On Monday Sylvain came back early from work as usual for Milo’s basketball training. He made himself a quick sandwich, just to keep himself going until he and Milo finally got to enjoy the dish of the day at the Ranch restaurant.
Moments later, Tiphaine walked into the kitchen. She stood, arms crossed and leaning against the counter, and looked him up and down without a word. There was a softness and weariness in her eyes, a slightly lost expression. A kind of disillusioned affection. A touching vulnerability.
Sylvain stopped chewing, surprised and curious.
“Are you all right?”
Instead of replying, she shrugged, and asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. Increasingly taken aback, Sylvain nodded. “Is everything okay?”
“Why?” she asked, in a tone that managed to sound friendly and irritated at the same time.
“No reason. It’s just been a while since you’ve looked at me without seeming to hate me.”
“Are you surprised?”
“No,” he conceded, almost in a whisper.
They caught each other’s eye briefly, then Tiphaine turned away and focused her attention on making the coffee.
“Is Milo ready?” asked Sylvain as he finished his sandwich.
“He’s getting his stuff together.”
Sylvain looked at his watch and began to clear away the elements of his sandwich-making. He washed up his plate. The atmosphere was unusually calm, serene even; there was no tension or wariness at all. Even the silence didn’t feel pernicious.
Tiphaine took two cups out of a cabinet and poured the coffee. She handed a cup to Sylvain.
“Thank you.”
She nodded as though to say “no worries” and took a sip. The two of them sat there, sipping their coffee, deep in thought. It was an astonishingly peaceable moment, like a parenthesis in the midst of the raging chaos of their lives.
Milo broke the fragile charm of this momentary truce.
He clattered down the stairs with all the grace of a galloping horse and burst into the kitchen with his basketball stuff in a bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m ready!”
“Me too,” said Sylvain, putting his cup in the sink.
“Let’s go.”
Milo turned and went into the hall to put on his jacket.
Sylvain followed and did the same, then they both headed for the front door. Tiphaine came out of the kitchen.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye, Milo?”
“I’ll see you later, won’t I?”
“Maybe not. I’m tired, I think I’ll turn in early.”
Milo leaned toward her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. As he turned to leave she grabbed his arm and pulled him to her. Taken by surprise, he didn’t have the reflex to dodge the embrace, and stiffened imperceptibly.
Tiphaine hugged him tight for a long moment, ignoring his obvious embarrassment, an embarrassment that was all the more visible because he wasn’t hugging her back.
“Tiphaine!” said Sylvain. “We’re going to be late.”
With regret, she loosened the embrace but kept hold of Milo’s arm. He started to leave, but she held him back and looked straight into his eyes with an expression of infinite sadness.
