LOVE IS IN THE MAIL

6. CORA

Between Christmas and New Year, at the Tuffin’s, it's a family meal every day. My father and Mark are closing the cafe, so my mother takes the opportunity to send out invitations. By family, I mean of course my father, my mother, my brother but also uncles, aunts, cousins—whose exact family ties are sometimes not remembered—and close friends. Which explains why this afternoon, the dozen people who crowd in the family dining room form a rather mixed group. On the left, the parents, understand the people of my generation, and on the right, the children of which I am a part with Madelyn, Jameson, Mark and Jenny, even if we are all mostly past the age of drinking something other than mint water.

We are only at the aperitif, but already the two clans are formed. Mark is keeping us waiting, as usual. I see Jenny fuming, her glass of champagne in her hand. She arrived alone half an hour ago. This means two things: first, my brother stopped by the cafe when he was supposed to be off for the holidays; second, they are going to argue and she’s going to blame him for always choosing his job first. I pretend not to notice anything and focus on Jameson who’s talking to us about the wedding preparations. As surprising as it may seem, he seems to be fully involved in this project. Maybe even twice as much as Madelyn. Not that the thought of marrying him scares my best friend, but the organization doesn't seem like her cup of tea. I can understand her: between her mother and her future mother-in-law who are very involved and who can debate for hours about the colour of a blouse, there is enough to get cold sweats. I witnessed one of those conversations myself, and it was terrifying. So, my Madelyn, who the idea of going to try on several dresses already gives her hives, willingly delegates the other tasks. Fortunately, Jameson is there to channel maternal energy and to impose his opinion. Which will probably prevent us from dancing to the hits of the Swinging Sixties all evening.

Mark finally arrives, and appreciative "ahhhs" are heard from those who haven’t seen him for a long time (or who are impatiently waiting to sit down to eat). We kiss him as if we were celebrating the return of the prodigal son, which isn’t entirely wrong since he was for a time considered the black sheep of the family. My father sticks a flute of champagne in his hands as he walks towards our small group. He kisses Madelyn, shakes Jameson's hand, then places a kiss on Jenny's temple, who gives him a murderous look meaning: I'm going to give you an earful when we're alone. He bends down to kiss me and exclaims:

“Oh! I almost forgot I have something for you!”

I give him a questioning look, but he's already on his way to the entrance where he left his things. He comes back with a box that looks like a package for me.

"Here, it came for you this morning at the cafe."

"For me?" I wondered. "But I didn’t order anything!”

I never have anything delivered to the cafe. However, it is my name that’s written above the address. I look to see if the sender's name is listed and here my heart skips a beat. Leo Chorro, followed by his contact details in Paris. How could he...? I realize that I have been staring at the package for a long time now when Madelyn's voice breaks through my confusion:

“You don't want to open it?”

“I'll… I'll open it later,” I stammer. “Will you put it down for me in the corner?”

“What is it?” she asks, taking it from my hands and shaking it lightly to guess its contents.

“It's from a supplier,” I lie.

I don’t know if it’s my vague answer or my face which must show my surprise, which betrays me. But while Madelyn drops the package at the agreed place, I see that she isn’t shy about checking the sender's name as well. She straightens up, eyebrows raised, ready to start the inquisition. Fortunately, I was saved at the last minute by my mother, who invited us to sit down to dinner. And for once, I thank Mom’s sense of timing. Everyone here knows that she can't stand not being obeyed at once. So everyone goes to their seat without hesitating.

As usual, since I'm the only single person, she placed me at the end of the table. It’s also more practical. Jameson and Mark are on my left and my right, and Madelyn and Jenny face each other. Here too, mother’s seating arrangements saves me, it always alternates between men and women. Which explains why my best friend cannot ask me the question, which is certainly burning her tongue, without sharing it with our little group. I deliberately avoid her eyes and focus on her fiancé who offers me a drink. Lunch begins, the questioning will be for later.

Unfortunately, anyone who might think that Madelyn would have forgotten this matter at the end of the meal is greatly mistaken. When it comes to meddling in my life, she's like a dog who has just been thrown a bone: she never lets go. It must be said that as a general rule, I don’t give her much to eat. Not because I’m secretive, but rather that I have nothing to say. So it doesn't surprise me that at coffee time when most of the guests have migrated to the sofas in the living room to adopt a pose more conducive to digestion, she comes back.

“Aren't you going to open your package?”

“I thought I’d do it at home, it will be more convenient.”

“Is it Leona who sent it to you? Though, it’s not her address on the package...”

I hadn't even thought of that possibility; the box could very well have been posted by Madelyn's sister who shares her name with my mysterious correspondent. But no, I know it's not her. First, she's not in the capital this week, but here for the holidays. Second, I don't see what she could have sent me. Third, she would have had it sent to me or my parents, but not to the cafe. Finally, even if we call her Leo among us, I don't think she uses this name in everyday life.

I have two possibilities: I could very well make Madelyn believe that it is indeed her sister who sent me something, I could even claim that it’s a surprise in connection with the wedding to prevent her from asking me questions about its content, or even forcing me to open it in front of her. The other choice would be to tell her the truth, to tell her about the other Leo, but that involves giving her an explanation about this whole story. Do I want to do that right now, amid the prying ears of my family members? Not really. But every second I let pass without answering her question only increases her suspicious look.

