3. ROMY
2187 Words
There’s another reason I hate when people celebrate my birthday: the cake.
Baking is my life.
I also sell a lot of other things in my shop, starting with bread. But my passion, the one for which I’m really happy to do this job, is making desserts, cookies, pastries, sweets and other delicacies. For each person who matters in my life, I strive to make a memorable birthday cake. I take into consideration their tastes, their preferences, to create something unique and extraordinary. I don’t mean to sound presumptuous, but I think I’m the best pastry chef for miles around. So, when it comes to celebrating my own birthday, I don’t see why I should settle for anything mediocre. This caused more than a heated debate with my friends and family, which inexorably ended up with the same solution: I baked my own cake.
However, since it’s a surprise birthday this year, I have nothing planned. When I hear the children start to sing Happy Birthday, and see them come around my smiling mother who walks forward with a dish where there are so many candles that I’m too blinded to find out what they are resting on... I have cold sweats.
It’s only when she places the cake in front of me that I discover a gâteau so perfect that I can almost believe that I made it myself.
Since thirty pairs of eyes are watching me, I do what is expected: I blow out the candles. Applause and enthusiastic cries ensue. I’m given carefully wrapped gifts and some drawings made by the youngest. While I kissed each of the guests to thank them, it came Sebrina’s turn, my young employee.
“I hope you like the cake,” she said, almost embarrassed. “It’s me who did it.”
If I felt a pang of jealousy when I discovered the pastry chef who was able to produce a result almost as perfect as mine, I’m now suddenly invaded by a burst of pride. I met Sabrina a few years ago when she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. She needed a job to help her family, and I hired her as a shop assistant. Feeling she was motivated, I offered her the chance to pass her Bakery Certificate while doing her apprenticeship with me. Once she graduated, I hired her and now I couldn’t do without her.
I took her in my arms.
“It’s perfect, and I’m sure it’s as good as it is attractive. Thank you, Sabrina.”
She gave me a beaming smile.
The tasting of the cake confirms my suspicions, the little one is truly gifted. Moreover, she quickly becomes the star of the moment when I announce to everyone that, if they’re enjoying themselves, it’s thanks to her.
The afternoon is over and the first guests are already leaving. I wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea of this party but, in the end, I would have liked it to last longer. My friends help me tidy up and then slip away with their families. It’s Sunday evening, there are school bags to prepare, baths to give, laundry to fold. I find myself alone with Simon.
We spoke little this afternoon, and I feel that the fact that he’s still here isn’t insignificant. My suspicions are confirmed when he asks me:
“Do you have two minutes to talk?”
I don’t see how I could pretend that I don’t have time to give him. And I admit that, even if I was disappointed with his reaction earlier, I may be a little harsh with him.
“Yes, of course.”
He leans back against the kitchen counter and watches me as I pretend to dust off a crumb on the table.
“I’m really happy to see you, Romy.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “It was a long three months.”
He smiles at me.
“An eternity. I…I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier when your mother announced that you were pregnant. I don’t want you to believe that…”
I cut him off with an embarrassed laugh.
“Oh! that thing… Forget it, it’s already forgotten.”
He frowns, I think he knows me too well to fall into the trap.
“No, Romy. I’m serious. If it turned out that you were pregnant and I was the father, I want you to know that I would have done whatever it took to support you.”
I let the silence stretch between us. I’m almost tempted to tell him that, if indeed I had been pregnant, he would have been the father, because there hasn’t been anyone else in my life for a long time. But I’m not sure he wants to hear that. And above all, I don’t want to know what he did on his side. We never promised each other anything. We were never even really together, in the way that most people think of as a relationship.
The first time we slept together was almost by accident. He had just told me that he was leaving the next day for a country at war, on the other side of the planet. I was depressed, I had just been dumped by my boyfriend. I’m trying to convince myself that the booze helped, but if I’m honest, we couldn’t have had more than two drinks each. When he hugged me to comfort me, I slipped my hands around the back of his neck and began to stroke his hair, which he had just cut. He kissed my forehead, and the minutes that followed are a little fuzzy in my mind. I just remember that it felt natural, obvious. The next day, I woke up alone in my bed, and a note was waiting for me in the kitchen.
Until we meet again.
It haunted me for weeks. What did it mean? Which Simon would I meet? My friend or the one who had passionately made love to me all night long?
As usual, he hadn’t given me a precise date of return. He had turned up one morning at the bakery, looking tired, but with a smile on his face. And when I walked around the counter to throw myself into his arms, he put two kisses on my cheeks.
