LOVE IS IN THE MAIL

8. CORA

Champagne, party poppers, countdown and a series of kisses for the first seconds of this new year with no exceptions to the rule. The guests crowd on the improvised dance floor, some screaming for the hundredth time at least "happy new year", alcohol is flowing, people are no longer very rational. Fortunately, most of them only have a hundred meters to walk to get back home.

For my part, I watch them, amused by the conga which starts, until it approaches dangerously close to me. I then bury my nose in my phone, in case one of the dancers has the sudden urge to make me join in. Like every year, my parents' cafe was full for this New Year's Eve. It’s a tradition for them to organize this party and many residents of Locron come to celebrate the New Year here. If during adolescence we deserted this evening with my friends to stay among the young, because at a certain age we are convinced to be much better than those old-fashioned people who jiggle to Claude François, we are now regaining a taste for this local tradition. The music isn’t always recent, but there is a great atmosphere, it's near our house, and the cocktails prepared by my brother are a real plus.

I indulge in another custom and send some Happy New Year texts to loved ones who aren’t here with me tonight. Once my messages are sent, my thoughts drift to Leo. Is he the kind to conga? Or is he one of those who are glued to their phones and tapping text messages between midnight and 1 a.m. to make sure they don't forget any contact in their phone? As if sending them a message the next day was going to be a crime. It's a bit hypocritical of me to make fun of them, considering that I have just done this myself, but I didn't spam my entire directory either.

The thought of wishing Leo a Happy New Year crosses my mind. I doubt he's reading his emails at this hour, but maybe he's still getting notifications on his phone? I could also text him because I have his number. Not that he knowingly gave it to me, but it appears in the signatures of his emails. Maybe this is a professional line that’s being crossed tonight, but I could give it a shot. And then, at worst, he'll read it tomorrow, or some other day.

I hesitate.

Corresponding by e-mail is one thing, going through his phone number seems more personal, and therefore an invasion of his privacy. Part of me says it's ridiculous to ask myself so many questions. These are only characters that will appear on the screen of the same device as usual, it's just the application that changes!

Our last email exchanges were in the afternoon when I was getting ready for the evening. He didn't seem very enthusiastic to me about going out to a party. But he had just left work, he certainly needed a little time to change his mindset.

We have been writing to each other daily since mid-December. Most of the time, our exchanges are fairly simple. He talks to me about his day, and I talk about mine. We joke, he tells me a few jokes that for the most part make me laugh by the very fact that they aren’t very funny. In short, we discuss everything and nothing, and yet I feel like I’m getting to know him better and better. As I learn new things about him, I find this way of finding out about someone interesting. I still have no idea what he might look like physically, and that's perfect. I'm the first to know what it feels like to be judged with just a glance, and I like making friends with someone who doesn't know anything about my appearance. It's only been three weeks since we've met virtually, but I'm hopeful that we can become friends. And yet, a few days ago, I would have found this idea completely ridiculous. But I became aware of something: when you are behind a screen, while it’s easy to lie, certain truths are easier to express. Perhaps it’s because we don’t see the reaction of the other side, that we don’t know each other and that to be judged by a stranger seems less important to us. I think it's a mix of the two. It’s not that I’m ready to tell him all my life, I’m quite modest as a rule, but I feel more confident with him than with people I know "in real life", I can't explain why. This is certainly due to his personality as well, at least what emerges of it through his messages. He seems a very easy going person.

Madelyn and Jameson dance slowly under the coloured lights installed for the occasion, Mark shakes his shaker under the admiring eye of Loraine the village policewoman, who for once has abandoned her uniform, and Jenny laughs in a corner, surrounded by of her girlfriends who I like to call the Stuck up Clan. Even Lena, Madelyn's little sister, seems to be having fun. Yet I don't think she has smiled since the start of her emo-punk phase (she’s moved on from goth). To be honest, I'm a little bored, and I can't leave right now. I know my parents and Madelyn would be disappointed. And it isn’t impossible that if I stay, I’ll be useful later in escorting someone home since I haven’t been drinking. So I decide to go for it and compose a message for Leo, just to pass the time:

From Cora: Dear Leo, I wish you a very happy new year. May it bring you everything you want, and much more! Kisses. Cora.

I wait a while before sending it. I hesitate with the "dear", maybe it’s a little too much? Leo by itself seems cold to me, and I still want to leave his first name to show that it isn’t a recipient error, since he’ll receive this message from an unknown number. Do I have to put my last name? Does he know any other Cora? I end up telling myself that there’s nothing better than spontaneity and press the button to send. I then slip the phone into my pants pocket so as not to be tempted to stare at the screen like a half-wit waiting for an answer. Which by the way might not arrive for a while, if at all.

After what must be thirty seconds, I tell myself that maybe it would be better if I put it on the table next to me. In case someone sends me a message. With the volume of the music, I might not hear the ringtone. At least there I'll see it light up.

Besides, not even a minute passes before the screen indicates an incoming call. I read the identity of the correspondent. Leo is calling me!

I stare at the device, not knowing what to do. Of all the hypotheses I had considered, I hadn't thought he would call me. Besides, does he do it knowingly? He could very well have received my message and pressed the button by mistake. Who hasn't called from their pocket?

