I'm Supposed to Protect You from All This by Nadja Spiegelman Read Free Book Online

Sometimes she stopped in quickly to give Mina her hand-me-downs, designer dresses past their season, in a stiff exchange that was more payment than present. Mina’s house was filled with faded luxuries from a different time. She loved fine things but she sewed her own clothes or repaired Josée’s old ones, preserving her threadbare elegance as best she could. Françoise never thought to wonder why Josée never sat down in her mother’s house. The two women existed in separate worlds. Despite the tinted photograph of a young Josée on Mina’s wall, it never occurred to Françoise that Josée might once have lived there. Josée didn’t exist in Mina’s world, and Mina didn’t exist outside of it. Mina was never invited over to Josée and Paul’s house, not even at Christmas, when Paul’s mother and Josée’s father, the mismatched grandparents who seemed to get along beautifully, sat in the living room, eating the chocolates the patients had left as presents.
    Françoise loved being with Mina. Here she wasn’t a sister or adaughter, a child or a woman. Here she was finally at ease. After she’d had her bath, Mina would perfume her, tickling her all over—
une friction d’eau de cologne
—while she squirmed with pleasure, delighted to be touched. As she grew older, she and Mina talked for hours, though very rarely about the family. Instead, Mina taught Françoise to sew a button or clean a kitchen, things that at home were done by the help. Mina often brought her secretarial work home over the weekends. Françoise was very impressed by her grandmother’s job. She could not imagine becoming a wife, like her mother, or a plastic surgeon, like her father. She convinced Josée to buy her a practice book and an old typewriter, and she taught herself how to type like Mina.
    One afternoon Mina said, “What a nice chest you’re developing!”
    Françoise puffed with pride. “Oh really?” she said. “Do you think so?” She arched her back, showing her fuller left profile.
    â€œYes,” Mina said, “absolutely.”
    Françoise caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her face fell.
    â€œYou’re going to need a bra soon,” Mina said, and when she caught the spark her words set off, “in fact, you must have one right away.”
    It was not possible simply to go into a store and try on clothes. Everything had to be asked for and fetched from beautiful shop clerks who looked down their noses at little girls. Françoise was terrified of the ordeal buying a bra would entail. Surely the saleswoman would laugh. Surely she’d throw them out. But Mina strode into the store with her back very straight.
    â€œMy granddaughter needs a bra,” Mina announced. The woman glanced at Françoise, her eyes flicking down to her chest.
    â€œSomething with a lot of
support
,” Mina said in a tone that left no room for questions. The woman pressed her lips together and nodded. She pulled several padded bras off the wall.
    â€œYes,” Mina said. “Precisely what we were looking for.”
    Françoise wore the bra home. She held her back straight, her chest pushed out. Josée never noticed.
    â€”
    I N 1966 , J OSÉE AND P AUL purchased a slope-side triplex apartment in Avoriaz, a ski resort in the French Alps. Both Françoise and Sylvie loved to ski, and the girls were enrolled in regional races. Françoise passed the gold-level tests before Sylvie had even passed the bronze. Sylvie soon lost her taste for skiing. Françoise went on to train with the junior Olympic team.
    One afternoon, Françoise announced that, as a treat for the family, she was going to make a lemon pie. The announcement was met with skepticism. It was a known fact that Sylvie could cook and Françoise could not, though Françoise had never tried.
    It took some effort—the new home was high up