

“Why the fuck not?” Bryn
demanded.

“Because it’s too late for me,
Bryn,” I replied. “So stop trying to save me.”

“You know what your problem
is?” Bryn said. He didn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. “You don’t
want to live; you’re happy just existing. As much as I love you, Noira, I’m not
going to sit around and watch you fuck up your life. Call me when you’re ready
to grow up.”

I jumped, burnt by the
cigarette that fell from my mouth, as Bryn’s voice was replaced by a faint
click.

*~*

After a week of avoiding each
other, somehow my mother, my sisters and I had managed to be in the living room
at the same time. Cienna was on her laptop, and Maman and Camelea were reading.
Philippe was making business calls to China on the veranda. I opened my
sketchpad, prepared to sketch Maman, when I noticed something.

"
Maman
, why
are you wearing a wig?" I asked.

At
my
école
élémentaire
in Paris
, whenever the noisiest of rooms suddenly became
overcome with unexplainable silence, the nuns would tell us that an angel had
passed through. An angel must have passed through the living room, because the
silence was so sudden, so unexpected and so prolonged. God was tired. Tired of
the arguments. The unexpected surprises. The secrets. The lies. The apathy. The
selfishness. Plain tired. So He sent His angel, knowing that when it passed,
something would stir in us and we would all find a way to be set free. He
worked in mysterious ways all right.

When Maman finally spoke, her
voice was barely above the softest of whispers. “Because my hair fell out.”

"All of it?" Cienna
finally asked.

Maman
shook her head. "No, not all, but
most."

"I want to see it,"
Cienna said.

She was silent as
Maman
removed the wig from her head, but once it was off, we could hear her sudden
intake of breath. Her head was like an old peach with wafts of fuzz tucked
between the crevices.

"What caused this?"
Camelea asked. The air around me was getting hotter by the second.

I rolled my eyes. “I always
wondered if you were stupid, Camelea. Now you’ve confirmed it. Maman left for
Switzerland with her real hair to receive cancer treatment and came home with a
wig. What do you think caused it?”

Camelea spun towards me. I saw
a flash of blue as the vase from the coffee table came hurling towards me.
Instinctively, I jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding it smashing into my
face. When I opened my mouth, it sounded like a wounded bear had stumbled into
our villa. I didn’t realise that I had closed the distance between us until she
was crying beneath me. With every kick, slap and pull of her hair, I let her
have it. God wasn’t the only one that was tired. I was as well.

By the time that Philippe ran
into the room, I had her pinned to the floor and my foot was pressing into her
neck. I didn’t feel anything; I just knew. I knew that I was going to kill her.
I didn’t give a damn about what would happen to me afterwards. The world would
have been a much better place without Saint Camelea. Philippe didn’t share my sentiments
however, and neither did
Maman
.
He pulled me off
Camelea. When I tried to lunge at her,
Maman
was there to hold me
back.

"Je te déteste!"
Camelea
spat. Her face was red as she
struggled against Philippe’s arms.