Memories Never Dies

Épisode 5

Chapter 4

Here, in Saintes-Dames, life flows peacefully. It's a small town of four thousand souls where Nonna, my sister, and I, laid down our suitcases a long time ago.

It was shortly after our mother passed away.

At the time, having legally obtained our guardianship, Nonna made the decision, for the good of all of us, to distance ourselves from the too-present memories of a broken and painful life to face without our lost loved ones.

To go far away, all three of us, in the hope of starting a better life, seemed to her to be an obvious choice.

She had chosen this southern village, between sea and mountain, for its sweetness of life, its climate, and its breathtaking landscapes. It must be said, after so many years of a happy and tranquil life, that she had not been mistaken. We had become accomplished women at peace with our past, a true pride for our grandmother who, deep down, had more than fulfilled her mission.

Our humble home, bought with hard-earned savings, lies nestled just a stone's throw from the bustling town center. Tucked away behind an ancient wooden door, adorned with a hundred-year-old wisteria vine, you'll find a secluded gravel courtyard. At its heart, a stately oak tree lords over the property, while to the left, a sheltered terrace, doubling as a meadow, provides respite from the mild winters and balmy summers. Facing the courtyard, a charming two-story building from the 1920s stands proudly. To the right, the windowless wall of our neighbor's house encloses our peaceful retreat, creating a sanctuary of tranquility.

Returning from downtown after my peculiar day, I push open the old wooden courtyard gate and find Nonna kneeling near the oak tree, carefully planting the flowers she recently bought to welcome the approaching spring. Her shoulders are wrapped in a well-worn long shawl, and her graying hair is tied back in a loose bun. As she raises her head towards me, a radiant smile illuminates her face, gracefully tracing fine lines on her skin. Everything about her, from her rosy cheeks glowing with a natural rosiness brought on by the brisk season, to her large brown eyes and her perfect little nose, speaks of a faded beauty.

With those changes, here's how the paragraph would read:

_ Hey, Nonna!

I call out as I enter our peaceful haven.

_ Well, hello Rosa! Ciao my angel.

Nonna, our family's anchor, greets me warmly, rolling the "R" of my nickname with a strong, melodic accent that hints at our Latin roots.

It's important to note that Nonna (Lucia is her real name), the youngest of three siblings, wasn't born in France.

Her parents, originally from the beautiful region of Apulia in the southeast tip of Italy, were part of the mass migration of Italian immigrants between 1920 and 1950. During that time, in the wake of the devastating world wars, France faced a dire labor scarcity in agriculture and industry. Deeply affected by the wounds of conflicts that had impoverished and diminished their quality of life in their homeland, they left everything behind—family, friends, land, and home—to settle in the Lyon region.

With nothing but a wooden trunk as their sole possession, the family of five—Mama, Papa, Angela, fourteen, Marius, twelve, and Lucia (Nonna), ten—they departed, filled with hope for a brighter future for themselves and their descendants. It was a risky gamble, but one that ultimately paid off. For although Nonna would later experience painful events, she had also known her share of happiness. She enjoyed a joyful childhood, a loving and tender husband, and a sweet, caring daughter who in turn gave her Luna and myself, the two beings she cherishes more than anything in the world.

I walk over, kiss the top of my grandmother's head, and sit down on the small wall surrounding the flowerbed, savoring this brief moment of peace to recharge. Nonna notices my uncharacteristic behavior, as she's accustomed to hearing about our daily adventures when we return from work.

As she continues to dig in the dirt, she casts me a guileless glance.

_ Tough day? she asks.

I sigh. It's amazing how this maternal figure always understands our feelings. Still, it's obvious that something's on my mind.

_ More like strange, I reply, not offering any more details.

Nonna, who knows me so well, doesn't push. She understands that, unlike my sister, I need time to share my thoughts. She also knows I'll come around if things get too difficult. And, sure enough, I continue sooner than anticipated.

_ Did you know that Michel has a nephew? I ask.

_ A nephew? repeats Nonna, taken aback. No, I didn't! Where did you hear that?

_ I met him this morning… at the agency. He came to consult us about organizing a party for his father.

_ Philippe? The old woman inquires curiously.

_ Yes, do you know him?

_ Not personally, just through Michel's stories. But... it surprises me that he has a son.

_ Why? I ask, perplexed.

_ Michel would have told me, and I thought his ex-sister-in-law was infertile. But I must be mistaken, Nonna admits before continuing: So, is Michel organizing the event?

_ Yes, well... no, I correct myself. He won't have the time, so he asked me to take charge of the case.

_ Oh, and you accepted?

_ M-hm.

My obvious lack of enthusiasm prompts Nonna to subtly encourage me to reveal my inner thoughts.

