“I goddamn hope so!”
Mathilde and Nora had known each other since their mildly reckless student days. They’d plotted their dazzling futures, shared the typical sorrows and joys of that age of promise, sworn to be friends forever. And then they’d lost touch. Mathilde met her first husband, who sent her into exile in the suburbs of Paris. There were rules to being in a couple: girls’ nights out became more and more infrequent, and then Mathilde’s pregnancy finished the friendship off entirely. They saw each other again five years later, quite by chance. Nora, by then pregnant with Inès, and Mathilde, divorced but about to remarry, fell into each other’s arms, swore to see each other again soon. Another four years passed until they reconnected on Mathilde’s initiative: she had just had her second child, and she wanted Nora to be godmother.
Nora was surprised and delighted to accept, and this time the friendship was truly rekindled. They introduced their respective families, and the two couples began inviting each other over regularly. Nora and Gérard succumbed to the charms of the affluent suburb where their friends lived, and a few months later they moved there too. That was where Nassim was born.
The two friends spoke to and saw each other all the time. Mathilde gave birth to her third child, a little girl named Justine, who was now four. Even though she was juggling work and marriage, she was very present during the painful period of her friend’s separation, always there to listen to Nora’s sorrows and anger. She was particularly good not only with supportive words, but also with healing silences.
For Mathilde, too, the evening was life-affirming: it had been too long since they spent such a joyful time together, and to see Nora getting tipsy for a reason other than her misfortunes was a delight.
“Okay, so you’re a kindergarten assistant.” Mathilde giggled as she refilled their glasses. “How about this: a three-year-old kid keeps smacking his little buddies. What do you do?”
“I crush his hand in the door to teach him a lesson,” Nora answered as if it were obvious.
“Excellent!” Mathilde laughed. “How about this, then: a little girl asks you to go with her to the bathroom, except you’re on your own, surrounded by kids, and you can’t leave the classroom.”
“That doesn’t work. I’m the one who’s meant to be helping the teacher with this kind of thing.”
“Let’s say she’s had to leave the classroom for half an hour.”
“Well then, I tell her she has to hold it in.”
Mathilde burst out laughing.
“You’re going to be great, babe. You’re going to be a real hit.”
“You said it.”
“You know what, I’d kill for a joint.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Nope. I haven’t smoked in years. I have this urge suddenly.”
Nora grinned at the memory of getting stoned with Mathilde when they were students; endless late nights filled with delirious laughter.
“Well, we don’t have any weed, anyway,” she said, lifting her shoulders in mock resignation.
“I do,” said a voice from the other side of the hedge.
The two women started with surprise. For a moment they stared at each other, each trying to work out from the other’s expression how to respond.
A figure appeared through the foliage, standing on next door’s deck.
“Hi there!” said Nora, with insincere enthusiasm.
“Hi,” answered Tiphaine.
“Hi!” said Mathilde in turn, suppressing an embarrassed giggle.
“So, will you join me?” asked Tiphaine.
Mathilde and Nora exchanged a glance. Hesitation quickly gave way to excitement, and they acknowledged their assent with perfectly synchronized nods.
“Do you want to come over here, Tiphaine?”
“Oh no! You should come over to my place.”
“All right.”
