6. ROMY
2078 Words
Now isn't the time to daydream! I have to get myself ready. This evening will go down in history, it will be memorable! There may even be pictures!
I eagerly stuff the black forest into my fridge. Once he proposes to me and I can call him my fiancé, I’ll suggest that we have dessert at my house, the two of us, alone. And then, I’ll take out my black forest. How not to be touched by the symbolism? That I just baked his favourite cake on our engagement day! This is a story we can tell our grandchildren.
Unless he planned to propose with dessert? Would Simon be the type to hide a ring in a chocolate mousse? In this case, we can always taste the Black Forest later, after a quick lap under the duvet that would leave us panting and hungry. I already imagine this tasting as the prelude to a second round… Ah, the whipped cream!
I run in the shower and give myself the total: scrub, mask, hair removal. I then coat myself with lotion to have the skin as soft as a newborn. I choose to straighten my hair because he once told me that it looks good on me. It’s once in front of my closet that I’m a little more perplexed. What am I going to wear? If I had known he was going to ask me to marry him, I would have bought myself a new dress! I almost emptied the contents of my closet onto the bed.
On one side, the dresses I don’t fit into. Don’t judge me, all women have them! In particular, the one bought on a whim, imagining wearing it as soon as we have lost the three or four kilos that bothered us. This compulsive purchase that was to mark the beginning of our new regime, the very one that we forget once we have left the store to go and buy ice cream. And then there are all the ones we keep, convincing ourselves that there’ll be a day when we’ll wear them.
I make a second pile with those that don’t excite me at all: too old, not classy enough, worn too much. Then a third with those that could possibly do the trick. There are two. The first is a sober black dress, perhaps a little too demure for the occasion – but the advantage of black is that you can hardly go wrong. The problem, I’ve only worn it twice… to funerals. And the symbolism doesn’t get me excited. The second is pale pink. I bought it for a cousin’s wedding. It did its job very well until late at night when a drunken guest threw up on me. Since then, I’ve already sent it twice to the dry cleaners, but I could swear that the smell is encrusted… Moreover, my cousin divorced not even six months later. Again, I don’t know if that’s a good omen.
My choices are limited… So I look again at the pile of undersized dresses. On top is the one that would be perfect for this kind of occasion: an azure blue, the same as Simon’s eyes. It’s cut in delicate and light fabric. The neckline reveals just the right amount of clevage. Coupled with my grandmother’s pearl necklace, it would be perfect. The only concern is that at the waist, it moulds my unsightly rolls a little too much. Resembling an over-filled macaron: no thank you!
But then a flash of genius hits me. I eagerly open my underwear drawer and rummage at the bottom of it. I know it’s hiding somewhere, even though I’ve never used it: my slimming girdle! For sure, the object is anything but sexy. Once home, I’ll just have to pretend that I need to freshen up and come out of the bathroom straight in my underwear. It will prevent Simon from removing my dress and discovering the deception, as well as the filthy piece of flesh-coloured reinforced material.
Proud of my idea, I put on the girdle. At least, I struggled for a good quarter of an hour to try to get my belly in there. It looked so simple in the advertisement! When I finally get there, I’m exhausted from the effort, but mostly from the fact that I’m having trouble breathing. I have to calm my heart rate, otherwise, I’m going straight to suffocation! I try to inhale and exhale like I was taught in yoga, but it doesn’t work at all, since I can’t inflate my belly anymore! I realise the obvious: I’ll have to be careful tonight not to overwork myself. But when I look at my reflection in the mirror, I tell myself that it’s worth it: my waist is as thin as when I was 20! I grab the dress off the bed and put it on. It falls perfectly! It’s decided, I keep the girdle. As they say: you have to suffer to be beautiful!
I left the house and decided to walk to the Café de la Place. I only live about fifteen minutes walk from the village centre. Normally, the idea of walking this distance in heels would have put me off doing it, but tonight I’m euphoric.
It’s cool, but nothing unusual for early November. The leaves of the plane trees crunch under my feet. I’ve always loved autumn, its avalanche of colours, the air becoming crisper, the chimney fires reigniting. It rained during the day, the streets glistened in the light of the streetlamps. I walked past my bakery, which was closed at this time. The Halloween decorations are still there for a few days. Soon, I’ll put in Christmas decorations.
I turned towards the square. Mark’s restaurant is an institution in the village. I join my friends there when we want to have a drink together. The fact that Loraine married the boss is an undeniable advantage, even if we frequented the place before. It’s also the place where we celebrate most of the moments of our lives. And of course, the one where Locron’s famous singles night takes place every month.
