15. LORAINE
2064 Words
I’m completely washed out when I walk through the door of my house very late at night, or rather very early on Sunday morning. I’m surprised to find the light on in the living room, but Mark is sitting on the sofa, a book in his hand, and he’s wearing glasses I’ve never seen on his face. If I weren’t so tired, I would dwell on this devilishly sexy vision, but since I only dream of slipping under my duvet, I say dryly:
“What are you doing here?”
He closes his novel, a book coming from my shelf, I notice. I don’t remember that he asked me for permission to help himself.
“I was waiting for you to come back, I thought you would be home already.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.”
I don’t want him to play watchdog.
“I know.”
I realise that I’m not very pleasant, so I try to smooth things over:
“Excuse me, it’s been a long evening.”
I drop into a chair. Bad idea, it’s going to take a hoist to get me out of here now.
“Elena is okay? She didn’t look so good when you left.”
I hesitate before answering him. I’m certainly not going to betray my friend’s secret, but I have to say something.
“We went to the pharmacy, she should get better soon.”
Not sure that get better is the appropriate expression...
“Um, um,” he nods.
He waits a second and says:
“Loraine, I’m sorry if I upset you earlier by implying that you shouldn’t go to this kind of party.”
Oh no, he’s not going to start on this! I’m not in the mood.
“I just wanted to say that you deserve better than one of those desperate guys hanging out there,” he adds.
His remark annoys me.
“And what do you know about it? Despite all my efforts, there’s not a single guy interested in me! So, maybe losers are going there, but I’m not better than them. Besides, Mark, not everyone has the chance to make members of the opposite s*x swoon with a blink of an eye like you. Imagine that for some people, it’s a little more complicated than this.
He stares at me, his eyes wide as if he has just discovered that the adorable kitten he’s going to adopt is a tiger. I get up from my chair and say over my shoulder:
“Good night.”
He answers the same thing, but I’m already far up the stairs to reach my room.
The next day, I’m awakened by a divine smell that invades my room. A smell both familiar and vague. Something that reminds me of the Sundays of my childhood. The smell of pancakes.
After a little tour in the bathroom, I go downstairs wondering if Papi Gus has escaped from the retirement home to come and cook me breakfast. But it’s Mark who I find in front of the stove. Dressed in grey jogging pants and a plain white T-shirt that hugs his chest, he flips a pancake in a pan. On a plate next to it, a stack of steaming patties tells me he’s been doing this for a while now.
A step on the stairs creaks under my weight, he looks up and smiles at me.
“Hi, did you sleep well?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you. Are we expecting people for breakfast?”
“I’m unable to cook for two. I told myself that we could always freeze the rest.”
And enjoy them throughout the week? That’s good news!
Mark indicates a stool at the kitchen counter.
“Come sit. I didn’t know if you were more coffee, tea or hot chocolate in the morning, so I thought I’d ask when you got up.”
“Coffee, but I can do it.”
“No, leave it to me. It’ll take two minutes.”
He puts the kettle on, takes the coffee out of the cupboard as well as the sugar, all while monitoring the cooking of his pancake. This well-orchestrated ballet is fascinating early in the morning.
“What do I owe the pleasure of this homemade breakfast?”
“I wanted to apologise for last night. Sometimes I’m a little clumsy. Once again, I didn’t want to offend you.”
“Don’t worry, it’s already forgotten. I was tired and not very receptive. I’m sorry if I said anything that could have hurt you as well.”
“Not at all. After you left last night, I understood that, in the end, I, who can’t stand people who judge me without knowing me, was no better than them. I drew conclusions about the guys who come to your singles nights when I don’t know much about them.”
“You were partially right, some are less than we might hope for,” I admit.
“I guess there’s a story there?” he said while placing a cup of coffee in front of me.
He smiles at me and a funny feeling runs through my body. I love his smile, and this one is just for me. A real smile that echoes in his eyes the colour of a winter sky on a mistral day (yes, I feel lyrical this morning).
I try to answer something suitable, but I have a hard time putting my thoughts back into place. That’s it, I became again the awkward, clumsy girl unable to hold a coherent discussion in his presence.
“Uh… yes… yes, there are stories.”
And as I don’t follow up, Mark turns to the stove to cook his pancakes.
“Maybe one day you’ll tell me.”
“Yeah, you know, it’s not that interesting.”
“Why?”
“Well, to begin with, I’m not a very interesting person.”
Mark slides the pancake from the pan to the plate, takes it and walks around the counter to sit on the stool next to mine. He smells divinely good: a mixture of aftershave, coffee and crepe. If anyone had the wonderful idea of bottling this scent, I would immediately go and buy ten bottles of it.