_ This sounds like good news, doesn't it?

I try to hide my confusion by raising my shoulders and looking away.

_ We'll see, I sigh after a moment. Anyway, I gotta get ready. Enzo is coming to pick me up in an hour.

I say, trying to end this awkward conversation.

Nonna gives a surprised look as I cut our chat short, but before I can get away, she calls out to me.

_ Oh, by the way, you should check on your sister. She's not feeling great.

Just a few steps from the doorstep, I look back over my shoulder.

_ Did she tell you why? I ask.

_ I'd prefer that she be the one to talk to you about it. Nonna replies.

I nod in agreement, before stepping inside the house, a thousand questions swirling in my head. Because if there's one person who seems immune to melancholy, it's Luna.

With Nonna's words on my mind, I put my things on the coat rack and peek into her office, a cozy space where we sometimes go to think. It's located just to the right of the entrance, and it's filled with warm memories that smell like wood and books. Nonna, who used to be a teacher, spends lots of time here, immersed in her old writings.

But today, the room is empty.

Still looking for my sister, I walk through the hallway that leads to the different rooms downstairs. The floor has square tiles of cement that create a crisscross pattern. Luna and I used to play a game, skipping between the black squares and pretending not to fall in the spaces when we were kids. This memory usually makes me smile, but not today, especially when I hear crying from somewhere inside the house. Without hesitation, I rush toward the kitchen, situated at the end of the hallway to the right. It's a small room that hasn't changed in many years, and it always smells of spices and Italian-style cooked meats. I quickly peek inside...

Still no sign of Luna!

Alarmed by the sound of loud sobs behind me, I turn toward the dining room - a large open space connected to the living room, occupying the entire left wing of the ground floor - and spot my sister, sitting at the table, her face hidden in her hands.

I approach and knock gently on the doorway.

_ Hey, Luna, can I come in?

The young woman lifts her teary eyes and nods in agreement.

I enter, grab a chair by the backrest, and sit down across from her.

_ What's wrong? (I ask, running my fingers over her arm.) Did something happen at work?

Luna sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand—a break from her usual poised demeanor. Even though she has a childlike charm, my 26-year-old sister, a bank advisor, is usually quite elegant.

_ N-no... I-it's L-Loïc, she sobs after a moment.

I'm clueless about where she's going with this and start to worry seriously. Loïc and she have been together for almost four years, and even engaged since last year… so if he's the reason she's so sad, it must be quite serious.

_What about Loïc? (I rush to ask.) Did something happen to him?

_N-no!

Half relieved, I move closer and take her hand with mine.

_ What's the problem then?

After a moment of hesitation, Luna finally reveals the truth.

_We… we broke up.

It's impossible! I'm shocked. The lovers were considering moving in together…

_What? What happened?

Luna takes a deep breath and tries to calm down by blowing through her mouth for a few seconds. Then she grabs a tissue to wipe her teary eyes before revealing her boyfriend's infidelity. She discovered this betrayal yesterday while reading private texts while he was in the shower. He didn't deny the accusations, according to Luna's account, nor did he confirm them. In any case, the situation sparked a fierce argument that ended with a break... supposedly to give them both time to think!

Luna rolls her eyes to the heavens as she finishes speaking, ironic at the absurd decision—a perfect cover for her boyfriend to do whatever he wants without feeling guilty. Still shocked by this revelation—I never imagined my brother-in-law capable of such betrayal—my phone beeps…

It's Enzo, my boyfriend, whom I call "N" like everyone else we know. He lets me know he'll pick me up in 30 minutes, a message that jolts me back to reality and reminds me I need to get ready.

_ It's 'N'!( I tell my sister.) We had planned to go to Tenclub tonight, but I could stay if you want?

_No, don't worry, Rosa. That's sweet of you, but there's nothing you can do. And honestly, I'd rather be alone. Go get ready, (she sends me off.)

I hesitate, then finally accept. After all, Luna's right. There's nothing more I can do. Plus, if she changes her mind, she knows where to find me, which I make sure to remind her before saying goodbye.

Hurried by the ticking clock, I race up the stairs two at a time and find myself on the landing in no time.

Much like the lower floor, the years have left their gentle mark here as well. Starting with the beautiful old hardwood flooring that creaks with every step, covering every inch of the upper level, from the bathroom to the washrooms, and the three lovely bedrooms. The rooms are bright and airy, with large windows reaching up to the high, molded ceilings. My room overlooks the courtyard, from where I can see the street, the roofs of the village houses, and the church steeple.

As I hastily remove my clothes, I reply to Enzo's message:

ROSA:

Hi, N! Let me know when you're here.

ENZO:

OK!