I haven’t been to one for years. It must be said that once my girlfriends were all settled, the idea of going alone was much less engaging. In a village the size of ours, the pool of single people is rather limited and isn’t often replenished. However, I continued for a little while. Although I had no hope of meeting a soul mate there, some of the regulars had become friends over the years. And at least it allowed me to spend an occasional evening when I didn’t have to hear about all the joy that marital bliss can bring.
I pushed open the door and entered the restaurant. I glanced towards the bar and spotted my brother Ben with his friend Jeremy. They give me an enthusiastic little hello to which I respond. I knew he would notify my family. I don’t see my parents, nor Guillaume and Jade, but I guess they may be hidden to preserve the element of surprise.
“Romy!”
Simon waves to me, he’s seated on a chair at the edge of the room. He stands up and smiles at me as I join him. He places a peck on my cheek. I would have thought he would kiss me, but it’s true that we never did in public. And then, it’s still a mark of affection on his part. We’re not like those teenagers who throw themselves at each other as if the end of the world depended on it. At our ages, we’re more restrained, but a simple kiss can be worth a thousand words.
He examines my outfit.
“You’re very elegant,” he said, helping me to remove my coat.
“You’re not bad either.”
He’s wearing well-cut grey pants with an azure shirt. The fact that our two outfits match doesn’t escape me. What a beautiful coincidence!
I slid into the seat opposite him. It’s clearly not the best table in the restaurant, he may not have told Mark of his intentions, because I know that my friend makes it a point of honour to bend over backwards to satisfy his customers. There are three places on the table, so yes, Simon must not have informed him of the special nature of this evening.
But after all, I don’t care about the layout of the table! I focused my attention on the man in front of me. He looks happy if a little nervous. I get it: I, too, have sweaty palms and this strange feeling that twists my stomach. Or maybe it’s the girdle?
“You look great!” I said to start the conversation.
“Thanks, I guess recent events have something to do with it.”
He smiled a real sincere smile. The ones he only has when he’s particularly excited about something. It really is a very pretty smile. I hope our children will inherit it. And maybe even his hair. I love my big red curls, but Simon’s hair is perfect: thick, silky, rich brown.
He clears his throat and announces:
“I suppose you know this, but I got the job.”
“That’s great, congratulations!”
I’m genuinely happy for him, but I’m also so nervous to hear the sequel that my voice does this kind of thing where it goes high and makes me sound like a mouse.
He slides a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up a bit in the process, and continues:
“I’m very happy. More than I would have thought. And I hope that you’re ready to have me under your feet a little more?”
My stomach does a flip. At least it tries to because let’s not forget the girdle...
“Yes…” I croaked.
I feel like my whole body is starting to sweat. I have hot flashes!
“Are you okay, Romy?” asks Simon, who is watching me with concern.
“Yes, yes,” I said, fanning myself with the napkin. “I’m just a little hot.”
He nods, apparently reassured, and says:
“In fact, if I wanted to meet tonight, it’s because I have other good news to tell you.”
That’s it. The next few minutes are the ones I’ll remember all my life. I smiled at him to get him to talk. He puts his hands on the table, I’m about to touch them, just to instil some courage in him. Not that I doubt he has it – the guy has spent the last ten years photographing war zones – but to show him that from now on he’ll have someone to lean on.
“There’s…”
“Good evening! What can I get you?” asks the waitress out of nowhere.
Simon jumps and I do too. However, he’s faster than me at regaining his senses. He glances at me.
“Champagne?” he asks me.
I nod my head, he confirms to the waitress who disappears as quickly as she arrives. When he remained silent, I said:
“You were saying?”
“Oh yes. So, I have good news for you. I hope you’ll be happy to hear it.”
He takes a breath, his eyes are bright. I can feel all the emotions he’s feeling, and I’m sure my expression mirrors his.
“I have met…”
My brain, which is racing, completes the sentence on its own with several scenarios: I have met many women in life, but none come close to you. I met the love of my life several years ago, without knowing it, and it took me a while to realise that I couldn’t do without you...
Except that none of these possibilities correspond to the words that Simon actually speaks:
“… somebody.”
I blink.
“You mean the editor?” I asked.
“No... well yes.”
He shakes his head.
“That’s not what I mean. I met a woman.”
“Is the editor-in-chief a woman?”
He’s about to answer me, but we’re interrupted by a voice – female, in this case. A… familiar voice.
“Sorry, I’m late!”
I looked up to find Sabrina standing next to our table.
After giving me an embarrassed look, Simon replied:
“Actually, my dear, we were just talking about you.”
- Writer
