Page 45 of Heathens
We get off the RER A thirty minutes later. Saint-Germain-en-Laye—the last stop and the town I grew up in. It’s one of the nicer suburbs. Tree-lined streets, a big football culture, a quintessential French village center... it has everything you want in a suburb. The Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye attracts the tourists, and the nineteen-kilometer commute into Paris attracts the residents.
“We should’ve brought wine or something,” Lily says nervously, pulling her shirt down and giving me an irritated look.
“It’s fine. And stop playing with your shirt.” I stop walking once we’re out of the station, taking her hands in mine. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re exquisite. What you wear... it doesn’t matter.”
I enjoy the flush that spreads across her chest and up her neck. I like that my words do that to her.
“You’re different today,” she muses, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I compliment you, and you ask me if I'm okay?“ I ask, amused. I squeeze her hands. “I'm fine. Tonight, I just want to enjoy myself.“
Her lips twitch into a smile. “Okay.”
We walk hand-in-hand through the city center, and I give her the grand tour, pointing out my childhood haunts. I briefly introduce her to the owners of my favorite bakery and butcher, and then we meander up the main road to where my father lives in the house we grew up in.
“It’s cute,” Lily says, looking around. “It doesn’t feel like we’re near Paris—it feels like we’re in the countryside or something.” Her cheeks are flushed from the walk and the hot afternoon sun, and the hair around her face has started to curl from the humidity. “Did you like growing up here?”
I nod. “I did. It was idyllic. Until my mother died, I was a relatively happy person.” I pause. “I took a lot of things for granted back then.”
“I know what you mean,” she replies, giving me a sad smile. A smile I recognize all too well.
“I know you do,” I murmur, letting my eyes study her unabashedly. She moves so gracefully, like her body is oil and the air is water, slithering and rolling in an unemulsified state.
We round the familiar corner and enter the residential quarter, where the townhouses are three or four stories tall and about as wide as a car. Each house is a different shade of pastel—there are even rules about which colors you can use—and our house happened to be painted light yellow.
Easter yellow, my mother used to call it.
“Here we are,” I say, pushing the black gate open. Lily looks around in awe but doesn’t say anything. I use the iron knocker as I realize I forgot my keys on the desk of the church in my hurried state. I’ll have to go back later tonight.
Felix answers the door. His smile quirks to the side as he assesses me, and then as his eyes fall to Lily, something nefarious enters his expression.
“Well, well, well... hello, brother.” He doesn’t even look at me as he continues in English. “And who is this gorgeous, young thing?”
I want to roll my eyes. “Felix, this is Lily. Lily, meet Felix.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says, her voice confident. She reaches out a hand, and he bends to kiss it.
“Enchanté,” he replies, giving her hand a slow kiss. “Henry is going to eat you up,” he quips, reaching out for her and pulling her inside. “Henry! We have company!“ Felix pulls her away, and as she smiles at me from over her shoulder, I give her a thumbs up.
Felix introduces her to Henry, his boyfriend. Killian and Anna are next, gushing over her and practically ignoring me. My nieces are running around in the back yard—Amelie and Agatha—and my father is at his usual place in the kitchen, ignoring everyone until dinner is ready.
“And how do you know our darling Salem?” Henry asks, quirking an eyebrow at me over Felix’s shoulder.
“Okay, enough with the inquisition,” I retort, taking my place in the living room circle. Felix hands me a glass of water from the bar—they’re all drinking red wine. I ignore the look Killian gives his wife as they inspect Lily and then myself, presumably making assumptions and signing to each other.
“We’re... friends,” Lily says quickly, widening her eyes and giving me a look that says,what the hell do I tell them?
“Like hell you are,” Felix replies, winking at me. He and I look the most like Mom—brown hair, blue eyes. Felix has a couple of inches on me though, and he’s lankier. “I could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife.”
“Felix,” I warn, looking to Henry for help.
“That’s enough, ‘Lix,” Henry admonishes. His ebony face lights up. “Though I think you’re in the wrong profession to be bringing women home, Salem.”
I can’t help but smile. “Maybe so.”
“I swear we’re just friends,” Lily says, her voice strained and breathless.
“Mmm. Sure.“ Felix looks at Killian and begins to sign to him. I walk to stand next to Lily. Her eyes scan the warm living room—the gray, velvet couch, the red Persian rug, and lots of light oak wood. Dad's cooking something fragrant in the kitchen, and the sliding glass door to the backyard is open, letting in the early evening light.
