Arianne's Path to Happiness

CHAPTER TWO

I slide into the bath, letting the hot water and the lavender fragrance wash over me. Like always, this is always what I look forward to at the end of each day– me time after tucking Christopher into bed.

Just me, my bubble bath, my playlist, and the dim bathroom lit up by scented candles. It’s something I’m glad I make the time to indulge in because my stress levels are significantly reduced.

And as a single mother with an independent business, the stress is always rocketing.

Despite that, however, I’m pretty content with my life. Pretty content with what I’ve carved out for myself.

At 28, I’m a mother to the most amazing son, I have my cafe that’s doing pretty well, a best friend that’s been with me through thick and thin, and supportive parents who don’t pry too much into my life out of respect.

I feel a pang of pain at the last one but push it away as I hold my breath and submerge into the water for a couple of seconds then come back up, gasping.

I’m pretty content with my life.

I slide my hand down my chest, letting the slick of the bubbles propel my movement. Allow it to act as a lubricant as I give myself the only pleasure only I can give myself.

Pretty content with life.

About an hour later, I’m done–after almost falling asleep in the tub and I change into my pajamas. To avoid waking Chris, I let my hair drip dry as I go through my phone notifications.

Birchwood Blizzard's 10-Year Reunion Party. My calendar reminds me and I sigh and swipe it away.

The Google news headline: Beauregard Sailor Royalty to host a Captain’s Dinner is what I see next. And no matter how much my mind screams at me to ignore it, curiosity gets the best of me and I click in.

Stephen Beauregard is to host a 3-day cruise party next month to launch his new ship. Important personalities are expected to attend this event and only paparazzi from distinguished media houses will be allowed to cover the event.

Overall, it’s going to be a very big deal.

I scroll through the article and the pictures of people who are expected to attend, and I pause at the 2nd picture. My breath hitches a little as I study his facial profile. He’s unsmiling but all that flashes in my mind is the image of his smiling face, one with genuine laughter etched into his profile. All that flashes in my mind is the way those lips marked map trails on my skin, a mix of intense and feathery touches.

I shake my head and release the breath I had been holding.

Get a grip, Arianne. f*****g get a grip.

I keep scrolling; past faces that are familiar but unimportant to me, past faces I’ve seen in popular media, and past people I don’t know but assume are important enough because they’ve made this Forbes article list.

Then I click away, hating myself for indulging in something I promised myself to stay away from.

And the next notification I zero my focus on doesn’t help at all.

Credit Alert: Monthly Upkeep. I swipe that away, maybe a little too aggressively, like I’ve done every month for the past couple of years. My bank said they could do nothing about that so I had to open a new account for my finances. However, seeing the alerts each month only infuriates me because it’s just so typical of…

I toss my phone to the side, hating the way my mood has dived. So I put on my rain sound playlist and go to bed.

Fuck people who think they can see me as a charity case. People who feel everyone else is the scum of the Earth and should be treated as such.

With much difficulty, I fall asleep. My dreams are full of night strolls and cherry blossoms and cruise parties. And in the morning, my mood is significantly worse than ever but I suck it up. I need to prepare Christopher and drop him at school and get ready for work. With a clear head.

Esme remarks when I enter the cafe "someone seems to be in a good mood", to which I respond with a groan. “Good morning to you too.”

“Dave isn’t here with the almond croissant yet?” I ask as I am unable to identify the carton it usually comes in. That’s usually a morning favorite, along with the blueberry waffles, but we make those ourselves.

“Nuh-uh called to notify us there will be a 10-minute delay,” Esme informs, then proceeds to pick something from the showcase counter. “By the way, you got mail.”

I raise an eyebrow as I collect it from her, peeling open the high-quality paper and seeing an invitation in silver typeset. A curious Esme looms over me.

“Birchwood Blizzards' Class of 2014 Silver Reunion.” I wince slightly as she reads off, lowering the letter. Esme picks it up and scans it. “Oh, it’s even personalized. Your name’s written in such a pretty font.” She pauses. “But why’d they send it here?”

“Must’ve looked up The Hidden Bean.”

An old classmate of mine, who I frankly didn’t even remember much of, had contacted me for the first time a couple of months ago, informing me of the reunion. She had gotten my info from my elderly parents who are happy to assist anyone they think is a friend of mine.

I suspect my parents are the same ones that told her about my cafe. So when I had declined her request to send my address for an invitation, she must’ve just gone ahead to look up my cafe and send it here.

That annoys me honestly, because I get the message.

“So you aren’t going for the reunion?” As I make my way to the backroom to prepare for my morning cafe duties, Esme inquires.

“Nope.” waving a hand in dismissal and I shut the door behind me.

Esme has been trying to get me to change my mind, ever since the first day I told her about the reunion and my plan to not go.

One of the reasons she was adamant was the hope that I might find someone I was “compatible with”. And just like Derek, I give props to her for not giving up on me finding a significant other.

Today is a bit slow. Aside from the loyal, regular customers, a few new faces come in and nothing happens for most of the afternoon. Christopher comes back and after eating, falls asleep in the bed in the backroom. I busy myself with a paperback novel.

“Can you manage till closing? I’ll go check on the new coffee beans supplier.” Esme says an hour to closing, grabbing her jacket and car keys. “The farm is about 35 minutes away.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Thank you.” I say because I was supposed to have done the inspection myself but haven’t found the time to yet.

“Stuff it.” There is a cheerfulness on her face as she puts on her sunglasses and fluffs her voluptuous red hair. “See you when I see you.”

I smile and wave as she struts out of the cafe, watching through the glass windows as she enters her red sedan and drives off. Then I go back to my paperback novel.

A few customers come after that but 15 minutes before our 6 p.m. closing time, I decide to start closing the shop as it doesn’t seem like anyone else would be coming. I flip the sign and get to packing up everything.

There aren't a lot of perishable leftovers, enough to serve as breakfast for me and Chris tomorrow morning. Esme had also taken some with her as she left. So I pack the remainder up and clean the show glass.

Chris wakes up as I’m rounding up and sits in a corner scanning through his 101 Dalmatians picture book as he waits for me.

Just as I’m done stacking the last table, the overhead doorbell rings, signifying the entrance of someone. I’m a bit horrified at my neglect of not locking the door from the inside. Something I always do after closing time, especially with Chris around.

The stranger is in a slightly oversized wool sweater layered over a shirt and black tailored pants. He looks around the cafe, face turned away from my perspective then he zeroes in on Christopher who looks up from his picture book to stare back.

I’m already navigating my way around the stacked tables as quickly as I can because how can I be so reckless as to forget to lock the door with Chris unattended to on the other side of the room?

“Sorry, we’re closed.”

I can’t see the stranger’s face as he’s focused on watching Christopher who’s still watching him back. Which is what sets off my alarm because why won’t he turn at the sound of my voice instead?

Brushing past the stranger, I go straight to my son and pick him up before turning to face the new addition.

“I said we’re–” My words get caught in my throat, and I feel that treacherous breath hitch as I stare into the face of the man I’d just been losing my grip on last night.

“Hello, Arianne.” He says and I feel currents passing through me, making me unsteady so much I almost lose my grip on Christopher.

I hate the fact that after all these years, his voice still has the same effect they’ve always had on me.

Hate the fact that after all these years, Saint Beauregard could still manage to undo me, with the sound of his voice alone.

Hate the fact that no matter how much I lie to myself, I’m probably still not over my ex-husband’s brother.