Sous Chefs and Art Galleries

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: Tristan/Gwendoline! BiC:

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwen had to practically twist her boss’s arm to let her bring her son to work. “Look,” she had told him in his office, as she often did when he called her in, curious or confused about her latest culinary idea. “He’s a great kid. Well behaved. I can’t leave him at home. Torben’s busy and Leopold gets scared when I’m not there.” She could feel Gabriel’s ear pressed to the door, listening in. “it would mean so much to my family if you would let him stay. Just until he’s adjusted. If something happens, Torben and I will figure something out.” Gwen was practically on her knees, beseeching her boss to see her side. To her relief, he let out an exasperated sigh and threw his glasses down on the desk. He blinked for a hard, long time before opening his small brown eyes and saying “Fine, Gwendoline. But a kitchen is no place for a young child. One injury, one complaint, I am not responsible.”

Giddy, Gwen jumped up and down, clapping. And Leopold had come to work with her since then, sitting on the counter while she baked. Now that Leopold had a very basic grasp of French, Gwen could ask him for ”sucre” or ”farine” and he would hand her ingredients and together they would bake until it was time to put up their aprons and clock out. He would watch the mixers churn, mesmerized and fascinated, and when her boss wasn’t looking, she would dip his little clean fingers into the batter and let him have a taste. They had their silent language and would laugh and joke together as she served up desserts and mixed caramel sauces. She helped her loquacious boy string together sentences and during lunch break, she, Leopold, and Gabriel would dine in the back of the kitchen on wonderful gourmet food that had been left over from the lunch rush. It really was a pity that Torben couldn’t join them for these moments.

Today, she whipped up a meringue and asked Leopold to fetch her “quatre œufs” . She watched him toddle off, wondering if he knew what to do with his arms as he did so, hoping he wouldn’t drop the eggs on the way back. If he did, they would bring the remains back home to Mama who often found a use for Gwen’s left over mistakes from the day.

As she watched Leopold disappear into the refrigerator she turned to share her joy with Gabriel. But her brother was nowhere to be seen. She looked around, scanning the kitchen perceptively, finally finding his black silhouette standing at the back door, arms spread eagle, the sun back lighting him as he blocked out all entry and exit. [/]“Nope! Not the password! Try again!”[/b]

Gwen gave one last glance at Leopold, who seemed to manage the egg cargo extremely well before totting over to her brother, curious as to what he was up to. She squeezed herself under his arm, squinting into the sun, her eyes meeting a familiar pair of icy blue irises.

“Tristan!” she cried out, half happy, half concerned. “What a pleasant surprise! Are you alright?”

But before Tristan could answer, Leopold called out “Daddy!”—he called her ‘Daddy’—“Quatre œufs!”

“Come in, love! Come in!” Then, to Gabriel, “Aren’t you supposed to be covering fish today, silly?”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Sooner or later, Gabriel would drive Tristan nuts. Absolutely crazy. He’d come by La Tour D’Argent to say “hi” to Gwen and Leopold, but Tristan had yet to get through. Gabriel stood in front of him, arms outstretched so that his whole body made a big X and blocked the doorway.

“Password?” Gabriel asked in a drawn out and silly voice.

“Gabriel, move,” Tristan said.

Gwen’s brother didn’t budge. He didn’t even grin. He just stood there motionless for a moment. Tristan took a deep breath.

“Please?”

“Nope! Not the password! Try again!” Gabriel crowed triumphantly.

Tristan almost growled. Almost. This was typical Gabriel. Every time Tristan stopped by the Blau-Fontaine’s and Gabriel was home, it was the older man’s personal mission to aggravate him. There’d been a handful of times when Gabriel had been actually nice to Tristan, but mostly he acted less than half his age and jumped at every opportunity to make a joke at Tristan’s expense. Tristan waited now for the punch line. None came. Instead Gwen’s head popped out from under Gabriel’s arm and she crawled through the gap between Gabriel and the door. Tristan was relieved to see her.

And Gwen looked surprised.

“Tristan!” she cried out. “What a pleasant surprise! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Tristan assured her. “I just wanted to—“

But a little voice – Leopold’s voice – broke Tristan’s concentration as the kid yelled out, “Daddy! Quatre oeufs!”

“Come in, love! Come in!” Gwen said, pushing Gabriel out of the doorway and ushering Tristan inside. Then, to Gabriel, “Aren’t you supposed to be covering fish today, silly?”

