18. ROMY
2374 Words
“We can’t eat there,” I said, pointing to the restaurant from the parking lot.
“I don’t see where the problem is. You told me the other night that you wanted to come.”
Ah yes, my big awkward unboxing moment where I told him about my marriage proposal hopes… I may have mentioned that I would have loved Simon to invite me to this restaurant.
“I’m not dressed to go to dinner there.”
“ You’re perfect just the way you are. I find you perfect as you are. Seriously, having been able to closely examine your outfit earlier in yoga, I think these pants suit you…”
“Please, I don’t need another comment on my buttocks!”
He smiled at me with all his teeth.
“Why? Those are very nice cheeks.”
“Seriously, Alistair, if I need to talk about my buttocks, I’ll make an appointment with a proctologist.”
This time, he winces.
“To return to the restaurant, we can’t go to dinner there.”
“Why?”
“Well…”
Because it’s a place where you go on a date.
“Alistair…”
“Romy...?”
“Why do you want to eat here?”
“Because I know you want to.”
We stared at each other. It’s rather dark in the car, we’re only lit by the dim light of the street lamps in the parking lot. Yet his amber eyes shone in the night. They challenge me to give him a valid reason for my reluctance. I feel like I’m suffocating in the cabin. I’m far too aware of his closeness. The air is loaded with something indefinable that gives me goosebumps. Does he feel it too?
I shake my head. No, it’s not possible, I’m disturbed because I have a handsome man in front of me and I’m only a woman… a little lacking in attention.
I end up asking him the question that has been floating around in my head for a while:
“What do you expect from me, Alistair?”
He takes his time to answer.
“I don’t know.”
His answer surprised me. He seems so sure of himself normally. But very quickly he adds:
“I want to spend a nice evening with a beautiful and amusing woman that I would like to know better. I want to go and try this restaurant with you because you told me about it. We’ll eat, drink, talk, and then I’ll just walk you home. Nothing very complicated.”
“Nothing complicated,” I admitted.
“So let’s go?” he asks, putting his hand on the handle of his door.
“Okay.”
We left the car and walked side by side towards the restaurant. Once through the door, Alistair asks for a table for two, and we are guided to the back of the restaurant. I can’t help noticing the pretty dresses of the women present, and I feel uncomfortable in my yoga pants, with my loose sweater and my half-undone ponytail.
Alistair, meanwhile, seems completely at ease: he thanks the waitress and holds my chair gallantly to help me sit down.
“You don’t have to,” I told him as I sat down.
“No, but it makes me happy.”
He sits down and asks:
“Do you sometimes let go?”
“Sorry?”
“I feel that you dissect my every move. Are you only doing this with me? Or with everyone?”
I don’t know what to say. I know he’s right, but I’m not ready to admit it. He doesn’t insist and instead he changes the subject:
“So Guillaume and Ben are your brothers?”
“Yes. You know them?”
“I met Ben a few months ago when I moved to the area, and he was the one who told me about the gym. He introduced me to your other brother next, but I didn’t realise they also had a sister.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
I saw his expression change slightly. It’s subtle, but I’d swear there’s something. However, he shakes his head and says:
“No.”
I figure I may have dreamed his reaction, so just kidding:
“Sometimes I wish I were an only child.”
He seemed amused.
“Why? Don’t tell me that at your age they still come and steal your toys?”
“Thanks for reminding me that I’m old.”
“You’re not old, you’re an adult. So I guess the childishness is over.”
“Believe me, when it comes to sibling relationships, there are things that never pass, regardless of age. Look at Ben’s behaviour earlier when he saw us together. He takes his role as a protective big brother very seriously.”
He smiles at me.
“Before I knew he was your brother, I thought he was interested in you and that he took it badly that you were going with me.”
I can’t stop laughing.
“No, and quite honestly, if he hadn’t been my brother, he would have been after you instead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s rather you who would be his type.”
His face clearly showed his surprise.
“Is your brother gay?”
“Yes, married for five years with a charming man.”
It’s usually a very interesting time to gauge people’s tolerance. Some are uncomfortable with this kind of announcement, others who clearly show their disapproval, and finally, those who really don’t care. Apparently, Alistair falls into the latter category.
“Do you like children?”
I nodded my head.
“I love them.”
I surprised myself by admitting it. It’s not something I say often, at least not in recent years. Certainly to avoid the look of pity from some people.
“Really?”
“Yes. I… I like their innocence, their way of discovering the world.”
He looks moved, so I ask him the question without even thinking about it:
“And you, do you want children one day?”
His body stiffens, his smile disappears, so I joke to help him relax:
“I’m not asking you if you want one right now. Just if one day – I don’t know, ten years from now – is that something you’re considering?”
“No, no, I don’t want children,” he answers as if I had asked him if he wanted invasive cancer.
I shrug my shoulders.
“You’re still young, you may change your mind when you find the right person.”
“I don’t think so, no.”