“No, it wasn't Leona who sent it to me. It’s…”

How do I finish this sentence? It’s a stranger I’ve been talking to for more than two weeks who mailed it to me when I never gave him my address? Not a great start.

“It’s…?” she gets impatient.

“How would you like to take Hobbs out with me? I'll tell you on the way.”

No sooner have I finished my sentence than she’s already standing, explaining to Jameson that we are going for a walk for a while. Ten seconds later, she has my dog’s leash in her hand and Hobbs reacts by leaving his corner. The promise of a walk drives him crazy. We put on our coats and I want to laugh when I see the satisfied look that Madelyn displays, that of the girl eager to learn the latest gossip. Besides, we didn’t travel two meters in my parents' garden, when she’s already asking me:

“So, who is Leo Chorro?”

I pretend to focus on opening the gate to think about how best to answer this question. Once in the street, I start:

“Do you remember that I asked you for your sister's email address?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I don't know if it was me who wrote it down wrong, or you got it wrong, but I happened to send messages to someone called Leo Chorro, and not your sister.”

I can see she doesn't quite know where I'm going with this, but she lets me continue anyway. So I explained the rest to her, the lack of response from Leona, then finally the email from Leo telling me my mistake.

“Funny that, you could have received an error message, but the address you typed really belonged to someone! But that doesn't explain why this someone is suddenly sending you a package...”

“Let me tell you the rest,” I grumble.

I then described to her the series of emails we exchanged, without really going into detail. Something is holding me back, a sort of modesty of sorts. But also the feeling that it doesn’t concern her. After all, I’m entitled to a secret garden, right?

“So, you mean that for almost two weeks, you've been chatting with a guy online, about the weather and things, just like that?”

“Yes. We’re chatting. You know, it reminds me of when we were in college and we were asked to write to a foreign pen pal.”

“Except that at the time, we were forced to do it and it was to learn a foreign language. I don't know anyone who has a pen pal our age. I even think that there’s little chance that a guy in his twenties will begin a letter exchange without wanting something.”

“I never told you he was in his twenties.”

“How old is he then?” she asks, not very reassured.

“He’s 27 years old.”

“That's what I thought, he wants something! Did you send him your photo? Of course, if he saw your green cat's eyes, he must be pretty motivated to write to you. See, you always say you don't want to join a dating site, but you do exactly...”

“It's not that at all!” I interrupt her. “He has no idea what I look like, and I have no idea what he looks like either. And if it can reassure you, I even think he has a girlfriend.”

“You think? Or you are sure?”

“He spoke of a weekend he spent with her at one point, I didn't ask any more questions, it wasn't the main topic of the conversation. And if you want to know everything, I don't care. We discussed two or three subjects, nothing serious. Maybe within a week, he’ll have completely forgotten about me.”

“He just sent you a package. Of course, he’ll continue to write to you. Aren't you a little curious to find out what's inside?”

I'm dying to know what's in it, but I'll never admit it out loud.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough. For all we know, he sent me pieces of his last victim, and I promise, if he has, next time I won’t answer his message.”

I punctuate my sentence with a wink and amused myself with Madelyn's horrified look.

“I didn’t think about that! What if this guy was crazy? Now he even knows where you live.”

“He doesn't know exactly where I live.”

“You better hope not. If he shows up in front of your father's cafe and asks to speak to Cora Tuffin, how long will it take him to find a charitable soul who’ll give him your address?”

“Not very long. So, two minutes ago, you almost hoped that Leo was flirting with me, and now he's become a serial killer?”

My remark has the advantage of closing her mouth. I see she doesn't quite know what to think about it anymore.

“You know what? I will open this package, and then I’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe it would be better if I open it with you?”

“No. I'll do it on my own,” I answer firmly. “But I promise, I'll tell you what's in it. Now we would do well to get home before Jameson reports you missing.”

She glares at me, but the prospect of seeing her fiancé allows her to comply without complaining. I whistle for Hobbs, who's sniffing thickets, and we turn around. I would be lying if I said that the thought of opening my package didn't make me hurry.

From: Cora Tuffin

12/27/2018 at 5:41 p.m.

To: Leo Chorro

Subject: Thank you

Leo,

I was very pleasantly surprised to receive your package today, especially when I discovered the contents. How did you manage to find the address to send it?

Dark chocolate is my favourite, you couldn't have done better.

I wish you a very happy New Year's Eve, too.

Cora

From: Leo Chorro

12/27/2018 at 6:47 p.m.

To: Cora Tuffin

Subject: you're welcome!

Cora,

I’m happy that the chocolates made you happy, and especially that you received them okay. It took me a little brainstorming to find a way to send them to you, but it wasn't that hard. I had the name of your village, I only discovered one cafe, and the manager's last name was the same as yours. I told myself that I was going to try my luck! Admit that I’m not bad as an investigator...

For the dark chocolate, given your reaction to the white, I assumed you must like something quite different. I'm happy to have hit the nail on the head!

Hope you enjoy yourself and haven't gobbled up the whole box already!

See you soon

Leo

From: Cora Tuffin

12/27/2018 at 7:21 p.m.

To: Leo Chorro

Subject: RE: You're welcome!

I admit that you’re not bad as an investigator, and I promise, I’ll enjoy the box (I have already nibbled two or three anyway, I had to check that they had survived the transport). However, as I’m planning to watch a movie tonight and love working in front of the TV, I cannot guarantee that I’ll stop there for today…