“My fair sister, you speak most wisely,” Gabriel said, bowing deeply. “And when the timer rings in four minutes, I shall in fact uncover those very fish to check on their progress in broiling. I am most willing to chaperone you and this interloper until then.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. Gabriel looked at Gwen and there seemed to be an unspoken understanding between them that Gabriel should probably go away, because he stood from his bow and his voice got much less silly.

“But you and Tristan can talk alone if you want. That’s cool too.”

Gabriel trotted across the kitchen and Tristan shook his head and pulled Gwen into a one-armed hug.

“Your brother is so weird,” he said without any malice. Gwen’s whole family was weird and weird was great. He thought of Torben, whose greatness was often mistaken for weirdness by art critics and smiled. Then, looking beyond Gwen, he saw Leopold struggling to place the eggs on the counter. One kept rolling away from him. Tristan walked over to him and grabbed the runaway egg as it started to trek towards the edge of the counter. Leopold looked around for the egg for a moment and then looked up. A smile brightened his little face.

“Bonjour, Tristan!” he said happily. “Bring ami?”

“Ami” was – of course – Tristan’s pet cockroach, Isolde. Tristan laughed at the thought of his Madagascar Hissing Roach scampering around a big fancy restaurant like La Tour D’Argent. It wasn’t funny to imagine the consequences – never being allowed back in the restaurant, Isolde being squashed by some angry head chef – but it was funny to think that Leopold was so young that he didn’t yet know these things.

“Sorry, kid,” Tristan said. Then, remembering the coloring book and crayons in his backpack, he said, “But I’ve got a different surprise for you.”

Leopold’s eyes went wide and Tristan looked over at Gwen. He still held the egg Leopold had nearly dropped and he was standing in her kitchen. Gwen visited Tristan at work all the time and until he’d actually arrived, Tristan had thought he was sort of returning the favor. But now he felt really embarrassed and awkward. Tristan owned the funeral home; of course Gwen was welcome. But there were other chefs in the kitchen, just behind Gwen, who were watching with mingled amusement and irritation. There were all sorts of sayings about French chefs, but Gwen and Gabriel were the only ones Tristan knew personally… And suddenly, they seemed to be the exception to the rule…

Tristan set the egg down gently, propping it against a bowl so that it wouldn’t wander off. He met Gwen’s gaze and said quietly, “Should I not be in here? Because I can leave, if I’m, like, in the way.”


“Surprise?” Leopold asked, extending his cupped hands to Tristan. The young child shut his eyes and swung his legs in wonky circles. “Tristan, surprise?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

“My fair sister, you speak most wisely,” Gabriel proclaimed, taking a bow so deep he could have licked his own kneecaps if he desired. His voice was that of a pompous, gallant, knight, just returned from his triumphant quest to save a small swamp kingdom. Gwen snickered behind her hand, watching his display with fascination. “And when the timer rings in four minutes, I shall in fact uncover those very fish to check on their progress in broiling. I am most willing to chaperone you and this interloper until then.” He stood from his bowed positions and Gwen curtsied as Tristan made some strangulated sound of exasperation. Quickly, Gabriel’s tone changed and with all seriousness and respect he said “But you and Tristan can talk alone if you want. That’s cool too.” and he trotted off to focus on his fish.

“Your brother is so weird,” Tristan said and Gwen smiled gratefully. From the moment of conception, she and her twin had been two multicolored peas in a pod, happy to get lost in each other’s minds for hours on end. They had their own language and their mother often said that when they were infants they would make each other laugh just by looking at each other, probably sharing inside jokes made inside the womb. She watched him now as he lifted the tinfoil of the fish and began plating. She really was proud of her older brother.

She was just about to offer to take Tristan’s bag when he bolted behind her towards Leopold. She whipped around in time to see Tristan catch a rollaway egg. Gwen let out a small gasp, visions of yolk spattering all over. She feared that during Leopold’s bath, as she plucked egg shells from his hair, Torben would ask ‘Well what was a three year old doing with eggs in the first place?’ and Gwen didn’t know if she would feel like explaining it all. But, luckily, Tristan caught the egg before it shattered on the hard floor, taking Leopold’s fragile heart with it.