The seriousness with which he responds is disconcerting. But I didn't dwell on it, because a server came to take our orders. I barely had time to read the menu, so I let Alistair start and immerse myself in reading the dishes. He asks the waitress questions about the composition of a dish, and she bursts into a crystalline laugh. I looked up and saw her push a strand of her hair back over her shoulder. Okay, she’s clearly flirting with him. But can we blame her when we see the way Alistair behaves towards her? He jokes and she simpers even more. I suddenly feel uncomfortable. This is reinforced when the waitress turns to me and asks:
“And for your sister, what will it be?”
Alistair looks amused but doesn’t correct her. I don’t bother to do that either. I dive back into the menu to avoid meeting his gaze, but I’m disappointed. Of course, she doesn’t imagine for a second that we could be together. And besides, we’re not. I don’t believe that in asking her question, the waitress had an ulterior motive. She’s just logical: if a guy his age and a girl of mine eat together, it’s because they’re either related or have a professional reason to do so. Since I’m not dressed for a professional meeting, she drew conclusions. But it confirms to me what I’ve been thinking from the beginning: no matter how much he attracts me, it will never happen.
I politely placed my order and when she walked away, Alistair was having fun:
“Does she think you’re my little sister or my big sister?”
I gave him a bored look. Does he think it’s funny? I think he realises that it doesn’t make me laugh, because his smile disappears. I blame myself a little because, if I don’t like people laughing at my expense, I don’t want the evening to get tense either.
So I try to make an effort by asking him questions about his work. He tells me about his current projects, and I end up asking him a question:
“You told me you were only at Locron for a while. How come you knew you were leaving, but you started working here?”
He sighs, grabs his glass of wine, and his gaze is lost in space. I wondered for a moment if he was going to answer me if I shouldn’t start another topic of conversation. But he finally speaks:
“I don’t quite have the answer to that question... Well, yes, but it’s complicated.”
As in general, the: It’s complicated is equivalent to I don’t wish to discuss it, I expect him to leave it at that, but he continues:
“I came to Locron to relax and finish my thesis. I hadn’t been here for years. But really, I should have left already.”
I have a lot of questions following this statement, but I start with the first point he announced.
“You’re a student?”
“Yes. But I finished writing my thesis. I will support it next month.”
This revelation shocks me because it further underlines our age difference. He’s a student!
Alistair must notice this because he adds:
“I’m a student, but I work too and for a while now.”
“Yes, you’re doing renovations.”
“No, I wasn’t talking about that, but about my other job in England.”
“What exactly were you doing there?”
“I worked for my father’s company. He’s the director of a group that provides mechanical engineering consulting.”
He hesitates and continues:
“And I guess I’ll be back working with him in a few months.”
“Why? I have the feeling that you don’t like it…”
He swirls the wine at the bottom of his glass and watches its movement while answering me:
“I like working with my father. But working behind a desk, I realised that wasn’t what made me happy. I like to do practical things. I had a lot of fun taking care of the house in Locron, and I still have lots of plans to transform it. It pleases me to go to a house, an apartment, and to tell myself that once I’ve taken care of it, the places are transformed. I like creating with my own hands, I think.”
He raised his head towards me.
“I think I’m in a good position to know how you feel. Me too, I like to create with my hands.”
“Plaster, flour, they look alike,” he smiles.
“If it’s renovating houses that you like, why don’t you continue on this path?”
“There are several factors. I’ve already done quite a few years of study for it to be for nothing.”
“There are a lot of people who do that and then reorient themselves.”
“There are my parents…”
“They would like you to continue the business?“
“Among other things. But that’s not the real problem with them… it’s the disease.”
“Are you talking about your haemophilia?”
He nods his head.
“They’re not exactly happy with the idea that I can have a job where I risk getting injured easily.”
I think back to the time he cut his head open in my back room, and I still feel guilty asking him to help me. When he left, he was still bleeding.
“They may be right…” I tried.
“As I often say: I can do everything like another person, but not everything is wise to do. I know the risks I run. Just because I’m going to cut myself doesn’t mean I’m going to bleed out. On the other hand, if I bleed at the level of a muscle or a joint, it can be much more dangerous. Inevitably, by doing a more physical job, I increase the probability of injuring myself. But sometimes I want to silence that rational, cautious side of my brain… That’s why I still haven’t made up my mind, I guess. Because I always have in my head these two things that clash: my passion, my desire to live my life as I wish… and my reason. The one that pushes me to tell myself that I can’t gamble with my life, my health. For me, of course, but also for my loved ones. My parents sacrificed a lot for me. My mother had to stop working. I had to be taken to the hospital every day for my injections when I was a kid, and we lived over an hour away. Not to mention the time spent there, she couldn't have a normal professional life. And after all they’ve been through, I can’t give them one more worry.”
I observe Alistair. I don’t know if he’s talking to me or if he’s announcing out loud what’s on his mind. Something tells me that he must not have often discussed this. Somehow, I’m flattered that he feels comfortable enough with me to open up.
Our dishes arrive and the discussion becomes more banal. But I can’t stop thinking about everything he just said. Alistair strikes me as the kind of man who hides behind a smile and a rather open personality. But something tells me that if I scratch a little, what I might find there is much more complex.
The truth? That’s what I want to know more about.
- Writer
