Happy People Read and Drink Coffee
Page 15
When I was ready to leave, I stopped myself from picking up the keys to the bookstore; it was Sunday, and I had promised myself not to go there on the “Lord’s Day of Rest.” I took my time to get to the Rue des Archives. I strolled along, allowed myself to window shop a little while puffing on my first cigarette of the day, ran into some regular clients of the bookstore, and gave them a little wave. This peaceful spell was broken by Felix when I arrived at our usual Sunday meeting place, a table outside a café.
“What the hell have you been doing? I nearly got kicked off our usual table!”
“Hello, my darling Felix,” I replied, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re up to something; you’re being too nice.”
“Not at all! Tell me about what you did last night. What time did you get home?”
“When I called you. I’m hungry; let’s order.”
I let him call the waiter to take our order for brunch. It was his new craze. To reassure himself, he’d declared that after his crazy Saturday nights, brunch would be better for him than some stale reheated pizza. Ever since then, he wanted me to be in attendance to admire him devouring his scrambled eggs, sausages, and bread while he drank a carton of orange juice to quench his thirst the morning after.
As usual, I just picked at his leftovers; he made me lose my appetite. We leaned back comfortably in our chairs, smoking, our sunglasses perched on our noses.
“Are you going to see them tomorrow?”
“As usual,” I replied, smiling.
“Give them a kiss for me.”
“I will, promise. Don’t you ever go any more?”
“No, I don’t feel the need to now.”
“And to think I didn’t want to set foot there before!”
It had become my Monday ritual. The bookstore was closed and I went to see Colin and Clara. If it was windy, if it rained, if it snowed, I went to them. I liked telling them about my week, all the little things that happened at the bookstore . . . Since I’d started dating again, I’d tell Colin all about my pointless fix-ups in great detail; I felt I could hear him laughing, and I laughed with him, as if we were co-conspirators. But it was much harder for me to talk to Clara about important things. My daughter . . . everything I remembered about her always made me sink into a pit of sadness. Without thinking, my hand rose to touch my neck: during one of my talks to Colin, I’d taken my wedding ring off the chain I wore. Took it off. Once and for all.
I’d worn nothing around my neck for months now. I’d explained to Colin that I’d thought about it and decided to accept Felix’s suggestions about dating.
“You’re with me, my love . . . and you’ll always be with me . . . but you’re gone . . . you’re far away and will never come back. I’ve accepted that . . . but I want to try, you know . . .”
I’d sighed, tried to fight back the tears, and turned my wedding ring round and round in my hand.
“It’s starting to weigh heavily . . . I know you won’t hold it against me . . . I think I’m ready . . . I’m going to take it off . . . I feel that I’ve healed . . . I’ll always love you, that won’t change, but it’s different now . . . I’ve learned how to live without you . . .”
I’d kissed the gravestone and taken off the necklace. My eyes filled with tears and I let them flow. I’d squeezed my wedding ring with all my might. Then I’d stood up.
“See you next weeks, my loves. My Clara . . . Mama . . . Mama loves you.
Then I’d left and didn’t look back.
Felix interrupted my thoughts by tapping my thigh.
“Let’s go for a walk; it’s nice out.”
“Lead the way!”
We left to walk up and down the quayside. Like every Sunday, Felix insisted on crossing the Seine and making a detour to Notre Dame Cathedral to light a candle. “I have to repent for my sins,” he’d say, but I was no fool: his offering was for Clara and Colin, his way of keeping a link to them.
While he paid his respects inside the church, I waited patiently outside, watching the tourists get attacked by the pigeons. I had just enough time to finish off a cigarette before seeing Felix act out his version of the death of Amélie Poulain’s mothera; it was worthy of an Oscar—especially the scream! Then the wonderful actor he was came and put his arm around me, waved to his imaginary cheering audience, and led me slowly towards our beloved Marais and the sushi bar we went to every Sunday night.
A reference to the 2001 film Amélie, starring Audrey Tautou
Felix was drinking sake. “You have to fight evil with evil,” he said. As for me, I was happy with a Tsingtao. Sitting between two Japanese people, he began his interrogation and demanded a debriefing. It was going to be very brief!
