“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that day!” Danielle took offence.
She looked outraged by my revelation.
“Honestly, what would you have done in my place? We had known each other for two hours at most!” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
“Yes, but still! It was your birthday and I made you eat a simple soup and terrorized you by making you wash the salad!”
“There was a slug in it,” I added to Vincent, who seemed to not understand the story of the salad terror.
We were gathered in Vincent’s dining room, or rather, I should say in our dining room since Vincent had very officially asked me to settle down with him. By we, I meant: Danielle, Vincent, Rose, Papet, Mamée, Nicole, Auguste and Mireille. We were celebrating the New Year, but most of all, me, since I was turning 33 on January 2.
