Page 67 of Your Echo
I stop laughing when he doesn’t join in. “Wait, you went toboarding school? Are you serious? How did I not know this about you?”
He freezes like he’s been caught in a trap and then forces out an unconvincing laugh. “Kidding. Just kidding.”
I don’t take the bait. “Ace...”
The driver pulls up in front of my mom’s building, and I decide to let the subject drop. I buzz us in and then stop walking just a few feet from my mom’s door.
“Just so you don’t feel awkward, I should probably tell you now. My mom is in a wheelchair.”
He blinks. “Oh. When you said health problems, I thought you meant...I don’t know, something else.”
“It’s...hard for me to talk about sometimes, so I usually just say that. Are you...okay?”
He puts a hand on my arm. “Of course. I’m excited to meet the woman who gifted the world with your existence.”
I make a face. “Please don’t ever say that again.”
I knock once and then pull the door open.Mamanis already making her way over to us, calling me a bunch of embarrassing names in French. I’m about to ask her to switch to English for Ace when he introduces himself in his perfectly enunciatedfran?ais. There’s something aristocratic about the way he speaks the language. He uses Montreal slang, but his pronunciation is more European than Québécois.
Boarding school would explain that.
I shake the thought away. I’ll force him into telling me about it once we leave.
I’ve never brought a guy home before, soMamancan’t tell that on the surface, Ace looks just like the kinds of guys I used to get mixed up with in my teens and at the start of my twenties. Still, she seems wary, and Ace is so nervous I can see the slick sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. We sit in the living room while the casseroleMamanmade finishes cooking, making awkward small talk.
“Stéphanie told me you’re in a band.”Mamangives me a pointed look. “She didn’t have time to tell me much else about you because I only found out she’s been seeing youthree hours ago.”
“Voyons, maman.” I wave my hands at her. “Don’t make Ace feel weird.”
She turns back to him. “What is your band called?”
“Sherbrooke Station,” Ace answers.
Ace and I are both completely taken aback when her eyes light up and she starts clapping her hands with excitement.
“Vraiment? Really? You’re in Sherbrooke Station?”
“I’m the singer and the guitarist,” Ace tells her, looking as bemused as I feel.
“Maman,you know who Sherbrooke Station is?”
She gives an unimpressed sigh. “I may be yourmaman, Stéphanie, but I’m not an old lady. Everyone in Montreal knows who Sherbrooke Station is. Iadoreyour first album.”
She moves herself over to a box of CDs beside the couch and digs around before pulling out a Sherbrooke Station album whose cover art I recognize. Molly has a poster of it on her bedroom wall.
“Will you sign this for me?”
Things lighten up after that. By the time we’ve finished dessert, my mom is humming to the sound of Ace’s voice on her CD player and demanding that he tell her what every song is ‘really’ about. He puts up with it like a trooper. I can see him fighting not to laugh at the way her heavy accent sounds when she sings along with one of the choruses.
Eventually,Mamangathers up all the dishes and ignores our offers to help. Ace grabs my hand while she’s busy in the kitchen and traces his thumb over my knuckles.
“I think she likes you,” I whisper.
“Thank god for Sherbrooke Station,” he whispers back.
“Well,mes chéries,”Mamanannounces when she comes back into the living room, “I’d ask if you want a tea or coffee, but I have a late shift tonight.”
She nods toward her laptop and headset. Ace and I get to our feet.