She smiled as Leopold did when his eyes met Tristan’s face. Seeing him so happy, so giddy made her delight in the moment and grateful to her lucky stars for letting him into their lives. “Bonjour, Tristan!” he cheered, “Bring ami?” And Gwen prayed that her friend had refrained from bringing his beloved pet cockroach to her place of work—the other chefs, she was certain, would not take too kindly to what they considered vermin crawling around.

“Sorry, kid,” Tristan said and Gwen let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in. Leopold, however looked sad. [b “But I’ve got a different surprise for you.”[/b] And just like that, Leopold perked up once more. Whatever it was, Gwen hoped it would provide a nice distraction for her son. But before Tristan could actually procure his surprise from his backpack, he tensed up and looked around. “Should I not be in here? Because I can leave, if I’m, like, in the way.”

Gwen, too, glanced around the kitchen at her coworkers who all looked up from their dishes and pans to view her visitor. They never took too kindly to people coming in midday. Once, Torben had shown up because Gwen wasn’t answering her phone and he had a question about what time he was supposed to pick their prescriptions up from the pharmacy. He was subsequently chased out by a spoon-wielding sauce chef when he made an ill-timed pun about pasta.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ve just never seen anybody as tall as you before,” Gwen said, unsure if it was even true.

“Surprise?” Leopold’s voice piped in, his hands cupped like Oliver Twist asking for more porridge. “Tristan, surprise?”

“I must admit,” Gwen said, ruffling Leopold’s hair from his position on the counter. “I’m curious to see what this surprise is, too.”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

The other chefs in La Tour D’Argent looked as if they were mere seconds away from sharpening their knives and brandishing them at Tristan. All the other chefs, that was, except Gabriel, who had done exactly that at Christmas and was now blithely humming “Le Jazz Hot” to himself. Gwen looked around and then said, “Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ve just never seen anyone as tall as you before.”

Tristan doubted that was true. And even though he knew Gwen meant well, Tristan was now acutely aware of his long arms and legs and it made him feel less at ease than before. He shuffled off his backpack when Leopold demanded his surprise.

“I must admit,” Gwen said, ruffling Leopold’s hair from his position on the counter. “I’m curious to see what this surprise is, too.”

“It’s not that exciting,” Tristan said, rummaging through the bag. “But I figured I’d help Torben out in his quest to turn Leopold into an artist.”

He pulled a 100 page coloring book and a 64 pack of Crayolas from the backpack and set them in Leopold’s lap. Leopold clapped his hands and stuck his finger in the white, plastic sharpener at the base of the crayon box. There weren’t metal blades in there, so Tristan didn’t worry. Instead, he shook his head.

“I also figured you might need him to do something quietly and out of the way,” Tristan murmured to Gwen.

“Daddy, look!” Leopold said, holding up the box of crayons above his head. His thin arms wobbled under the weight. “Colors!”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

“It’s not that exciting,” Tristan confessed, but Gwen didn’t care. To Leopold, Tristan’s mere presence was a gift (hence why it was a ‘present’, she figured), and to his three year old mind, Gwen could put a bow on her friend’s head and put him under the tree at Christmas time for him and he would be content. But the fact that Tristan thought to bring her son a surprise only made her love him more.

Tristan rummaged through the bag. “But I figured I’d help Torben out in his quest to turn Leopold into an artist.” It truly was Torben’s secret—or not so secret—desire that their son grow up artistic. When decorating his room, they left a blank wall for him to draw on. Torben sneakily folded in color lessons into Leopold’s French lessons, teaching him the different shades and hues of red in the new romance language. Torben even went so far as letting Leopold ask question while he painted, something not even Gwen dared to do. Art was something sacred in their house, and something that Torben shared almost intimately with Tristan and Leopold. Gwen couldn’t begin to imagine what was in the backpack.

And from the deep crevice of the black bag, Tristan procured a coloring book the size of the all the world’s holy texts put together and a box of 64 crayons—“The best way to make friends” as Torben called them. As Tristan set them down in Leopold’s lap, her toddler began cheering, wriggling with delight. She moved her hand to steady him, careful he didn’t fall from the counter. “I also figured you might need him to do something quietly and out of the way.” Gwen laughed. She would miss her little “sous chef”, sure, but Leopold loved coloring and Gwen wasn’t used to working at such a slow speed. This way, Leopold and her boss were both happy.

“Daddy, look!” Leopold exclaimed, his arms barely strong enough to hold the crayons. “Colors!”

