Love Is Pink!

The Citro?n’s engine was purring and it was snowing outside, for a change. Baby’s head rested on my lap. His tongue was still hanging out the side of his mouth. His eyes were half shut. The one hind leg had a splint and was tightly wrapped. Around the wound, his fur was shaved off and a thick bandage hid the stitches. From time to time, he shivered or cried very softly. It was a good thing that the backseat had enough space for both of us.

Emma had curled up in the passenger seat and covered herself with my ski jacket, as usual. She didn’t sleep. Instead, she kept looking back every few minutes to see how Baby was doing.

David set the windshield wipers on high because the snowflakes were nearly blocking all visibility. It started to look more and more like somebody higher up was bombarding us with fat cotton balls. Mother Hulda was definitely barking mad.

“Global warming,” David said, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, I can hardly remember a winter as harsh,” I said. “Definitely not at Christmas. Your windshield wipers are incredibly loud. Are you sure they’re working right? I mean, are they merely spreading the flakes around?”

“What’s wrong with you? They work perfectly. But with this weather, they have no chance. That’s how it is with such a—”

“Classic.” I finished the sentence drily.

He looked at me and we snorted with laughter.

“I’m hungry,” Emma said.

I searched in the plastic bag we’d brought back from the Christmas market. Everybody got a smiley-man cookie. They tasted just like the gingerbread cookies I love. Afterward, I gave Emma and David the pink, heart-shaped butter cookies.

“Fantastic,” David said as he chewed.

“Your tip was golden, Emma. Your papa does love butter cookies.”

“Of course!” Emma said. “Especially because they’re pink.”

“Because they’re what?” David asked.

“Pink. The cookies are pink. And Papa, you always say love is pink.”

David furrowed his brow. “I never say that. Maybe I’ve said once or twice that love is blind.”

“Did you refer to your previous relationships in that way?” I asked without even trying to mask my curiosity.

David shot me a quick look over his shoulder. “Who knows?”

“Love isn’t blind,” I said. “Love isn’t pink either. Love is dumb.”

This time, even Emma laughed.

I shifted positions a bit, careful not to upset Baby, and brushed against the package that lay abandoned at my feet.

“You haven’t told me anything about the urgent business you had to take care of in Nancy,” I said. “What was so important that we had to make the detour?”

David hesitated and mumbled, “Did I perhaps forget to tell you that?”

Did I perhaps forget to tell you that? These words unleashed a feeling of déjà vu. Just two days ago, I’d heard them come out of Valentin’s mouth. The conversation that had followed would always be burned in my brain. That phone call didn’t go very well.

A dull suspicion came over me. Perhaps this phrase was some kind of guy code used by simpleminded men to announce the coming of far-reaching catastrophes. So I drilled deeper.

“No,” I said, “you certainly did not tell me why you needed to go to Nancy. But at the moment, I’m all ears.”

David cleared his throat. Aha, I thought, this is also part of the ritual.

“So,” he started, “you’ve most certainly noticed that our Citro?n is something really special.”

“Hmm,” I said. I could almost physically feel David’s discomfort.

He busied himself with unnecessarily adjusting the heating. I waited.

“What was I saying?” he started again.

“Our Citro?n is something really special,” I repeated.

“Oh, yes. And in order to fully restore it, rare original parts are needed.”

I couldn’t believe it. “We drove all the way to Nancy because you needed to get whatever rusty things you need for this pink tub from a scrap dealer?”

David nervously ran his hand through his hair. “The way you say that, it has a bit of a negative sound.”

I tapped the package with my foot. “And what precious things did you pick up?”

“Side-view mirrors. Made of chrome and almost as good as new,” he announced proudly.

“Are you serious? We’re touring through half of France just so you could get a couple of stupid mirrors? I knew you were off.”

“What?” he said. “You’re one to talk! You travel hundreds of kilometers just to get to a man who only uses you and keeps you like a trophy—all so he looks younger, the old geezer. Don’t you know that you mean absolutely nothing to him?”

David never should have said that. Now I wouldn’t hold back anymore. I’d let him know exactly what I thought of him.

Just then, our car hit a dreadful bump. It lurched toward the right like we’d gone into a pothole. David struggled to bring it to a stop.