20. ROMY
1641 Words
When you live in a small town, news travels faster than it takes to bake a pastry. That’s why I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I saw Elena show up at the bakery the morning after my dinner with Alistair.
She rushes straight at me, and as soon as the customer in front of her has finished paying for her purchases, she doesn’t waste time:
“So, how was it?”
“Hello to you too. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She makes a little disapproving pout, the one that says: Don’t tell me lies. She certainly uses it with her students – or her children – but it doesn’t bother me. She continues:
“Okay, you’re playing it like that... Romy, how was your evening with the sexiest Englishman around? It seems that you left hand in hand from your yoga class and had dinner together afterwards.”
“You seem well informed, except that we didn’t go hand in hand.”
“But you still had dinner together?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what? We had dinner together, that’s all,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
To be honest, part of me is disappointed that nothing happened. However, when he brought me back, I’m sure he was about to kiss me. I would like to say it’s my cat’s fault, but it’s certainly better that way.
She looks disappointed.
“You mean you had dinner with the sexiest single guy around, looked each other in the eye, and then…nothing?”
“What did you want to happen?”
She tilts her head to the side as if to say: Are you really going to ask me to draw you a picture? For my part, I pretend to be very busy reorganising my window.
“I don’t know, I was expecting…”
“What? That I sleep with him? I don’t think that would have been a good idea. I have explained to you, my decision has been made: I’m going to have a baby. So now is really not the time to complicate my life with a man, even for one night.”
“If you say so... And your search for the ideal parent, how’s it progressing?”
“Stop calling it that, it sounds like the name of a reality show.”
The truth is that I have only just read the conditions of registration on the site, but for the moment I haven’t started. It’s ridiculous, but I feel that filling out this form makes it much more real, that there will be no going back after that. Yet I’m sure of myself, I want this baby and I have no time to waste with a man who’ll feed false hopes.
“I don’t think you’re ready to take the plunge,” Elena said.
“And you’re sure because…?”
“Because otherwise, you would have done it already. It’s not your style to let things drag on.”
My mother’s words come to mind. Indeed, when I do something, I throw myself headlong into it. But hey, we’re talking about a super important decision, not choosing to repaint my living room.
“I... It’s not easy, it’s true.”
“Especially since there’s this guy you like.”
I’d love to refute it, but instead, I can’t help but smile.
“I knew it!” Elena exclaimed. “You like him?”
Although there’s no one but my girlfriend in the shop – the bakers have left and there are no customers – I feel myself blushing.
“Yes, I like him, but that’s not a reason. It’s just a stupid crush.”
“So what? You have the right, right?”
“I suppose. But okay, I like him, so what? It’s not like he’s looking for a relationship, or even that we were meant to be.”
“Well then, take it for what it is: a way to have a good time with a terribly hot guy. You have fun for a while, and then you go your separate ways with lovely memories.”
“It seems so simple, said like that,” I sighed.
“Hey! Didn’t we just admit that when you want something, you go all out to get it?”
I smile at her. That’s when the bell on the door rang and a new customer entered. A new customer who is none other than Alistair!
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi.”
It’s silly, but I feel like the conversation I just had with Elena is on my face.
“You must be Elena?” Alistair asked my friend. “Romy told me a lot about you.”
She pretends to be flattered and shakes the hand Alistair offers her.
“What a coincidence, it’s precisely you that Romy was talking about!”
I glared at my friend. But when you’re a schoolteacher and mother of four children, your resistance to adult stares is Teflon.
“Good, I hope?” he asks, giving me a wink.
Did he really just wink at me?
“Of course. Well, I have to run, I have a lot of stuff to do! Good day, both of you.”
She heads for the door but turns around before going through it. She places her little finger and her thumb in front of her mouth and her ear, in this universal sign which means: Call me!
I’m now alone with Alistair, and I hardly dare to look at him.
“How are you?” he asks.
It’s a silly question. It’s the one that dozens of people ask me every day in this same store. But he had a special way of asking it as if the answer really mattered to him.
“Good,” I replied, my mouth suddenly as dry as the Mojave Desert. “And you?”
“Very well.”
“Great.”
He nods. I don’t think either of us knows what to add.
“Did you need something?”
He cast a panicked look around him as if he suddenly had to decide what he had come for. But his eyes end up fixing on me.
“Yes, you.”
Me?
A sweet sensation leaves my stomach and spreads throughout my body. I feel my cheeks heat up, but I’m paralyzed. Meanwhile, Alistair doesn’t take his eyes off me. I wish I had the strength to hide behind my cash register, but his whiskey-coloured irises won’t let me. Instead, I croak:
“Me?”
“Yes... I need your advice about cake.”
The image of a soufflé that collapses after opening the oven door pretty much sums up my state of mind. But what exactly were you thinking, Romy? He’s in your shop: of course, he’s coming to buy a cake or bread!
“Is it for a particular event?” I asked in my most professional voice.
“A dinner.”
“For how many people?”
“Two.”
“I see.”
Indeed, a very clear image of Alistair having dinner by candlelight with an unspecified young lady is imprinted on my mind. I pretended to be focused on the cakes in my window.
“Well, I have a chocolate feuillantine, which is very popular as a rule…”
As he doesn’t answer, I continue my recommendations:
“A carrot cake, but it’s a bit heavy. Otherwise…”
“Which would you choose if it was for you?” he cuts me off.
I look up, he’s not looking at the cakes at all: he’s staring at me. I really don’t understand. He comes to buy a cake for dinner with a woman, and it looks like it’s me he wants to devour.
“The Saint-Honoré,” I answered softly.
“Which one is that?”
I point to my favourite pastry while cursing myself. Am I really giving him the opportunity to seduce someone with my favourite cake?
“What’s inside?”
“It’s a base of puff pastry covered with puffs topped with chiboust cream.”
“Great, I’ll take this one then.”
I grab the cake and place it carefully in a box. I almost blame myself that it’s so perfect. Too bad I don’t have a little laxative handy, I would have discreetly put some on it for the trouble.
I shake my head. I have really strange ideas at times. What does it matter to me if he buys a cake to go to dinner with someone other than me? And then what if he’s meeting with a friend? A friend he loves very much and he wants to offer them a good meal.
I handed the box to Alistair, carefully avoiding touching him. Then I typed the sale on my register and announced the amount in a monotonous voice. He gave me the money, and our exchange might seem quite banal for someone entering the bakery at that moment.
“Have a good day,” I said politely.
“See you, darling,” he replies with a much more genuine smile than mine.
He turns on his heels and heads for the exit, holding my neatly wrapped Saint-Honoré in his fingertips. The shop is empty, so I had no choice but to watch him leave. I think to myself that even his behind is very appetising, moulded as they are today in his faded jeans.
As he walks down the street, my eyes follow him. It was then that I thought to myself: I can find all the excuses on earth – like his age, my desire to have a child, or even the fact that he’s English, don’t forget the jelly – I lie when I tell myself that I’m not attracted to Alistair.
- Writer