“And what colors are there?” Gwen asked, putting him gently on the floor for him to color away from the crème brulee torch she’d be using soon.

“Marron!” he held up a brown proudly. “Jaune, rouge, bleu clair!” He proclaimed, the yellow, red, and light blue looking like giants in his hands. If only Torben could see this.

“Good job, Leopold!” Gwen said as he began coloring in a green rabbit. “You’re learning so fast! I’m so proud of you!”

She turned to Tristan. “I play a Dutch to French tape at night for him, and Torben practices with him while I make breakfast. It’s only been a month and he’s already picking up so quickly.”

It was hard to believe that it had only been a month—it felt as if Leopold had been with them always, as if they had been parents of this precious three year old all along. “So how’s work?”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Gwen and Tristan watched Leopold admire his present. He’d never given a present to a child; any concerns evaporated. Tristan had earned Leopold’s stamp of approval. Gwen picked the little boy up and set him on the floor.

“And what colors are there?” she asked.

Leopold rummaged through the box and pulled out a brown, a yellow, a red, and a light blue and named them all in turn. Torben must have taught Leopold all that. Tristan was a mildly jealous of the three year old. Nothing too noticeable, but just a little twinge. His “mama” was Torben Blau, which was a leg-up in any artistic endeavor. Of course, Leopold didn’t seem too preoccupied with his artistic heritage as he colored in a bright green rabbit. Tristan smiled.

“I play a Dutch to French tape at night for him,” Gwen explained. “And Torben practices with him while I make breakfast. It’s only been a month and he’s already picking up so quickly.”

Tristan nodded. Leopold was smart. Tristan didn’t know how fast kids usually learned new languages, but their brains were supposedly more malleable than most adults’. Tristan didn’t know enough to do much more than say, “No kidding” in a quiet, appreciative voice.

He was more than a little grateful when Gwen changed the subject.

“So how’s work?” she asked cheerfully.

“Full of dead people,” Tristan said in the same, upbeat tone. Tristan caught a sharp look from another one of the chefs. Tristan raised his eyebrows at the stranger. What’s his problem?

“Ix-nay on the ed-day,” Gabriel called over from his spot near one of the stoves. He walked past Gwen and Tristan with a platter of two broiled fish; eyes still intact. “If it’s dead and you can’t eat it, don’t talk about it in a kitchen.”

Tristan grimaced at the fish as they went by. Gabriel handed them off to another chef and returned.

“Although, I suppose cannibalism is a viable option in some cultures,” Gabriel continued.

“Stop. Please.”

“Teach your eldest to take a joke,” Gabriel said to Gwen. Then, sternly he said, “Seriously, though. No talking about dead people in the kitchen. The sous-chef will have your head on a spit if you do.”

And then Gabriel sauntered off again, this time humming the “Dies Irae” in an unflattering up-tempo.

“… New topic,” Tristan said, looking from Gabriel to Gwen. “How’s Torben?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

When Gwen inquired about Tristan’s work, she was genuinely curious. It wasn’t a morbid desire the way many thought it to be when she told them her best friend was a mortician. It was an authentic, pure curiosity as to how he was. She loved him and wanted to hear how every minute of his day affected his every minute now. What made him happy about his job? What made him sad? What did today look like for Tristan?

And, in typical Tristan fashion, “Full of dead people,” was his cheery response. Gwen could feel the air change with a strangulating tension. Often, she forgot that other people—especially chefs—were not accustomed to hearing someone so cheerfully tak about dead things lest it was somehow involved in a four course meal and not human.

She wanted to tell Tristan to ignore the stares once more when Gabriel spoke. “Ix-nay on the ed-day.” and Gwen realized that it was possible that a secret compartment in her brain was thinking the same thing. “If it’s dead and you can’t eat it, don’t talk about it in a kitchen.” Gwen watched, practically salivating as Gabriel passed the delectable-looking fish off to another chef. “Although, I suppose cannibalism is a viable option in some cultures.”

Gwen was milliseconds away from continuing Gabriel’s story, tempted to add of Torben-worthy zombies in post-apocalyptica. But Tristan interrupted her, mid breath, with “Stop. Please.” And so she did before she even started. At the silent urging of a miffed coworker, she turned to her bowl of batter and began spooning it into a baking pan.

