LIKE BUTTER IN THE HEAT

Chapter 2: Île Saint-Louise

Île Saint-Louis. Andrea had driven Molly to a small boat house across the Seine cutting through Quai d'Orleans of the island. Andrea, a native of Île Saint-Louis enlightened Molly on the nit bits of the island, on how cozy and welcoming the inhabitants are; the island filled mainly with residences and fewer hotels and shops, proffers an ambiance that soothes the soul, the kind that tangoes with the cadence of the Seine river to make any visitor easily coalesce with the aura of Île Saint-Louis. The boathouse docked by the quay to the west of the island, oozing the feeling of a rampart as though guarding the island, immediately Molly’s eyes fell on it. With Île Saint-Louis island having no landmarks, quays like these and the boathouses lining the sides of it, allow for a purview of the seine river, the surrounding islands, and the famous Île de la Cité castle at the center.

“Lorsque vous avez le temps, promenez-vous sur l’île.” Andrea immediately said, sensing Molly’s departure. The rideover had let them be properly acquainted, and he knew that although Molly had merely superficial knowledge of the French and their language, she was better than most. He conversed with the native tongue to provide Molly with a better form of integration with the environment. “C’est magique la nuit.” Andrea had just advised Molly to take a stroll around the island, claiming that the serene nights are magical. Ending his statement with a chef’s kiss, he bade Molly goodbye with a wave before hopping into his vehicle and driving off. Molly’s intention was in sync with Andrea’s advice, having long decided to partake in the flaneur tradition of Île Saint-Louis.

“Je va is.” Affirming in her ill-at-eased French accent, Molly called out in appreciation. “Merci beaucoup.” She wove back with a smile.

Molly’s smile immediately straightened as she held her buzzing phone to her face.

“Mom…” Molly answers the phone, her voice caked in the tender jolly.

“Just arrived?” Her mother asks.

“Yeah. It's so…different here.” Molly responds, not hiding the pleasantness riling up from within her.

“Of course honey, it's France. I bet those high school French classes are paying off a bit now, right?”

Molly simply giggled, not providing any definite response to the statement.

“How’s Dad, still not saying anything?” Molly asked, her expression a bit crestfallen yet stubborn.

Her mother sighed. “Your father, well, just give it time honey, I’m sure he’ll come around very soon.”

Molly heaved her breath deeply before forcing it out along with a sigh. She said softly. “But it’s been five years. When will he snap out of his fragile ego?” She spoke as though to herself, but her mother on the other end could sense the frustration and loneliness from Molly’s voice.

“Just give it time, baby.” Her mother responded, before circumventing the soppy topic for something she felt would arouse a gossip session. “I ran into Carrick at the Pharmacy this morning.”

Frowning for a second, Molly responded placidly. “Oh. Good.”

“He looks fine, and…happy, perhaps.” Her mother adds.

“It’s been months, moving on and chasing happiness is right in order,” Molly said coldly.

“So should you too, Molly. Carrick was amazing, but he wasn’t right for you, baby. Paris should be a new beginning for you to find yourself a companion. You have the right to be happy too.”

Molly pauses momentarily at her mother’s words, her face stoic, yet her brows are slanted with an almost negligible frown.

“I’ll Facetime when I get to my apartment. Goodbye, Mother.” Without waiting for a response, she ended the call.

The indifference on Molly's face immediately shatters, allowing the leashed bitterness to bloom.

Turning to the boathouse, Molly dragged her luggage towards it, carefully hopping over the stone path unto the bow of the boat. From here, she carefully studied the barge as she caught the hint of cinnamon that was immediately stolen away by the breeze. It, in turn, pulled to view an array of purple sea lavender taking residence atop the barge. The amethyst flowers a good height away from Molly made prominent other monolithic purple plants whose roots were encased in a cerulean ceramic vase: a sea lavender casting a unique ambiance to the boathouse. Soaking up the flourishing warmth, Molly made her way to the entrance where she found within the c***k of the door and the hinges, a folded piece of paper stuck out. The note estranged Molly yet she pulled it out regardless. The note stated where she would find the key — under a flower pot just beside the entrance. It informed her that there was another note inside the house, imploring her to read through it before doing anything else.

Molly found the boathouse’s interior to be jaw-dropping. As this was her first time living off the land, Molly never imagined she could find such beauty atop a river. It wasn't large, but it was enough to hold a kitchenette, a sitting room, and a bed space. Regular elements, but the cadence of each of these felt natural as though watered, grown, and sculpted by nature: there was synergy. Minimalistic and clean; caked in the scent of rosemary and cinnamon, apparently whoever lived here enjoyed cooking and simplicity. The simplicity stole Molly's breath away. There was a sense of compliment, like the kitchen counter and the bed frame had an intricate understanding from a genetic level: not encroaching, and at the same time the border between each other wasn't too large to induce a sense of emptiness. There was intimacy between the dull colors of sage green and pale white. From the entrance, the kitchenette held its abode by the right corner: a cooking gas and two dark green coupled cabinets hinged above it. Two white sofas, and the bedding space occupying the left half of the boat house. There was ample space for Molly to practice her craft of choosing, which seemed to have been intentionally created due to the indentures of furniture that might've been there before. Molly could already picture her canvas and paints, crumpled papers, or discarded designs of alluring pastries and food lining the area. A litter box sat at the edge of the area, making Molly's face twist strangely as she attempted to remember if she'd seen any cats around.

As stated in the first note from the door, Molly found a sheet of paper on the kitchen counter, held down by a key that acted as a paperweight.

“Hi Molly, I am Jasper. Welcome to Paris and my humble bateaux…” The note read. Further detailing the minor chores within the boat, the regular cleaning and watering of the flowers outside and inside, and the overall maintenance of the place for the months she would be occupying the boat. In the note, Jasper made specific requests regarding the bonsai tree in the same blue ceramic bowl placed next to the washing sink in the middle, one Molly hadn't spotted initially.

“Also, Jasmine makes a mess every night, so please be a darling and empty the litter box every morning. The piled-up mess can be very nasty, as you can imagine.”

After making a complete revolution of the whole living space and finding the sign of no feline, Molly could only roll her eyes. Andrea had warned her that the owner of the boat house is known for being a bit eccentric, and she had only taken the message in passing, never really intending to delve into it. To her, no weirdness was too weird for her to handle.

“Finally, Paris is a hubbub for bedbugs. Try not to have some in the boat. And the key on this note is for the Vesper parked behind. Enjoy Paris, dear.” Jasper's notes concluded.