“So, what’s wrong with the one you went out with yesterday?”
“His camera’s attached to his face!”
“Wow! That’s really exciting.”
I slapped the back of his head.
“When will you understand that we don’t have the same ideas about sexuality?”
“You poor thing,” he lamented.
“Should we go back? We’ll be late for the movie on TV.”
Felix walked me back to the door of the bookstore, as always. And gave me a big hug, as always.
“I have something to ask you,” I said while still in his arms.
“What?’
“Please stop playing at Dating.com; I can’t stand such awful evenings. It’s so demoralizing!”
He pushed me away.
“No, I won’t stop. I want you to meet someone nice and kind, someone you’ll be happy with.”
“You only introduce me to fools, Felix! I’ll manage on my own.”
He glared at me.
“Are you still thinking about your Irishman?”
“Stop talking nonsense! I’ve been back from Ireland for a year. Have I ever talked to you about Edward? No! He has nothing to do with this. It’s ancient history. It’s not my fault if you only introduce me to fools!”
“OK, OK! I’ll leave you alone for a while, but you have to be open to meeting men. You know as well as I do that Colin would want you to have someone in your life.”
“I know. And I intend to . . . Good night, Felix. See you tomorrow! It’s the big day!”
“Yes!”
I gave him the same big kiss as a few hours before and went into my building. Despite Felix’s objections, I didn’t want to move. I liked living in my little apartment above the bookstore. I was at the heart of everything that was happening, and that suited me. But more importantly, it was here that I’d rebuilt my life all alone, with no one else’s help. I took the stairs instead of the elevator and climbed up to the fifth floor. When I got inside, I leaned against the front door and sighed contentedly. In spite of our final conversation, I’d spent a wonderful day with Felix.
Contrary to what he believed, I never watched the movie on TV. I put music on—tonight it was Ásgeir, King and Cross—and began what I called my spa night. I’d decided to take care of myself, and when better than Sunday evening to make time to give myself a facial and all the other things we girls do?
An hour and a half later, I finally emerged from the bathroom. I smelled nice and my skin was soft. I washed down my last coffee of the day and curled up on the sofa. I lit a cigarette and let my thoughts wander. Felix never knew how much it had cost me to push Edward to the back of my mind so I wouldn’t think about him any more.
After I’d returned from Ireland, I hadn’t kept in touch with anyone: not with Abby and Jack, not with Judith, and especially not with Edward. Obviously, he was the one I missed the most. The memory of him came back in waves, sometimes happy, sometimes painful. But the more time that passed, the more certain I was that I’d never hear from them again, and especially not from him. It would be pointless after so long; more than a year already . . . And yet . . .
About six months earlier, one Sunday in winter when it was pouring with rain, I’d decided to cle
an out my closet. I came across the box where I’d put the photos he’d taken of the two of us on the Aran Islands. I’d opened it and melted when I saw his face. I rushed to the phone like a woman possessed, found his number in my contacts, and dialed it. I wanted, no, I needed to know how he was. I was on the point of hanging up every time it rang, torn between the fear of hearing his voice and a deep desire to get back together with him. And he’d answered: just said his name, in his hoarse voice, then a beep. “Umm . . . Edward . . . It’s me . . .,” I stammered, “It’s Diane. I wanted . . . I wanted to know . . . umm . . . how you are . . . Call me back . . . please.” After hanging up, I told myself I’d just done something really stupid. I’d walked all around the room, biting my nails. My obsession with knowing how he was, to find out whether he’d forgotten me or not, had kept me glued to telephone for the rest of the day. So much so that I tried again at ten o’clock. He hadn’t picked up. When I woke up the next morning, I called myself all kinds of names when I realized how ridiculous I’d been. My moment of madness had made me understand that Edward no longer existed, he would remain just one episode in my life. He had started me on the path to free myself from my duty of loyalty to Colin. I felt free of him as well now. I was ready to open myself up to other people.