Safe as Houses

The Idea of Marcel

2 1 It had been three months since the breakup, and Emily was reclaiming relationship landmarks. She arranged to meet her date at what had been her and Marcel’s second favorite café. The forecast was rain. A pear-colored umbrella hung over the chair where Emily sat wearing a pear-colored skirt, drinking water, and watching two birds chase each other on a tree outside. It was a pursuit whose rules seemed to change at the end of each branch, when with short, pointed bleats the birds would halt and reverse, the chaser becoming the chased. Next to her, a voice said, “Emily.” She was still looking out the window, so it was to his reflection that she bid hello before turning to the actual man. The Idea of Marcel 2 2 T h e I d e a o f M a r c e l He held out a sleeve of daffodils. “These reminded me of you,” he said. “Cheerful.” “Marcel.” She placed her nose amidst the yellow heads and breathed. “How considerate and thoughtful.” He was not wearing jeans. She looked at his pants where normally his cell phone perched like a glowing, dinging hip. “No phone?” He pulled his suit jacket aside to reveal an unencumbered waistline. “I left it at work. Answering your phone at the table is classless.” He sat down. “Tell me about your day. Leave nothing out. Did you interview anyone who reminded you of a childhood memory you’d like to share?” Emily was a writer for Clef, a magazine for classical music aficionados . She had spent the day learning how a cello is made. “Not unless I was a cello when I was young.” Marcel’s smile cracked. “I don’t follow.” “A joke,” she said. “Fascinating.” Thewaiterappeared.Marceldidnotrushtoorderforhimselfbut instead motioned to Emily. “What would you like, buttercup?” She ordered quiche. He said what a great idea quiche was; then he ordered quiche. Emily slid her hands over her head to smooth any stray hairs. “You’ve never called me buttercup.” “Another realization: You are bright. Like a buttercup.” His smile opened. Not a grin, not biting. “I’ve decided to cut down my hours at the gallery. My job has made me careless and impatient. I would have been a better boyfriend had I considered you more. I looked in the mirror, buttercup, and I didn’t like what I saw. Do you think it’s possible to self-renovate? To self-correct?” “Golly,” said Emily. “How I do.” This Marcel did not put his hand between her legs. He did not glare at the family seated next to them, whose child had climbed onto the windowsill to yell, “Water!” and “Gladys!” The quiche came. They ate the quiche. They made comments to each other about the quiche as they ate it. He said, “Let’s have a farm of children.” Emily’s mouth was full. “Load me up.” “I’ll commute to the gallery. You’ll tend our brood. We’ll have Corgi Terriers. A farm of children and Corgis.” T h e I d e a o f M a r c e l 23 Emily paused, midchew. “You said people today use their dogs like designer handbags.” “I’ve been too judgmental about people and their dogs.” Emily stabbed her quiche. “Food for thought, I guess.” A woman passing their table said, “Emily?” It was Willa, a childhood friend. She beamed at Emily and then, noticing Marcel, blinked several times in shock. “What are the two of you doing here? Marcel, are you wearing a suit?” Emily cleared her throat. “What brings you here?” “Dropping off a table.” “Another Willa gem, I’m sure,” said Marcel. “Someday you will teach me to restore furniture. Stripping an old bureau to uncover its original wood sounds like heaven.” Willa looked confused. “You said it was glorified trash picking.” Emily laughed. The child at the table next to them yelled, “Gladys!” Willa said, “That kid must be driving you batty, Marcel.” “On the contrary. Emily and I were discussing the farm of children we want to have.” “Children?” said Willa. Marcel said, “And Corgis.” “Corgis?” Willa’s eyebrow jolted toward the ceiling. She turned to Emily. “Come see my table.” “I don’t want to leave Marcel.” “Buttercup. See the table.” Emily followed her friend to the empty dining room in the back. When they were out of earshot, Willa turned and in a calm voice said, “Who...