Page 4

Mathéo

Five years old

“What color would you like?”

Chloé points to her large selection of different nail polishes. They are so beautifully colorful. And some even have glitter! I don’t know how to decide.

“Do I have to choose one color, or can I pick different ones?”

“Choose what you want.”

Wow! I choose purple, gold and dark green with glitter. It looks so pretty and the glitter sparkles in the sun. I’d love to have a big sister, like Tom does. But I don’t have any siblings. It’s just the three of us at home, Maman, Papa and me. I can hardly wait to show my parents my fingernails. And the other kids at kindergarten.

“Maman! Papa! Look what I’ve got!” I proudly put my hands up so that they can see better. “Chloé did it and I was allowed to pick the colors myself...”

“Have you lost your mind?! Are you completely stupid?” Papa is loud and angry. “MY son doesn’t wear nail polish! You are a man! Men don’t walk around like girls! Get rid of that!”

“But I wanted to go to kindergarten tomorrow...!” Tears well up in my eyes.

“IMMEDIATELY! You’re not leaving the house like that and stop crying! Not only do you walk around like a girl, you also behave like one! You’re making a fool of me in front of everyone! Is that the gratitude I get for supporting you?”

I cry silently. I don’t really understand what I’m supposed to be grateful for, but I don’t dare ask.

“Remove this!” Now he’s shouting at Maman. She quickly takes my hand and pulls me into the bathroom, not saying a word as she removes the nail polish with quick fingers. She doesn’t look at me either. There are no more tears, but my lower lip is still trembling.

***

Is it that? Do I want more than just sex? Do I want more than what I’ve been doing for the last twelve years? I have no idea. All I know is that I no longer want to do what I’ve been doing lately. It’s lost its appeal, it bores me.

Micki feels different, new, and exciting. She’s quick and witty, doesn’t mince her words and isn’t afraid of what I might think about her. She doesn’t want to please me, she’s her own person and that’s exactly what I want. Perhaps I am looking for something that isn’t only about sex.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never done that before ...”

“What have you never done before?”

“More than sex ...” Reading that feels...superficial, cold. Am I superficial and cold?

“You’ve never been in a relationship?”

“I sometimes have women I meet up with regularly. But it’s all about sex. At least for me. None of them stay in my mind any longer like you have; I don’t think about any of them when I’m not with them.” That sounds shitty and doesn’t really speak for my character, but I don’t want to lie to her.

“So you basically don’t care who you’re fucking, as long as you have sex?”

Phew, that’s straightforward and no, that sounds wrong, it’s not like that. I feel the need to explain it to Micki, even if I can’t really grasp it myself. “I like sex. I love those five minutes afterwards when my head is completely empty, and I don’t have to think about anything. And I do care who I’m sleeping with, but I don’t have any feelings for the person. There’s…” Oh God, that sounds so stupid. Nevertheless, I find myself finishing the message. I don’t even know why. “... never been a connection.”

“And that’s what you want? A connection?” Micki answers quickly and yes, I think that’s what I want.

***

“How old are you?” My cell phone lights up with the question. I am surprised. I haven’t heard from her for three days after my last answer. Maybe my “Yes” has put her off, or maybe she’s not looking for what I want. That’s okay. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last few days. Even if it… hurt? Shit.

And now she’s texting. Why?

“Why are you asking that now?”

“I’m not what you’re looking for. But I am curious.”

Why not? How would she know? I have to swallow, and it stings in my chest. Doesn’t she want a relationship? Or does she not want one with someone like me, who has a reputation for being callous? Or does Micki think she’s not my type?

I’ve spent a lot of time on her Instagram profile over the last two days. Yes, she is different. She’s feminine, sexy, playful, and beautiful. But she’s also tomboyish, sporty, and crazy. And just as beautiful with the same sparkle in her deep brown eyes in all her pictures. My heart skips a beat when I think of her. That’s new ... different. Something I didn’t know I’d have in me.

“27.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I graduated in Business Administration and work in my father’s company. I’ve been managing the company site in Dijon since I finished my Master’s degree.”

“That’s amazing! A management position at not even 30! Dream job?”

I snort and shake my head as I read her words.

“No. I had no choice. But at least in Dijon I’m nowhere near my father.” I’ve never said that out loud before, but it’s true. “What do you do?”

“I’m a physical therapist. I went to school after my A-levels, now I work in a practice that specializes in the aftercare of sports injuries. And yes, definitely a dream job.”

In my head, I see her gripping a leg tightly with her long, slender fingers to mobilize it.

“Why are you so fluent in French?”

“My French already was really good at school. After graduating, I worked in a practice in Strasbourg for a year.”

We write back and forth for almost two hours. It’s entertaining and when I look at my watch, I’m shocked. The time has gone by so quickly.

***

What should I do? I haven’t heard from Micki for a week. Is that a long time? Or is that completely normal and I’m just being clingy? It feels very long.

Usually try to not exchange numbers because I really don’t want any woman to get in touch with me. Usually I manage to disappear quickly enough and if not, I simply ignore the calls.

The way I’m doing it right now with what feels like the 473rd call from Danielle. She has never been like this, but ever since I told her we weren’t going to see each other anymore, she’s been blowing up my phone. I feel sorry for her, honestly, but I don’t want anything from her. Not even sex anymore.

After our night texting, I sent Micki my phone number via Instagram. I’ve been waiting ever since. Impatiently. Did I say something wrong last time? I was just being honest, was it too much? Maybe she’s afraid of being just one of many for me. That would be understandable, but it doesn’t feel like that.

To be honest, when I think about Micki I don’t think about all the things we could do in bed. I see her eyes and I feel like she can see right through me. I see my hand in her curls and on her hip. Her hand on my cheek and her short fingernails in my three-day stubble.

I drop my head on my desk a little too fast. Damn it ... what am I doing here?