After a quick shower, a few strokes of the hairbrush, and a touch of makeup, I'm ready.

Dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit—my favorite jeans paired with a slightly off-the-shoulder red top—I hurriedly descend the stairs under my grandmother's watchful eye. As usual, she doesn't miss the chance to warn me about the risk of falling... a recurring remark that apparently still has no effect on me!

As if I hadn't heard her, I give her a tender kiss, a playful smile on my lips.

Passing by the living room, I notice that Luna's no longer there and continue my way to the exit. I give myself a final look in the mirror before rushing out into the courtyard.

Just then, a new message from Enzo simply reads, "Here!" letting me know he's arrived.

Parked behind the large entrance gate, the young man awaits me in his newly acquired Clio. This mechanic, passionate about sports cars, takes great pride in showing off his small yet prized possession like a precious gem.

Not finding the vehicle particularly remarkable myself, I take the passenger seat and offer my lips to my boyfriend. But the brief kiss he gives me leaves me wanting more. It's disappointing, especially after the emotional storm Amaury left me with, which I struggled against all day. I tell myself it was just an accidental mistake, a complete sham, because Enzo is the only man in my life, and his presence was supposed to confirm that.

However, we couldn't have been further from the truth. Worse, after the usual formalities like "Hey sweetheart, how are you?" and "Did you have a good day?", which, between us, I didn't really feel like expanding on, we didn't exchange a single word during the entire ride. And for good reason—Enzo blasted the music to an unbearable volume, making any conversation impossible.

Well, on the other hand, I'm not used to sharing my deepest feelings with him either, and today, it's even more true. What could I possibly talk to him about? Loïc's deplorable behavior towards my sister? Enzo couldn't care less about those kinds of dramas. And don't get me started on my run-in with Amaury... A topic completely off-limits considering Enzo's extreme jealousy. Faced with this sad realization, I suddenly feel a deep sadness. A feeling that lies somewhere between disappointment, loneliness, and inevitability, exacerbated by the obvious lack of attention—or even affection—that characterizes our relationship.

But why am I realizing this only now? "N" has always been like this. He's one of those men who speak very little and consider romance a sign of weakness—far from the image he prefers to project of himself. He has a blatant machismo that, until now, had never bothered me.

We've known each other for many years... Three years his junior, I crossed paths with him throughout my schooling without really getting to know him, until that fateful day when my car broke down on a small road at the entrance of the town...

It was one of those late afternoons in March when the days start to gently stretch out. I had a feeling my grandmother's Ford was getting tired. I was almost at the village when the old rustbucket decided to give up on me, just as the rain started to fall. I was stuck and had no choice but to call the garage in Saintes-Dames for help. It was Enzo who drove the tow truck. I hadn't seen him since high school, but I recognized him immediately. We loaded the car in the pouring rain, and found ourselves soaked from head to toe in the cab. On the way back, we talked at length about the old days, about the students, the teachers... In short, we had a great time laughing about the situation and really enjoyed ourselves.

And then nothing. It wasn't until a month later, at Laura's nineteenth birthday party—she's been my friend since childhood—that we met again and our romantic relationship truly began. Career-oriented and not expecting anything from this closeness, I absolutely hadn't planned on being with him for so long. Comfortably settled into the routine of a bachelor and determined to stay that way, Enzo had never promised me anything about our future either. A situation that suited both of us, at least, that's what I thought until today...

While my driver remains focused on the road, I observe him out of the corner of my eye, lost in my thoughts. Our relationship, relatively stable, isn't exactly a fairy tale. Carried along by circumstances, habit, or simply a reassuring routine, I suddenly realize that I've never truly asked myself about my deep feelings.

Is it love? A purely physical attraction? Or just a good friendship? Although I doubt this last possibility, considering our level of complicity and communication. However, this morning's meeting, which produced an unprecedented confusion in my heart, seems to want to hinder my well-oiled existence to lead me to another realm—that of doubt and uncertainty.

Because even though I'm not the type to wait for Prince Charming or the great love that goes hand in hand, I'm still a woman with a heart. My heart has never been so agitated as it was today, and moreover, by an individual who came out of nowhere and whom I find difficult, if not completely impossible, to resist. Especially when my entire being is yearning for him like an illicit substance. And clearly, I'm afraid that even my long relationship with Enzo isn't enough to rival this temptation.

"N", who must have felt my stare lingering on him, turns his eyes toward me. But before he can meet my look, I turn away my eyes and press my forehead against the window. Even so, Enzo doesn't pay any more attention to me, and anyway, whatever he might attempt tonight, nothing can change what's happening inside my mind. As if an invisible blindfold has been removed, my mind is plunged into a blinding light and struggles to adapt to its new condition.