Double Twenty

Chapter 15 - Wonderwall (Oasis)

"The truth is like the sun. It makes everything visible but cannot be looked at." – Victor Hugo

Matthieu waits until Victoria is far enough away to open his flip phone. Fifteen missed calls: twelve from his mother, one from Omer, one from Ben, and an unknown number. Reluctantly, he calls his mother back. Whether it's 1997 or 2024, he unfortunately knows what to expect. "You're calling back now? I've been worried sick, and tomorrow we're having dinner with your father, and where are you? What are you doing and with whom? I almost called the police," Matthieu sighs, exasperated by this inquisition. "It's barely 6:30 PM, I was in class all day. Everything is fine. My battery is low. Good evening. See you tomorrow." No need to elaborate or argue. He's no longer twenty but forty-seven. There's no way he's getting dragged into the old emotional blackmail tactics his mother practices so well, but which he's endured far too much in his life. Change is now! However, he has a real practical problem. He has a bank card but no way to remember the PIN. Contactless payment probably hasn't been invented yet. In hindsight, this past is a third-world country! He wasn't going to return to Victoria empty-handed, no way. He rummages through his backpack. Front pocket, 50 francs, in his jacket, 100 francs. He starts to scare himself. Okay, he's never been a wallet enthusiast, but scattering money like this... he would have loved to catch his younger self and give him a life lesson. He shakes his cornucopia Eastpak and finds two five-franc coins and a ten-franc coin. In seconds, he has amassed nearly 200 francs... the kind of miraculous discovery impossible since the euro came into being. Another positive point, Matthieu remembers where to shop. People like him, who lack a sense of direction, must memorize landmarks, and this Franprix is one of them. It probably didn't interest him back then, but the medium-sized store is surrounded by all kinds of food shops. Even better! Being a fine cook, he already has the menu in mind. Appetizer: salmon tartare (shallots, dill, lemon juice, olive oil, crème fraîche for softness). Fresh, light, and full of flavors. Main course: saltimbocca alla romana with confit tomatoes (very thin veal cutlets, Parma ham, fresh sage, dry white wine, butter, olive oil, salt, and pepper), delicious. Dessert: classic tiramisu (mascarpone, biscuits soaked in coffee, sprinkled with cocoa), perfect. Nothing overly complicated or likely to displease Victoria. The prices are definitely not the same as in 2024. It cost him barely 30 euros, including wine, with bags for storing groceries thrown in. He silently curses his current era and its prohibitive cost of living. He is also surprised by the placidity of the customers, or even the passersby who seem much less on edge, except for one guy at the corner of the street, a good-looking undercover cop who chain-smokes, their eyes meet for a moment, but he doesn't move. In any case, he is in an ultra-favorable dynamic, Victoria's street is just a few steps away. He punches in the entry code and then rings the intercom, "Yes?" "Good evening madam, Paul Bocuse at your service." "Mr. Bocuse, second floor!" Victoria closes the door behind Matthieu, his arms loaded with groceries. He doesn't remember how the apartment is laid out, but Victoria leads the way to the kitchen, trying in vain to relieve him of his burden, which he refuses out of courtesy and habit. The kitchen is as immaculate as it is well-equipped. He hopes to find in the cupboards and fridge the few missing ingredients. He places the bags on the large countertop, removes his jacket and backpack. Victoria grabs them this time to store them in the entry closet. He appreciates her new outfit matching his, simple but perfectly highlighting her, and immediately compliments her in song, "Could you be the most beautiful girl in the world?" He hopes she heard, the apartment must be nearly 200 square meters. Her smile proves she got the message, but she prefers to keep playing innocent and joins him in the kitchen as if nothing happened. Matthieu refrains from repeating himself. He occupies the kitchen space with disconcerting ease. "What's on tonight's menu, chef?" Victoria, half-serious, half-amused, is amazed. He has transformed. "My dear, I hope you will appreciate the boldness of my choices, starting with a salmon tartare we shall call 'Delight of the Sea with Gentle Flavors,' if you wish. As the main course, our signature dish, 'Matteo's Saltimbocca,' and finally for dessert, to continue or rather end on an Italian note, a Tiramisu, 'Il Tiramisù della Casa Victoria.'" She claps enthusiastically, bouncing on the spot, repeating over and over, "So great, so great, so great." "Now that the menu is settled, I will need you, and this is crucial, to ensure first that I don't get dehydrated, and secondly to help with the preparation, if you think you're capable, of course?" "Yes, chef," "I can't hear you?" "Yessss, chef." She salutes him like a soldier, and he moves on to the tiramisu, which is made with military precision before being placed in the American fridge. Meanwhile, Victoria, with palpable enthusiasm, fills two glasses of white wine she has carefully chosen from her father's cellar to accompany the appetizer. "This light and fruity wine will pair perfectly with the salmon," she says in an expert voice. Matthieu pretends to taste it like an oenologist, brings the glass to his lips, "Perfetto, excellent choice, grazie mille!" Victoria nods and attacks the chopping with a dexterity that surprises Matthieu. She laughs softly, "I have some hidden culinary talents, you know." As they work side by side, Matthieu guides the process. Victoria, impressed by the simplicity and elegance of the appetizer, hurries to plate the tartare and put the dishes in the fridge as well. "It really looks as good as in a starred restaurant!" "Such praise, but you haven't seen or tasted anything yet!" jokes Matthieu. They then move on to the main course. Matthieu, who is used to making the recipe, executes it in record time. "Aren't you too hungry?" She nods. Everything is fine. Victoria helps him prepare everything, moving from laughter to more serious exchanges about their lives and expectations. The moment is intimate, almost magical. Although focused, he suddenly realizes he has a new life ahead of him, unlike the previous day with Julien. How could he have even imagined such a scenario? He caresses the countertop on which he just cooked, which must be the size of his living room. Will he tell her about his journey? He is well aware he is completely different from the Matthieu she knows and that this will only become more pronounced.