Gabriel began again, this time addressing Gwen. “Teach your eldest to take a joke.” Back to Tristan, “ “Seriously, though. No talking about dead people in the kitchen. The sous-chef will have your head on a spit if you do.” Gwen laughed and waved a spatula, dripping with fresh chocolate batter at him. “Get outta here, Gabe!”

And just like that, Gabriel sauntered off, humming some monk-chant as he did so.

“… New topic,” Tristan said as Gwen scraped the remainder of the batter into the awaiting bowl. “How’s Torben?”

Gwen laughed, licking her finger. “Torben is… Torben. He has a gallery coming up. Just of sketches, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want. But there will be food and a Q & A—which he detests—afterwards.” Gwen shrugged. It wasn’t so bad, but Torben lamented the public speaking part of his galleries. “And the children’s hospital commissioned him to paint a mural in their front waiting room, so he’s been spending a lot of time there.” She opened the oven and pushed what would, in fifteen minutes, become a German chocolate cake. “I’ve seen the preliminary designs—they made him edit it to be less… pessimistic about children’s health. He told me to tell you that he wants to invite you over for dinner next weekend. Of course, I’m making the dinner and he could have just asked you himself, but… whatever. How’s Solange?”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Gwen seemed more than happy to change the subject to Torben. In all fairness, Torben was one of those topics both Tristan and Gwen could talk about until their jaws fell off. He was Gwen’s boyfriend and Tristan’s artistic role model. And ever since Gwen and Torben had gotten Leopold, Gwen had all sorts of new stories about Torben that ended with better punch-lines than most jokes.

“Torben is… Torben. He has a gallery coming up. Just of sketches, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want. But there will be food and a Q & A—which he detests—afterwards.”

“I’ll be there,” Tristan promised.

He’d find a way to avoid morgue calls and any other distractions. Fleetingly, he wondered if Solange would think an art gallery was lame and boring, or if she’d like to go with him to see Torben’s work. Because if anybody’s art was anti-gallery, it would be Torben’s. His were the only galleries Tristan had really enjoyed since moving back to Paris eight years ago. Mainstream French art on the whole was not exactly Tristan’s favorite, with the delicate lines and the pale colors. Torben’s work was deliciously dark and a little macabre. Also, surprisingly humorous most of the time. Quirky.

“And the children’s hospital commissioned him to paint a mural in their front waiting room, so he’s been spending a lot of time there,” Gwen continued, popping some pan of chocolate something into the oven. “I’ve seen the preliminary designs—they made him edit it to be less… pessimistic about children’s health.”

Tristan laughed and quickly covered his mouth to avoid further scrutiny from the non-Fontaine chefs. He wouldn’t admit it, but he kind of wanted to see Torben’s original, before the edits. It was probably truly grotesque or sad – the kind of thing most people regretted seeing – but… Censorship was a b*tch. Poor Torben.

Poor kids, Tristan reminded himself. Not all of them would appreciate Torben’s artwork.

Knowing Torben, there probably would have been a couple kids with sewed on limbs or coughing up blood or something snuck into the mural. There might still be, hidden in the background behind smiling kids and cheerful looking candy-stripers.

“He told me to tell you that he wants to invite you over for dinner next weekend. Of course, I’m making the dinner and he could have just asked you himself, but… whatever,” Gwen continued.

“Sounds like a plan,” Tristan said. Dinner at Gwen and Torben’s usually meant a feast fit for twenty that no one ever finished and that Gabriel snuck into Tupperware to parcel out when Gwen wasn’t looking. Tristan usually put himself in charge of bringing drinks, so he neither felt like a useless mooch nor did he get shooed from the kitchen for “helping”. There were two things Gwen didn’t believe in: non-chefs in her kitchen and leftovers. “Thank you.”

“How’s Solange?” Gwen asked, breaking the silence before it could really begin.

Tristan, who was already smiling, grinned. He and his girlfriend were coming up on two months together, but it felt like longer. In a good way. Of course, that probably had a lot to do with how long they’d known each other before dating. They worked together in the funeral home, and while Solange’s official title was “secretary” or “receptionist”, anyone who saw them working knew that it was a total misnomer. She’d been working for Tristan for nearly a year; working with him since the start of the new year. Dating since February. The actual numbers were fuzzy. The actual numbers didn’t matter. Because at work, things were going smoothly. And outside of work, things were going better than smoothly.

