Vincent sounded muted beside Charlotte, like a superscript or a color washed in white. I knew that if Charlotte were not there, he would be more voluble, more like the Vincent who would lapse into song because it rains. I am a part of the world that he keeps free from job downsizing, laundry, bills and son’s tantrums. When he is away from his family, he becomes the Vincent of old.
He loves Charlotte, adores her. But perhaps in all of us there lies a part that we keep away from family: the part that isn’t weighed down by maturity.
It was a tad strange to see them interact with Anna. They liked her and took and posed for photos, but there was a distance, a reservation, as if they’d had enough of children at this time, thank you.
I left breakfast feeling a little foolish, perhaps a little let down.