By the time I ask myself this question, a finger suspended above the green icon, the call switches to the answering machine. Suddenly, I’m perhaps even more lost. What do I do? Do I call him back? Do I pretend I don't know who it is? The phone vibrates in my hand. It announces the arrival of a new message... on my answering machine. My heart jumps.

He left me a message! Do I listen to it?

Curiosity wins, but I find it hard to see myself doing it here, as friends of my parents yell Light the fire in a poor imitation of Johnny Hallyday. The door to the storeroom is right behind me, I decide to go there, it’ll be much quieter and there’s little chance that someone will enter at the same time as me.

As soon as the noises of the party are a little muffled, I dial the number of my answering machine. I wait for the generic voice to announce: “You have a new message.” For once, I don't want her to hurry, I don't know what to expect. Besides, he too may have been surprised to find my voicemail because there’s a second of silence before a deep voice declares, a little hesitant:

“Hi Cora, it's Leo… I… I didn't think you had my number. I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year. I said to myself that it would be nicer to do it face to face… Call me back if you feel like it… Otherwise, have a good evening.”

The operator's voice with a metallic tone then announces the choices available to me: listen again, delete or call back the correspondent. To give me time to think about it, I select the first solution... several times in a row. Then I end up making a good resolution—what better thing to do on January 1st?—, I decided to call him back.

One ring tone, two ring tones... It’s only when I think I’m going to get his voice mail that I hear:

“Cora?”

There’s a lot of noise around him, and I stay silent, I didn't prepare for what I was going to say.

“Wait for a second,” he adds.

The music seems to decrease little by little, then I detect the sound of a door slamming, then silence.

“I went out on the landing, it's better to talk.”

I still haven't said a word, and it hasn't escaped his notice.

“Are you a mute?”

I can feel the fun in his voice. Cora, say something!

“Uh, hi. Happy New Year!”

Not a great start. But at least I tried to put some enthusiasm into the second part of my sentence. Which perhaps makes me look like a moron. Who knows what he thinks, it’s not easy when you don’t know the person.

“Happy New Year to you too,” he answers calmly.

Until that moment, I didn't really try to imagine him. I just had a very vague idea of a twenty-seven-year-old guy. But hearing his voice suddenly gives me the effect of learning a lot more about him, about his appearance, as if a photo had just been put in front of me, admittedly not very clear, but which revealed enough for me to guess more. He has a powerful and warm voice which, with the few words he has said, nevertheless puts me at ease.

“Are you enjoying your evening?”

Not sure, however, that the rattling voice I use to say these words has the same effect on him. But it’s as if my throat is squeezed by something.

“I’m quite good and you?”

“Super.”

That's the problem when you spend the evening with fifty-year-olds: I use expressions that were fashionable in the eighties. And he doesn't seem convinced.

“Are you sure about that?” he insists.

I hear the amusement in his voice, but I persist in defending my choice of the night.

“It's certainly not as good as your New Year's Eve, but we're having a good time.”

At least, the others are.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You just saved me from one of the most boring discussions I’ve had in a long time.”

My mind starts up again. Is that why he called me? To have a good excuse to escape a conversation? I try to silence my inner voice and reply:

“Worse than the one I had with a friend of my mother's about bedsores?”

He makes a little sound of disgust.

“It depends, what do you think of company retirement savings plans?”

“I think I have no idea what that is and I certainly don't want to find out with a plate from the buffet in my hand. But are you sure you weren't at my party instead to have this kind of conversation?”

“No, I assure you that there are people who aren’t even thirty who don’t know how to party,” he sighs.

“Well, at least at my place, once the meal was over, they forgot their not too pleasant subjects and they set the dance floor on fire!”

“And you, you aren’t on the dance floor?”

“Well no, since I'm on the phone with you.”

“I meant: before I called you. You like dancing?”

I take a second before answering:

“Yes, but it depends on a lot of things...”

“I'm like you, the music has to be nice. Macarena isn’t my thing,” he said.

I see with dismay that he hears the music playing behind me. I thought it wasn't loud enough for that.

“I'm not the DJ tonight,” I said.

“Don't worry, I said it wasn't my thing, but if you like it, I respect your musical tastes.”

“It's not…” I said before he bursts out laughing, letting me understand that he was playing. “What's your favourite style of music?” I ask to recover.

“Well…”

He doesn’t have time to finish as the door of the storeroom opens, revealing Madelyn.

“This is where you’re hiding!” she exclaims.

Here’s someone that the arrival of the New Year seems to enchant. It would be a concern if this wasn't the case considering that she’ll be getting married anyway within a few months. However, I guess her perky mood is also due to her intoxication. Her eyes are much too sparkling not to have abused a few cups of alcoholic bubbles.

“Cora?”

Leo's voice reminds me that I had a discussion going on.

“Sorry. My friend Madelyn was talking to me at the same time.”

I see her frowning. She just realized that I was on the phone.

“Okay. I'll leave you then. We'll talk another time.”

I'm about to protest, especially since I think I detected a hint of disappointment in his voice, but maybe I just imagined it. I want to tell him not to hang up, that we can continue talking, but I know that isn’t possible. And yet, I dare not do it.

"I… yes, another time," I stammered.

“Happy New Year, Cora, and enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks, you too.”

I don't have time to dwell on the fact that I'm suddenly disappointed not to hear him anymore because Madelyn says to me with a suspicious look:

“Who exactly was that on the phone?”