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October 3, 1991
Oct. 2nd, 2012 03:47 pmMeg is cold.
Not the bone-numbing, can't-feel-your-fingers, air-burns-your-lungs kind of cold that is being outdoors in Montreal in January, but the kind that you get in early October, when buildings' heating systems haven't quite adjusted to the cooler air out of doors, and your toes are a little chilled inside your socks and you wish you'd worn a slightly heavier sweater.
She's also tired. She'd stayed up later than she meant to the night before, watching the Blue Jays clinch their division with a walk-off win over the Angels. And not just tired, but drained. It's been a long, full, busy day, and she's drained.
Her plans, as she turns the corner and heads for her apartment building, are to get home, take a very long and very hot bath, and find the easiest thing in the kitchen for dinner. Alain is out. It's the first Canadiens game of the season tonight, and he's getting together with friends to watch it.
At least, that was plan. But as she opens her front door, she can hear the game not-quite-blaring in the living room.
"Meg," Alain says, getting up from the sofa and coming over to meet her at the door. Behind him, she can see his friends Marc and Henri sitting on the couch.
On the down side, there go her plans for a bath. On the other hand, she can smell the pizza they've ordered, which means dinner is going to be even easier than she had hoped.
Alain leans down to kiss her, briefly, given that they've an audience. "I was just starting to wonder when you'd be back."
"He's been looking at the clock every five minutes for more than half an hour," Henri says, cheerfully.
"Lies," Alain replies, helping Meg out of her coat, though Meg suspects Henri is right about this.
"I thought you were going out," Meg says.
"Marc's tv is broken, so we came here instead." Alain looks over his shoulder at his friends. "You don't mind, do you?"
Meg wonders, for a second, what would happen if she said that she did. People who say you don't mind, do you? are never expecting you to say that you do. But since she doesn't, not really, she just shakes her head. "It's fine. I'm going to steal a slice of your pizza and go read or something," she says, with a slight nod toward their bedroom.
"You don't have to hide in the bedroom, Meg. You can join us."
Meg looks over at Marc and Henri. She likes them -- she likes almost all of Alain's friends, really -- but they're very . . . on. Henri, especially, very much engages people in whatever he's doing, which is in no way a flaw, assuming a person has the energy to be engaged, which Meg just kind of doesn't right now.
On top that, the Canadiens are opening their season by playing the Maple Leafs, which means she'll get cast as a Leafs fan, because she's Alain's Anglo wife from Ontario, despite the fact that her support of the team has never been more than nominal. (They were the "local" team, when she was growing up, so they were her team kind of by default. She's never felt a particular connection to them, or to hockey in general -- that's reserved for the Blue Jays, and baseball. There is also the fact, as her high school boyfriend had once gotten her to admit, that she's oddly bothered by the non-standard plural, even while acknowledging that Toronto Maple Leaves would sound silly, and Alain is waiting for an answer, why is she thinking about Derek, anyway?)
Meg turns her attention back to her husband.
"That's all right," Meg says. "I'll just . . . "
"We want you to," Alain says.
"I don't . . . " Meg says, but can't quite bring herself to say want to. But she doesn't. And it's not a reflection on Marc or Henri, and it's certainly not a reflection on Alain, she just doesn't feel up to socializing right now.
"You're upset," Alain says, frowning and dropping his voice, with a glance over at his friends, whose attention appears to be back on the game. "Do you not want us here?"
"I'm not upset, Alain, I'm just tired. I just want eat something and lie down. So, this is fine. You have your night with the boys, I'll go find out who murdered the senator in my book."
"You're sure?"
"I'm positive."
"I feel bad, though," Alain says. "I haven't seen you all day and now we're both home and I'm ignoring you."
"You're not ignoring me."
Alain studies her face for a second, and Meg finds herself thinking that if she doesn't get out of the entry way to this apartment soon, she's going to scream. And then he nods, though she can tell by looking at him that he doesn't really understand why she doesn't want to watch the game with them.