Two years have passed during which we have never spoken of that evening again. I had almost convinced myself that it was part of my imagination. In the meantime, I met a few men, and Simon spoke vaguely about the women he had met. Then, one evening, while we were watching a movie together, it was he who broached the subject, asking me if I remembered. I refrained from telling him that I would have had a hard time forgetting the best s*x of my life, but when I told him yes, his pupils flared up. The next moment, I was perched on his thighs and we were kissing passionately. But as I slid my hands under his T-shirt, Simon halted my progress. He cupped my face, anchoring his blue eyes to mine.
“I can’t offer you anything, Romy, if not this. I’m never here, my job... You can’t fall in love with me.”
I understood two things at that moment: first, I was already in love with him; second, I was ready to settle for whatever crumbs he wanted to give me. I should also have realised that I was pathetic, but it was already too late. Driven by the moment, I kissed him. And that’s how Simon and I got into this kind of strange relationship where we meet every once in a while for a passionate embrace without actually being together.
Certainly unsettled by my lack of response, Simon resumes speaking with an embarrassed laugh:
“You’re really not pregnant, huh?”
This time, I’m irritated.
“Do you really think that if that had been the case, I would have announced it by showing up with a T-shirt at my own birthday party? Really, Simon! How long have you known me?”
He understands that he has exceeded the limits because he comes forward and pulls me into his arms.
“Hey, Rom, I’m sorry. I’m stupid. Of course, you wouldn’t have done that.”
I hate that he calls me Rom, and I’m mad at him. He knows that when he touches me, I find it hard to resist him. I’m sure he did it on purpose. He strokes my hair, smoothing it down my back. I pushed him away.
“I’m a little tired, I should go to bed.”
He nods, but he looks disappointed. I thought for a moment that he was going to say goodnight and leave, but instead, he said:
“I had something important to tell you, but if you’re too tired…”
While the second before, I was almost ready to kick him out, now he just piqued my curiosity. I cleared my throat.
“Well, maybe I can give you a few extra minutes…”
If I weren’t so inquisitive by nature, I’d pretend I didn’t care, just to make him swallow his smug smirk.
“Well, I have been contacted by a new magazine which is run by an editor I have worked with a lot in the past. And he offered me a full-time position. I have to meet him in Paris next week.”
“Does that mean you’re moving there?“ I asked, trying to sound detached.
Simon is certainly not very often in Locron, but if he lived in Paris, I’d see him even less, I suppose.
“No. The idea, precisely, would be that I stay in the South; they need a correspondent who could follow the different events in the region. In fact, if that happens, I’m afraid you’ll have me on your back constantly, Romy.”
He grins hugely, and my heart skips a beat. Simon would live here full time? Is that what he’s telling me?
“But... but I thought your thing was action, to be on the ground, in conflict zones abroad. Here… Don’t tell me that Monaco is going to declare war on us?”
He’s laughing.
“No, no risk. In fact, it would be to cover a whole different sort of subject. The magazine is a monthly specialising in sports, so it would be more for writing and photographing meetings, athletes, that sort of thing.”
“And do you like that?”
He shrugs.
“Yes, why not? It’s also action.”
He fixed his eyes on mine before continuing:
“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot in recent months, and I think I’ve turned a corner. I have reached an age where I want to settle down and enjoy life.”
He lets out a little laugh.
“I even imagined starting a family, having children…”
I can’t help laughing too, even though it sounds more like a sneer than anything.
“Well, just now, you didn’t look very excited about the prospect of being a father,” I pointed out.
He sighs.
“Romy, I’m sorry again for earlier. I... I reacted like a fool. It’s just that, even if I feel ready to take the plunge, I want to do it without it being imposed on me. And of course, once I’m sure I have the job. Besides, I may be a little old-fashioned around the edges, but I always imagined myself getting married before having children.”
“Ah, yes, I understand... me too.”
He watches me and I feel the blush rise to my cheeks. What should I read in his eyes? My brain is boiling. Simon has always said that I shouldn’t fall in love with him because of his work, but what if now that’s no longer an obstacle? Does this mean that something more serious is possible between us? I dare not ask him the question.
“Well, all this will only be possible if I get the job,” he said, suddenly seeming much more serious.
“Yes, yes, of course. But I’m sure you will. You’re the best!” I exclaimed.
He walks over and puts his hand on my shoulder. I raised my head, his blue gaze staring at me with sincere tenderness.
“You’re the best, Romy. Thank you for always being there for me, no matter what.”
He places a kiss on my hair. I might have preferred him to kiss me somewhere else, but he says:
“I’ll let you rest. I don’t want to stay here any longer, drawing plans before everything is confirmed. I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow. I might be away for a few weeks. As soon as I get home, I’ll let you know.”
“Like always.”
“See you soon, Romy!” he said over his shoulder.
The next second, he disappeared, but his absence suddenly seemed much less hard to bear, because deep inside me a small flame was lit: that of hope.
- Writer
