Four Years Later
By Line Talla
“Marie-Claire? Is that you?”
Marie-Claire took in a sharp breath and felt gravity pull her to the ground. That voice, after all these years, still had a way of stopping her in her tracks. Four years ago, she would have crumbled, but today she let herself be swept away by that baritone sound.
Who would have thought that after everything, they would meet again in a supermarket in downtown Boston? The shopping basket in her hand somehow felt heavier but the number of items remained the same: a large can of diced tomatoes and a few cloves of garlic. The rhythm of her heart began pulsating in her ears. She turned around and tried to smile as best she could.
“Christophe,” she managed to say, her voice dragging as she pronounced that last syllable. “Hi. Wow. Hi.”
Christophe stood there, in the flesh, his face the same as she remembered it. One look at him and their entire relationship flashed before her eyes. From the first hello to the last goodbye. Christophe had managed to maintain his boy-ish looks. He had always been so strikingly handsome. Teeth as white and straight as a movie star’s. Skin a deep brown that when the sun hits in just the right places, there is no denying that he was one of God’s favorites. His eyes had remained soft, and got softer when he smiled. Back then he sported a nose ring, but it was gone now.
“What are you doing here? I heard you were living in New York now. That’s amazing!” There was amusement in Christophe’s voice. Marie-Claire felt a flutter in her stomach. Was he keeping tabs on her? She knew it was unlikely—the most probable answer being that their mothers still ran in the same circles, and she knew how much her mom liked to brag. Even the fact that she and Christophe followed each other on social media completely escaped her mind. For just a millisecond, she wanted to believe that he kept up with her life.
“MC?” Christophe called out to her, snapping her out of her trance. She had forgotten how sweet that nickname sounded coming out of his mouth. No one else calls her MC; he’d always been the only one, so hearing him say it again after so long sweetened the air. “What brings you to Boston?”
“Oh, well, you know,” she said, stammering. “It’s my mother’s birthday this weekend and she’s throwing herself another one of her big parties.” Marie-Claire rolled her eyes at the thought of her mother’s annual antics.
“Ah, yes, yes,” Christophe recalled, shifting between his left and right feet. He, too, was a little nervous. “Her actual birthday is this Saturday, right? I remember the one year I flew back with you for her birthday weekend and she’d brought in that dance group all the way from Cameroon. That’s when I knew she did not mess around. She’ll always go all out.”
They both laughed at the shared memory. That year was the first time Marie-Claire had brought a guy home and to her surprise, Christophe didn’t seem fazed at all, even when her aunties spent the entire night interrogating him.
“Yeah, it was definitely something.” She cleared her throat and glanced over, finally noticing the child sitting at the front of Christophe’s shopping cart eating pretzels. Marie-Claire had seen the photos of his wedding on Facebook but seeing the product of that marriage was bittersweet; there was one point in time where she thought she would be in that position with him. Christophe noticed how she was looking at his son.
“Oh, my bad! This little man right here is Kobe.” Christophe picked his son up from his seat so he could face Marie-Claire. “Kobe, say hello to my friend, MC.” Kobe waved and giggled as he wrestled out of his father’s arms to hide behind his legs. The little boy was a carbon copy of Christophe. Marie-Claire couldn’t help but smile down at him and wave back.
“My wife, Sylvie, sent us here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight and somehow most of the things in this cart are Kobe’s.”
Marie-Claire raised her eyebrows and made a noise. She thought it was a little funny that he felt like he had to remind her who his wife was. A moment of discomfort lingered between them, Kobe completely oblivious to what was transpiring between his father and this stranger. Marie-Claire gripped onto the basket handle a little tighter. Her hands were sweaty.
“Well, I have to get back,” she said, breaking the tension. “I told mom I’d be back home in time to cook with her tonight.”
Christophe just looked at her. He was half surprised she hadn’t tried to leave much earlier.
“It was really great seeing you again, though,” she continued.
“You too.” Christophe placed Kobe back in his seat. “I wish I had known you would be in town. I would have invited you over to our place for dinner.”
“Yeah, well next time,” Marie-Claire responded, her voice just a tad bit higher than a whisper.
Christophe chuckled. He knew her well enough to know that she had only said that to be polite. Even after all these years, he could still read her.
“Yeah, next time,” he said. Kobe grabbed onto his shirt and whimpered. “Please wish your mom a happy birthday from me, okay?”
Marie-Claire smiled and said she would. She waved one last time before heading towards the dairy aisle. She could feel his eyes on her as she took a left turn. When she was out of sight, Marie-Claire closed her eyes and only then did she realize that she had dug her nails so deep into her palms that her hand had gone numb.
Line Talla is a Cameroonian writer currently based in New York.
- All rights to this story remain with the author. Please do not repost or reproduce this material without permission.
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