"If you change your mind," he says.
"I know where to find you."
Not the bone-numbing, can't-feel-your-fingers, air-burns-your-lungs kind of cold that is being outdoors in Montreal in January, but the kind that you get in early October, when buildings' heating systems haven't quite adjusted to the cooler air out of doors, and your toes are a little chilled inside your socks and you wish you'd worn a slightly heavier sweater.
She's also tired. She'd stayed up later than she meant to the night before, watching the Blue Jays clinch their division with a walk-off win over the Angels. And not just tired, but drained. It's been a long, full, busy day, and she's drained.
Her plans, as she turns the corner and heads for her apartment building, are to get home, take a very long and very hot bath, and find the easiest thing in the kitchen for dinner. Alain is out. It's the first Canadiens game of the season tonight, and he's getting together with friends to watch it.
At least, that was plan. But as she opens her front door, she can hear the game not-quite-blaring in the living room.
"Meg," Alain says, getting up from the sofa and coming over to meet her at the door. Behind him, she can see his friends Marc and Henri sitting on the couch.
On the down side, there go her plans for a bath. On the other hand, she can smell the pizza they've ordered, which means dinner is going to be even easier than she had hoped.
Alain leans down to kiss her, briefly, given that they've an audience. "I was just starting to wonder when you'd be back."
"He's been looking at the clock every five minutes for more than half an hour," Henri says, cheerfully.
"Lies," Alain replies, helping Meg out of her coat, though Meg suspects Henri is right about this.
"I thought you were going out," Meg says.
"Marc's tv is broken, so we came here instead." Alain looks over his shoulder at his friends. "You don't mind, do you?"
Meg wonders, for a second, what would happen if she said that she did. People who say you don't mind, do you? are never expecting you to say that you do. But since she doesn't, not really, she just shakes her head. "It's fine. I'm going to steal a slice of your pizza and go read or something," she says, with a slight nod toward their bedroom.
"You don't have to hide in the bedroom, Meg. You can join us."
Meg looks over at Marc and Henri. She likes them -- she likes almost all of Alain's friends, really -- but they're very . . . on. Henri, especially, very much engages people in whatever he's doing, which is in no way a flaw, assuming a person has the energy to be engaged, which Meg just kind of doesn't right now.
On top that, the Canadiens are opening their season by playing the Maple Leafs, which means she'll get cast as a Leafs fan, because she's Alain's Anglo wife from Ontario, despite the fact that her support of the team has never been more than nominal. (They were the "local" team, when she was growing up, so they were her team kind of by default. She's never felt a particular connection to them, or to hockey in general -- that's reserved for the Blue Jays, and baseball. There is also the fact, as her high school boyfriend had once gotten her to admit, that she's oddly bothered by the non-standard plural, even while acknowledging that Toronto Maple Leaves would sound silly, and Alain is waiting for an answer, why is she thinking about Derek, anyway?)
Meg turns her attention back to her husband.
"That's all right," Meg says. "I'll just . . . "
"We want you to," Alain says.
"I don't . . . " Meg says, but can't quite bring herself to say want to. But she doesn't. And it's not a reflection on Marc or Henri, and it's certainly not a reflection on Alain, she just doesn't feel up to socializing right now.
"You're upset," Alain says, frowning and dropping his voice, with a glance over at his friends, whose attention appears to be back on the game. "Do you not want us here?"
"I'm not upset, Alain, I'm just tired. I just want eat something and lie down. So, this is fine. You have your night with the boys, I'll go find out who murdered the senator in my book."
"You're sure?"
"I'm positive."
"I feel bad, though," Alain says. "I haven't seen you all day and now we're both home and I'm ignoring you."
"You're not ignoring me."
Alain studies her face for a second, and Meg finds herself thinking that if she doesn't get out of the entry way to this apartment soon, she's going to scream. And then he nods, though she can tell by looking at him that he doesn't really understand why she doesn't want to watch the game with them.
"If you change your mind," he says.
"I know where to find you."