“She’s great,” Tristan said. Then pausing, he added, “We’re coming up on one year in April. Of her working at the funeral home, I mean. I want to do something special for her, but… well…”

There were two things stopping him. One, of course, being that she was his girlfriend and he didn’t want to embarrass her at work or make the wrong kind of statement – nothing over-the-top and nothing lame. But the other was the circumstances under which Solange had come to work at the funeral home. It would be the one year anniversary of their business relationship, but more importantly, it would be the one year anniversary of Jacqui’s death. Well, within the same week. Tristan sucked in his cheeks and sighed. One year anniversaries of deaths were usually as hard – or harder – than the funeral itself.

“I could use suggestions,” he told Gwen. “I don’t know if I ever told you how Solange and I met…? I mean, other than her coming to work for me.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwendoline had never seen Tristan so happy, on the verge of giddy. At the mere mention of his girlfriend, something inside him lit up, and though it was the first time Gwen had seen Tristan so unmistakably himself. The last time she had seen him so emotive was when his mother showed up on his work doorstep. It took a week for Gwen to get the image of his pain-filled eyes out of her mind. But now, he was chipper, and it was like she was seeing the true image of what had always been a negative film of a person. In this fraction of a moment, she was seeing the genuine Tristan, and was taking an exclusive peak into his soul.

”She’s great. We’re coming up on one year in April.” Tristan beamed and Gwen crunched numbers in her head. They hadn’t been dating that long, had they? “Of her working at the funeral home, I mean.” he clarified. ”I want to do something special for her, but… well…”

“Well…?” Gwen asked, staring a serving of lemon crème brulee as Leopold coloured in a bird a ferocious red.

“I could use suggestions. I don’t know if I ever told you how Solange and I met…? I mean, other than her coming to work for me.”

“No, I believe you neglected that.” Gwen joked, pulling out her culinary torch. “Step back, please. I’d hate for your anniversary outfit to be a suit and third degree burns, love.” She lit the lemon crème ablaze and Leopold oohed and the sight. “Now. You were saying? How did you two meet?”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan wished he had a super happy, super funny story for how he’d met Solange. Clearly, Gwen seemed to think he did, judging by her lighthearted tone.

“No, I believe you neglected that,” she said in usual, chipper Gwen-style. Then, she picked up a miniature blowtorch and told Tristan to step back, lest he get third degree burns. Tristan didn’t need to be told twice. He took a giant step backwards and shielded his eyes. When he lowered his hand, there was a caramelized dessert sitting where the pudding thing had been seconds before. “Now. You were saying? How did you two meet?”

“Oh, right,” Tristan said. He’d almost forgotten that he was going to launch into a story of some sort. “That’s kind of the problem. We met when her grandmother was sick… Solange came to work for me the week of Jacqui’s funeral. I don’t want to… y’know. Make the week any harder for her. The first anniversary of a loved one’s death is… well, it can be just as heart-wrenching as the death itself. I need to proceed with caution.”

Tristan wasn’t used to being around for a person a year after the funeral. After the ceremony was over, the coffin lowered into the ground, the checks cashed… That was it. His job was done. It was very different when it was someone you cared about. Especially when it was someone you cared about as much as Tristan cared about Solange. On the one hand, he was thrilled they’d survived the year, working in tandem, without killing each other. On the other, she might be less-than-thrilled. He sighed and leaned against the counter.

“Like, throwing a party seems callous,” he said. “But I’m not going to just ignore the fact that she’s put up with me for a year and that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to the funeral home. Ideas?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwen placed her crème brulee carefully on a serving plate and sent it off as she began working on what she called a “cheesecake soufflé”. Leopold ran to get her baking powder as Tristan continued: “That’s kind of the problem. We met when her grandmother was sick… Solange came to work for me the week of Jacqui’s funeral. I don’t want to… y’know. Make the week any harder for her. The first anniversary of a loved one’s death is… well, it can be just as heart-wrenching as the death itself. I need to proceed with caution.”

Gwen knew as well as anyone how hard the anniversary of a loved one’s death was. When her daughter was born stillborn, she and Torben had a birthday party for her every year and wrote her love letters and tied them to balloons to be set free outside of their window. It wasn’t the same as a grandmother’s passing, but the principal was similar.

“I see,” Gwen said, whisking violently.

“Like, throwing a party seems callous. But I’m not going to just ignore the fact that she’s put up with me for a year and that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to the funeral home. Ideas?”