“Why aren’t you a very interesting girl?” he asks.
How to answer this question? I let out a nervous little laugh.
“Well, I’m… I’m… me.”
“Yeah, but still?”
“I…”
“Do you think I’m more interesting than you?”
Is he joking? Of course, the answer is a big yes.
“It’s not even comparable, you’re…”
He won’t let me finish.
“Do you know what Jenny told me when she left me? She told me that she couldn’t stand my lack of ambition anymore. In other words, I was a mediocre person, locked in his little routine life. So I think you can say that according to her I’m uninteresting, right?”
I’m surprised he’s talking to me about something so personal. However, I strongly disagree with Jenny.
“But that’s not true! You have completely transformed the Café de la Place! People come to Locron just to taste your food! We all saw that you worked hard for that, you’re far from lacking in ambition!”
“That’s what you think, and I thank you by the way. But what I mean is that there are people who’ll perhaps find you not very interesting as you say. But that doesn’t mean others won’t think the opposite.”
“The only problem is that they’re not running in the streets.”
“You still have friends, and I think there’s no point having tons of people around you. One or two trustworthy people is more than enough.”
“Friends, yes, that’s not a problem. I…”
I sigh and hesitate to continue. It’s a bit tricky knowing that on the one hand, we don’t know each other that well, and on the other, he’s in the middle of a breakup and doesn’t need to hear my love problems. But yet, when I meet his eyes, something gives me enough confidence to continue.
“I want to have someone special around me. Someone to share more than a few drinks and small talk with. A companion who would be there in the evening when I come home, who I could tell about my day even if nothing exceptional has happened. Someone who would cheer me up when I needed it. I think I would like to feel less alone.”
“Do you feel lonely?” he asks in a soft voice.
I nod, surprised to have verbalised this feeling that comes over me more and more often.
“As I said, I have friends, colleagues, but it’s not the same. You know, I don’t have any family other than Papi Gus. And since he no longer lives with me, I feel like there’s a great void. Before he left for a retirement home, my loneliness weighed less on me.”
“I understand.”
“I know it’s ridiculous to think that if I have a man in my life, suddenly everything will change. But the truth is that sometimes I imagine that I’ll end up on my own, my grandfather won’t be around forever, and that distresses me. You see? I’ll end up in the news section: “A woman found at home, dead for two years. It was the neighbours, alerted by the pile of mail, who sounded the alarm.”
“You’re not exaggerating a little, there?” he jokes.
“Barely.”
He takes on a deceptively serious look.
“Now that I know that, I’ll have to check regularly that you’re okay.”
“Who says you’ll live longer than me?”
“It’s a pleasure to chat with you.”
“Is it? Didn’t you order a little blues for breakfast?”
He shakes his head.
“More seriously Loraine, you’re not going to end your life alone, I’m sure.”
“Do you have clairvoyance skills in addition to those of a chef?”
“No, but you’re full of qualities that could seduce a man,” he declares before putting a piece of pancake in his mouth.
I take a jaded tone to ask him:
“Oh yes, which ones?”
He takes his time swallowing, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he wants to give himself time to find an answer.
“You’re sporty. Most men enjoy sports.”
I groan. He then lists by counting on his fingers.
“You’re kind, you seem intelligent, patient.”
I stare at him as if to say: go ahead, continue.
“With great loyalty to your friends…”
“Are you aware that you’re describing a Labrador now?”
“So what? They're cute.”
“I’m not cute.”
“No, you’re…”
I see panic cross his eyes. He jumped in too quickly, and now he’s struggling to find a proper escape route.
“Original,” he finally blurted out.
“Yeah, like a Picasso painting,” I say sarcastically, getting up to clear my plate.
“No, no. That… that’s not what I meant,” he stammers, imitating me.
“Yes, don’t worry. I’m well aware I’m no beauty.”
“That’s not true, you could…”
“Don’t finish that sentence, please. Don’t tell me I’m wrong, and I’ve accepted this fact a long time ago.”
He has the decency not to try to contradict me. I continue:
I pat the bridge of my nose to point it out.
“It will always be there. I’m not going to have it fixed, as has already been suggested to me. I’m not saying the idea isn’t tempting. But I realised that one day, with a little luck, I’ll have children and that they’ll perhaps inherit this detail of my body. How could I explain to them that they have to learn to live with it if I haven’t been able to? I can’t change my face, but maybe at some point, a man will see something other than the ugly girl in me.
I sigh and add:
“I’m too young to lose all hope, don’t you think?”
- Writer