They move to the living room, where Victoria has placed their glasses of white wine on the coffee table, along with small bowls filled with snacks. "Wait, I'll be right back!" Victoria runs to her room and brings back an audio cassette labeled Victoria. "I hope you don't mind, I saw it in your bag last time and I was so curious to know what it was." Matthieu obviously doesn't know about this recording. Is it a simple mixtape? What kind? Or something else? He panics. "Before we listen to it, I have something to tell you." She looks at him attentively, "I wasn't robbed last night, I'm sorry I lied." She takes on an angry look. "Matthieu, how could you?" he turns pale. Then she laughs, proud of herself. "Did you really think I believed that story? Between Benoit looking out of it and Omer being half doubled over. I admit your delivery was credible, but the story itself, not at all. I was just waiting to see when and how you'd tell me the truth." Matthieu breathes a sigh of relief. "There's something else too," he doesn't know exactly what he wants or can reveal, but he needs to tell her. "Something really happened last night," he drinks a sip of wine to gather his courage. "I don't know exactly what it is, or how it happened, but it's like my mind is different, still mine, but older, with more knowledge and experience." "Yes, I noticed that, and it's what I like too," "Yes, but much older and with premonitory dreams, well I don't know, it's all new, I hope it's not Alzheimer's." She laughs, "No, I don't think so, it's called Alzheimer's, and I feel out of sync between my age and my thoughts too. It's the lot of those who have to grow up faster." "Yes, you're probably right," he intuitively feels he shouldn't say more. Telling her that just yesterday at the same time he was in 2024, in Bordeaux, would at best make him seem crazy, at worst scare her away, and he doesn't want that at all. "Must have been love, but it's over now, lay a whisper on my pillow, leave the winter on the ground," Roxette, the first song on the tape. She moves closer to him. He rolls his eyes, "Ouch, it starts strong musically, I hope you like sappy songs?" "Put your glass down." She nestles in his arms and kisses him. Beyond their bodies, they unite their souls, their past-present and future spirits. In sync with their gestures, their desires, their senses sharpened by the desire to give and receive, not seeking a fleeting reward but rather finding in their bodies the ultimate fulfillment, the one, the all. Throughout time, poets have vainly tried to describe human alchemy, transforming lead into gold, yet there is nothing magical or supernatural in their act, just the right people, at the right time. The ideal meeting of the just and the true. They don't need to rush. Time becomes their intimate accomplice. Love, thy will be done, knocking on heaven's door, the soundtrack of their sacred union, tries to capture their moment, but it's too late, they already belong to each other. Wordlessly, without embarrassment, they resume the thread of life. A life that could have been shared. But it will never happen. Neither could have predicted it at this moment.