I never imagined that my friend’s ability to speak French fluently would lead me to find a startling piece of my family’s past when I brought him over for a casual visit. My father was speaking informally in the language, but it was evident from his abrupt response that there was more to the story. What started out as a straightforward get-together soon turned into the disclosure of long-kept family secrets, for which none of us had prepared.
While his wife Camille and her parents were visiting from France, Chad called his friend Nolan over to keep him company and practice their French. Chad was shocked to learn that Nolan could also speak French fluently as they sat down to eat. What was supposed to be a relaxed evening became a moment full of surprise revelations when Nolan abruptly disclosed a private family secret during the chat.
Camille, my partner, is the epitome of everything that is French. Since our undergraduate years, when she was an exchange student studying international politics, we have been inseparable. The French parents of Camille come to visit us twice a year. I’ve been exposed to the language, but I’ve only picked up a few oddball French idioms.
I know very little about French food, except for mon chéri and a few other meals. My in-laws have just been here for four days, but already I feel a little left out when they speak French at dinner.
I so decided to go to supper with my friend Nolan and meet Camille’s parents. That way, I would have someone with whom to converse as well.
Now picture this:
Everyone is enjoying their bouillabaisse while seated at the table. At work, Nolan and I were talking about an audit, while Camille and her parents were happily conversing in French.
Everything appears well, doesn’t it? Untrue.
As we talk about work, Nolan’s complexion becomes remarkably pale, giving him the appearance of a ghost. Then he strikes his elbow sharply at my arm.
“When you get upstairs, look under your bed. “Have faith in me,” he exhorts.
My initial response was to laugh it off since it was so ridiculous. But I could tell by looking into his big eyes that this was no joke.
“Pardon me,” I said to the table. “I’ll return immediately.”
I reluctantly headed for my bedroom, feeling as though I had stepped into a strange French noir film. I scooped Camille’s silver silk robe off the floor and bent to look under the bed.
My heart was racing so fast I thought I might pass out from the stress. Still, there it stood—a single black box.
I pulled open the box with trembling hands, quickly going through its contents for fear that Camille would come seeking for me. I discovered more barely dressed photographs of Camille around the bottom.
My heart started to beat more quickly, and I started to feel terrible.
What have I learned lately? I asked myself several questions.
Everything went dark as I was about to rearrange everything.
A few hours later, I woke up in a medical ward surrounded by empty beds. The bright light continued to shine down on me even after my eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar surroundings and the strong smell of detergent.
“Woah,” I exclaimed, my throat raw.
That’s when I noticed Nolan sitting beside me with his arm resting on his head.
He answered, “You passed out in your bedroom, mate.” “What took place?”
Then I realized everything. My frenzied interest mixed with my racing heart rate from a panic episode behind the bed, Camille’s box.
I opened the box out of curiosity, only to find my own Pandora’s Box inside. I opened it to discover a story of betrayal crafted from sentimental photos of Camille, loving letters to a man named Benoit, and tiny mementos.
It turns out that Camille had lied to others about having an affair.
“You were taking forever,” said Nolan. You were unconscious on the ground when I made the decision to go after you. I closed the box and slid it back under after calling Camille and an ambulance.
“How were you aware of this?” I asked, taking Nolan’s caution into consideration.
“Chad, I studied French my entire high school career,” he answered. “I understand that during their talk, Camille discussed hiding stuff beneath the bed. I’m sorry.
“What happened to Camille?” I asked.
She said she needed to go to the cafeteria and stretch her legs. After that, she went to get coffee.
I sat back and thought about the letters my wife had gotten. I was taken home by Nolan when I was released from the hospital the next day. In addition to bringing me a nutritious drink and telling me that everything was alright, Camille was attentive. But I realized that everything was far from perfect.
That afternoon, I had the record to amend. When I looked at Camille, I was unable to feel the same way I used to.
“I can’t continue in this marriage,” I said to Camille as she handed me some juice.
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“I am aware of the black box beneath the bed.”
Camille turned pale.
“I can clarify,” she jumped up and yelled.
“I saw more than enough, Cami. I don’t think your reasoning would change that.
“Please just listen to it,” she said. “My parents set up the meeting between Benoit and I. They wanted me to date a French person and have kids who are exclusively French.
I looked at her, wondering how she thought I would just sit there and listen.
“So, according to their plan,” she remarked. “I became acquainted with him. And things started to click, and our connection grew.
“What I want is a divorce.” I said, “Immediately,” not wanting to hear anything else.
When Camille got upset, she accused me of watching her and invading her privacy. She threatened not to sign the divorce papers when they arrived, but I reminded her that after what she had done, there was really no love left in our marriage.
“Give me another chance,” she pleaded.
All of it was not what I wanted, though.
Camille contested all provisions of the agreement, including the house and spousal maintenance, during the brief divorce process. She even demanded that I pay for her annual trip to France. I declined everything but the house. In any case, I was tired of being there. My new abode is a bachelor pad that’s closer to my office.
Yes, I do have heartbreak. At least I’m not lying anymore, though. And it feels liberating.
I also want to thank Nolan for being upfront with me and helping me through our divorce.
Now that I’m wondering, is Camille going to end up with Benoit? If so, I’m sure her parents would be ecstatic.
If you had been in my shoes, what would you have done?
