"What is love in this temporal life, if not just a distraction from the pain that doesn't seem to end."
After losing his best friend to an unexplained suicide, Mateu finds himself left to pick up the pieces with his best friend's younger brother, Fe...
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I don't know what it was that I saw, but I also didn't know how to feel about it. I really didn't. The drive up to Fontaine de Vaucluse wasn't as tense as before, so I guess the cat really helped Momo and Ferran relax. Sure, they weren't talking much but the suffocating atmosphere was no longer there. Ferran leaned back, tilting his head as he looked out of the window to the bare vineyards lining the sides of the road. Momo was just using his phone, occasionally looking up and meeting my eye in the rear view mirror. They both seemed relaxed. I guess I was the only one that remained tense.
And I didn't know if I even had the right to feel that way. It wasn't like I was angered or jealous, but I just felt very strange when I witnessed the scene unfolding in front of me. It was just unsettling. I didn't really want to think about it, so I just set my mind to the road.
We drove through the meandering roads, past the stone houses with terracotta roofs, fallow fields and pollarded plane trees. Soon enough, we eventually reached the little village right at the end of the road. I decided to park the car somewhere on the outskirts. As we got out of the car, Momo headed over to the boot to take out Ferran's luggage bag.
Ferran walked up to him to receive it, but he could barely look him in the eye. As the boy pulled out the handle on his luggage bag, I noticed Momo brushing his hand against his. I went over to them, picking up the duffel bag Momo and I had brought along with us, clearing my throat as I did. Momo ignored me.
The village was idyllic, nestled in a valley deep in the hills. It was only March, so there weren't as many people as there would be in the hot summer months. The plane trees grew taller than the buildings, the branches stripped of their leaves reaching upwards towards the clear blue sky. But the first few buds of spring had begun to appear, their fresh bright green a contrast to the dullness of the bark. We walked past the post office and boulangerie, reaching a small roundabout with a colonnade in the middle of town, surrounded by cafes and artisanal shops. I could imagine how wonderful this place must be in its full glory in summer. Our small hotel was nearby, where we had booked two rooms – one for Ferran, and one for Momo and I.
It was in that room where I finally had time alone again with Momo. We were just unpacking and preparing for the things we were to do that afternoon – walking around and exploring the village, before heading down the riverside and having a picnic by the water. Of course, Amélie had done so in the summer, so she had the shade of the green canopy and was able to take a dip in the water, but spring has barely arrived, so the greenery wasn't going to be as lush. But springtime had its own brand of beauty. But as excited as I was about the picnic, I still couldn't really process what I saw earlier at the rest stop.
Momo noticed me looking at him as he took out our clothes from the bag, and he gave a me a knowing smile.
"Go ahead," he said nonchalantly. "You want to ask me what I think of him."
"Yeah," I muttered, shoving my hands in my pockets as I leaned against the side of the bed.
Somehow, even then, his tone already pissed me off. How nonchalant he was, talking about it like it was nothing, like he knew it all. It almost felt like he just needed an excuse to talk.
