Before heading to Loire on Friday, we stopped at Sébastien's father and stepmother's home for dinner and to pick up the car before heading out on our 3 hour drive on Saturday morning. This would be my first time meeting his dad whom Sebastien has told me he is closer to than his mother whom I had met in September. I was nervous. It's always more pressure meeting the closer parent.
Having done the 'meet the parents' thing here in France several times, I was ready to answer questions about American healthcare, my opinion of the Obama administration and what my plans in France are. Current events and politics from my American point of view have always been standard points of interest when meeting the parents here. At work, before heading to Gare de Lyon to meet Séb, I brushed up on my answers and expected the same drill and was armed with some juicy and insightful answers.
Gilles picked us up at the station at Fountainbleau and something told me that my fears of the evening were foolish and would not be a concern. Papa Séb was leaning against his convertible Renault wearing tight black jeans, a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette with rock music blasting from the car. He introduced himself and was immediately warm and welcoming making me feel comfortable as he grabbed my bags to put in the trunk.
After a 10 minute drive through the little village, we pulled up the driveway to their quaint stone house, Sébastien's step-mother Françoise opened the door wearing black leather go-go boots, textured tights, a fitted black sweater dress cinched at the waist with an elastic belt with a leather heart closure. The black of her ensemble contrasted her amber red hair reminding me of a fabulous French Peggy Bundy. "Hello!" she said with a smile and an American-style extended hand, "How are you?" Appreciating that she wanted to greet me in my language, I resisted my instinct to go in for the double kiss and awkwardly shook her hand. "I'm well, thank you. And yourself?" I said absolutely charmed and delighted by her effort. Gilles shuffled by with our bags, "Françoise has been trying to find hip American expressions all day and this is all she could find!" he said with a huff as he was trying to balance our heavy bags on his shoulder. I assured them both that they need not speak English but to beware of the whoppers that I was sure to make that evening in French.
After offering them the bottle of champagne that I picked up at Nicolas on my lunch break to thank them for having us for the night, I was given the tour. What was ahead of me, no one could have predicted.
The main living room where we were having our apéro was shabby chic with quilted throw pillows, sheer curtains, unfinished wood tables and navy blue étoile print covered couches. Through the living room was a laundry room that was converted into a bar with vintage champagne coups, flutes, highball and shot glasses, martini glasses, shakers, stirrers and all the accoutrement for a functioning bar. The kitchen was typical French country in shades of cream, deep red complimenting the dark oak wood finishing. Françoise had a room of books, teddy bears and jewelry while Gilles' room had wall to wall DVD's, vintage vinyl and rock concert posters. I identified with both rooms.
We continued on to their bedroom that had sexy nude photos of Françoise wearing nothing but lace masks and pearls in 'playful' positions. Oh my. I tried my best to not look at the pink elephant in this small room where my eyes met Sebastien's who looked at me with concern. I squeezed his hand to assure him that I wasn't shocked and in truth, I wasn't, I was hardly raised in a typical home. Were there nudie photos of my mother in our house? No. But some would find the fact that she used to garden in crochet bikinis and work boots a bit bizarre. Through the bedroom we were lead to the costume room that had a Marie Antoinette costume displayed on a dress form, pirate puffy shirts, Jesus costumes, wigs, capes, sunglasses, make-up, a working jukebox with all of Gilles' favorite picks and why not? A stripper's pole. Now I was positive that questions about the upcoming presidential election is going to come up in conversation. Anytime soon. Thank god.
Gilles prepared an offering of handmade Indian samosas, curry birdsnests, poulet tikki masala, tandori lamb and homemade nan that we enjoyed while listening to his iPod mix of Brit Pop, 90's grunge and the newest Indie Rock that I'm sure is not played on Nova yet. I asked Françoise if she cooked and she said that she puts out the cocktail peanuts and toasts bread. We clinked our champagne glasses to that. During dinner we talked about everything but politics, visas and the future and while I can hold my own in these topics, after a trek in from the city after a day at work where everyone was in such a shit mood, it was nice to keep things light.
After several glasses of champagne, wine, an after dinner cocktail and mini dance party to Gilles' NRJ 2011 Mix CD, we were wiped out and had to retire early. While Françoise was giving the tour earlier, Gilles had brought our bags into the spare room that apparently was saved for us to see later.
These are just some things that were set out in our room with a bed that was sprinkled with silver metallic heart shaped pillows under a pink feather canopy.
After the shock of our love den wore off, we hit the hay to recharge for our drive the next day. Being used to nights in Paris where there is always the sound of a scooter zipping by and the shadow of the street lights that tint the room with a hue of blue, the complete silence and pitch black darkness on Halloween weekend in the country gave me the chills and falling asleep took longer than it should have. Sebastien on the other hand was out within 10 minutes.
The following morning before getting into the shower, Gilles had stopped me in the hallway while holding a pot of coffee and asked me if I liked Jennifer Lopez. Given the setting, coffee pot in hand, that was not the question I was expecting but I responded with a yes and proceeded into the bathroom where he nodded his head in approval and walked back towards the kitchen. Ok. Several minutes after soaping up in the shower, steam shooted out from a jet above my head, disco lights flashed from circles that I thought were just an aesthetic detail in the tiling, strobes began flickering and a disco ball started turning giving the room a spectrum of polka dots to the beat of "On the Floor" that was pumping out of the surround-sound speakers. I was in Studio 54. Naked. Showering will never be the same. If my next apartment doesn't come with a damn disco shower, a conversation will be had.
Our evening with Séb's family was special, extraordinary, génial! I have never fell in love with parents on the first visit and I have the impression the feelings are mutual. Gilles sent Sébastien a text while we were driving up to Langeais that said: "Ella est ravissante, pétillante, sémillante, charmante et jolie. On pense que t'as trouve une bonne femme!" He showed me the text which made me blush. His response to his father was a simple and calm 'I know'. It has been a long time since I have received a testimonial that kind and it's been a long time since I have been with someone who appreciates and notices my good qualities and effervescent spirit without trying to break my down for not being skinny enough, successful enough or the worst; supportive enough. Damn, I've dated some real dicks. Putain...
Stay tuned for our magical weekend in Loire!