“Well, I would suggest flowers, but seeing as you both work in a funeral home, that would probably be a tad tedious…” She thought hard for a long time, silently baking whilst Leopold coloured, oblivious to their conversation. “Would she appreciate one of your lovely murals? Or a quiet dinner? Of course, I think a lot can be said through painting and food, don’t you? Maybe that’s just me…”

[The Exodus]

Apr 7, 2013 10:14:51 GMT -6 Lets_Eat_Paste said:

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwen placed her crème brulee carefully on a serving plate and sent it off as she began working on what she called a “cheesecake soufflé”. Leopold ran to get her baking powder as Tristan continued: “That’s kind of the problem. We met when her grandmother was sick… Solange came to work for me the week of Jacqui’s funeral. I don’t want to… y’know. Make the week any harder for her. The first anniversary of a loved one’s death is… well, it can be just as heart-wrenching as the death itself. I need to proceed with caution.”

Gwen knew as well as anyone how hard the anniversary of a loved one’s death was. When her daughter was born stillborn, she and Torben had a birthday party for her every year and wrote her love letters and tied them to balloons to be set free outside of their window. It wasn’t the same as a grandmother’s passing, but the principal was similar.

“I see,” Gwen said, whisking violently.

“Like, throwing a party seems callous. But I’m not going to just ignore the fact that she’s put up with me for a year and that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to the funeral home. Ideas?”

“Well, I would suggest flowers, but seeing as you both work in a funeral home, that would probably be a tad tedious…” She thought hard for a long time, silently baking whilst Leopold coloured, oblivious to their conversation. “Would she appreciate one of your lovely murals? Or a quiet dinner? Of course, I think a lot can be said through painting and food, don’t you? Maybe that’s just me…”

Tristan Vidal

If anyone Tristan knew could come up with a creative -- and still relatively "normal" gift, it was Gwen. She was quirky, but she, unlike Torben, would probably not suggest anything dismembered or joke oriented.

“Well, I would suggest flowers, but seeing as you both work in a funeral home, that would probably be a tad tedious…” Gwen said. It went quiet for a moment and Tristan was just about to change the subject when Gwen said, “Would she appreciate one of your lovely murals? Or a quiet dinner? Of course, I think a lot can be said through painting and food, don’t you? Maybe that’s just me…”

"No, no. You're right," Tristan said. "You're right... It's just... Forget it."

Tristan didn't know how to explain it, but he wasn't looking to make a sweeping, romantic gesture this time. He wanted to show Solange that he appreciated her work. If it had been a matter of buying her a personal present or making one, Tristan was sure he could handle it. It was just their dogged determination to keep work and romance separate, throwing its usual wrench into things. He'd figure it out.

"So, tell me more about Torben's gallery," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "When is it, exactly?"

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

They were both at a loss and Gwen watched with horror as the hope and excitement for a solution drained from his features. "No, no. You're right. You're right... It's just... Forget it."

Gwen wanted to protest, to help, but frowned instead, not sure what she could possibly say to help him. There was a small silence and before Gwen could fill it, Tristan spoke with surprising gusto, but his manner betrayed him as he racked a nervous hand through his hand. "So, tell me more about Torben's gallery. When is it, exactly?”

“Next month,” she said simply, batter flying as she whisked it. “He’s not thrilled and said he would rather eat a bucket of nails. But I sincerely doubt that’s true. Some people came by the other day and ransacked our house looking for old sketches of Torben’s. They discovered so many sketches, which is surprising since neither of us are really good archivists. And his parents are coming in and bringing old drawings of his with them. The gallery is supposed to show the progression of his work since he could first finger paint until now. There’s going to be a huge reception and you can bring whoever you like…” Gwen took a breath. “And yeah. That’s pretty much it. I think you’ll enjoy it. Oh! And Torben’s parents said they would love to meet you. Only if that’s okay with you, of course.…”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

The prospect of Torben’s gallery sent little waves of excitement through Tristan’s bloodstream. Gwen told him it was next month and once Tristan had a concrete date, he’d see what he could do about his work schedule. Gwen resumed whisking at some batter.

