Mess of a life

5- What is home

It turned out being rich came with many privileges, such as not having to wait for a plane. On the rare occasions I had been on one during my life, it had always been about arriving five hours early and waiting in between controls. Today, we just marched straight through a few mere formalities, and before I knew it I was sitting in a first class seat right next to Charles. Nicolas wasn't with us – he only deposited us at the airport and left after a few minutes of quiet conversation with Charles punctuated by slight looks my way, and a formal greeting to me. It was something about a meeting or a reunion with Parisian colleagues. Apparently, business didn't wait, as I thought with surprising bitterness.

The flight was over way before I was ready for it to be, and before I knew it I was sitting in a car as beautiful as the one Charles drove in France, speeding through a highway. Charles looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, as the light of the golden hour gave a nice glow to his complexion. The few lines of worry on his face were gone, replaced by a more serene air.

"What is it baby?" He asked, a smile tugging at his lips, probably feeling my gaze on his face. I turned my head toward the window.

"Nothing."

"If that's what you say." He turned on a blinker to pass a slower car. He really was a smooth driver, his speed barely perceptible from the inside of the car, if not because of the blurry landscape.

Before the silence stretched any longer, I took it upon myself to start a conversation. I liked focusing on small progress like this, it kept me from thinking on bigger issues.

"So do you live alone? Or with Nicolas?"

He cringed, his eyes opening a bit wider for a second.

"Well I guess no one told you", he muttered. He opened his mouth, hesitating to talk for a second.

"What is it?" I asked this time. I felt more and more relaxed in his presence. He graced me with a small smile, but he looked preoccupied.

"I guess this is where I tell you you'll most likely be meeting your other brothers in the next few minutes."

I frowned.

"Mais on a laissé Nicolas à Paris?" (but we left Nicolas in Paris?)

He sighted. "Well, yes, but we have other brothers too."

"Au pluriel?" (plural?)

"Yes."

I didn't know what to do with this new piece of information. Replaying the conversations in my head, I realised nobody had specified a specific number – I had just assumed that the plural applied to Nicolas and Charles alone.

Realising he probably had to elaborate a little for my sake, Charles continued. "They should be home when we get there. There are five of us boys." In the way he talked about them, the little sparkle in his eye, I knew they must be dear to him. "The third oldest, two years younger than me, is Elliott. Then there is Dane, at twenty and lastly Jesper, he is eighteen."

"Cinq?" (five?)

"Yes baby, five."

I curled in my seat. I didn't know how I felt about the news. I was already too overwhelmed about the entire thing before for this new piece of information to really make a difference. But it meant three more people to meet and interact and live with, and that made it four more than I was comfortable with.

I didn't get the benefit of time to mentally prepare myself – not that I would ever be ready. I felt like curling in a bed and never waking up to the world again. It all felt too much again, and the little comfort I had felt in the time spent with Charles was gone. Reality had caught up with me once more.