“He’s not thrilled,” she said of Torben. “And said he would rather eat a bucket of nails. But I sincerely doubt that’s true. Some people came by the other day and ransacked our house looking for old sketches of Torben’s. They discovered so many sketches, which is surprising since neither of us are really good archivists. And his parents are coming in and bringing old drawings of his with them. The gallery is supposed to show the progression of his work since he could first finger paint until now. There’s going to be a huge reception and you can bring whoever you like…”

Tristan nodded. He would definitely bring it up to Solange. He couldn’t imagine her saying “no” to a chance to do something a little different on date night; different than curling up with take out in front of the television or else going to one of the restaurants the two of them had claimed as “theirs” since becoming a couple. A little variety never killed anyone. And Gwen and Torben would be there; Tristan really wanted them to all like each other in less of a remote way than they did now. Sometimes, he didn’t think Torben realized Solange was a flesh-and-blood-person. Vice versa, too, come to think of it, since Gwen and Tristan did the majority of cross-communication.

Even if Solange said “no”, Tristan would go. It was a chance to see Torben Blau pieces no one had set eyes on in years – if ever. It was too tantalizing to pass up.

“I think you’ll enjoy it. Oh! And Torben’s parents said they would love to meet you. Only if that’s okay with you, of course.…”

“Are you kidding?” Tristan sputtered. “Of course that’s okay! That’s more than “okay”… That’s…”

He didn’t know what it was. An honor. Exciting. Nervewracking. Tristan wasn’t used to meeting people’s parents for social situations. He hadn’t even met Gwen’s parents.

“Word to the wise,” Gabriel said. He’d clearly been eavesdropping for some time. He was plating some fish, sculpting it to look like a flower. “Ingo says things twice. Just go with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Gabriel said. “He’ll be like, “How are you, Tristan? How are you?” and you only need to answer once.”[/b]

“Right,” Tristan looked back at Gwen. “I’d love to meet Monsieur and Madame Blau.”

“Ingo and Abigail,” Gabriel corrected. “They’re in their eighties but they aren’t old, you know. Gwenny, my dear, may I borrow your sous chef? I need Leo’s opinion on my sashimi flowers.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwen wasn’t really expecting Tristan to say yes to meeting Torben’s parents. She supposed to him, they were intangible entities with little more purpose in life than to give life to the genius of Torben, to help shape him into what he was today and then fade into some distant oblivion. But Ingo and Abigail were very much active and alive and their presence was so palpable in their lives that Gwen realized that she shouldn’t have been shocked by Tristan’s smile and stammered string of excited “Are you kidding? Of course that’s okay! That’s more than “okay”… That’s…”

Gwen beamed at him. It would mean a lot to her if he were to meet who she considered her in-laws. They were the reason she had met Torben, the reason Leopold was in her life, and—in a way—the reason she and Tristan were friends. They were the catalysts of great things, the gifters of all the blessings in Gwen and Torben’s life.

But before Gwen could tell Tristan any of this, fill him in on any backstory, Gabriel cut in with a voice stretched out like a sage. “Word to the wise: Ingo says things twice. Just go with it.”

Gwen laughed. How could she forget? Gwen once made the mistake of answering twice and Ingo just stared at her, confused. “What?” he asked. “Why did you just repeat yourself? Why?” It was too genuine and innocent sounding to be interrogative so Gwen looked to Abigail who gave her a comforting, knowing look that told Gwen that this was normal, endearing behavior, and to not question it.

“What do you mean?” Tristan asked and Gwen simply laughed harder, leaving it to Gabriel to answer his inquiry.

“Oh, you know, “How are you, Tristan? How are you?” and you only need to answer once.”

“Right. I’d love to meet Monsieur and Madame Blau.”

“Fantastic,” Gwen said, wiping a joyful tear from her eye. “Because we told them about you and they are thrilled about meeting you. Don’t worry, they’ll love you.”

“Ingo and Abigail. They’re in their eighties but they aren’t old, you know. Gwenny, my dear, may I borrow your sous chef? I need Leo’s opinion on my sashimi flowers.”

“Oh, please do,” Gwen said, ruffling her son’s hair before sending him off with his uncle. “Just bring him back in one piece. We only just got him.” She turned to Tristan. “And don’t worry about dressing up. Ingo and Abigail are surprisingly laid back. Torben is worried about you meeting them. He said something about them ‘tainting you view of him’ whatever that means. I think it’s bullsh*t, really.” She dipped her finger into her batter. “Since Gabriel took Leopold, be my guinea pig. Try this.” Before Tristan could protest, she put her finger in his mouth. “What do you think?”