Thanks for taking the time to read this story. It's my second posted on this site. This is just the start, and based on your feedback will continue to develop it. Any/all thoughts are appreciated. Thanks. jm08nyc@yahoo.com.
CHAPTER TWO
Sophie and I held our eye contact for what seemed like an eternity. Her pale grey eyes boring into my brain. Reflecting the depressed life I had been living since Cooper left.
I cleared my throat and adjusted myself in my chair.
"Well, if you're worried the house is exactly like you left it. But I know you don't really care. I've been cleaning and organizing all summer. I've got all your work clothes finally organized--although who knows if you'll ever go back to work. And, I had time, so I organized the books in the library by color and alphabetically. Don't even think about messing it up."
I smiled, thinly.
"Thanks, Sophie. I appreciate everything you've done to hold things together here, while I've been... away."
She shook her head slowly, deliberately. Sadly.
"He calls."
I looked down at my hands resting on the rough wood surface of the old farmhouse table that sat in the middle of the stark white kitchen. A faint imprint still remained on one finger of my left hand. I shook my head.
She continued.
"Almost daily. Sometimes every other day. For the last six weeks or so. Asking how you've been. Making sure you're eating. Wondering who is doing your laundry. Concerned about your work. Merde."
She paused. Slid another few slices of tomato onto the plate in front of me, which I was eating without even thinking.
"Pourquoi," she started again, "why do you do this to yourselves? He calls. And you're never here. And I tell him you're not here. And I tell him I don't know the answers to his questions. And he tells ME that HE misses YOU. And he cries."
I can't breathe.
I've known this has been happening. Sophie has told me over the phone several times over the last few weeks.
But. Hearing it in person. Sitting across the table. Imagining him sitting there saying those same things. Hearing the sound of his crying in my mind. My heart breaks.
I put my head down on the table and close my eyes. I manage to mumble, "Merci, Sophie, thank you for everything. And I don't know. I don't know anything. That much is clear."
I heard her get up from the table and shuffle past me. And just for the briefest moment felt her hand rest against my shoulder.
I probably sat in the kitchen with my head on the table for a couple of hours. At some point I dragged myself out of the chair and began the long walk down the hall to our bedroom--my bedroom. I stood just outside the door for a few minutes. Staring inside. It looked just like it had when I left at the end of May. It looked just like it had when Cooper left.
I stepped across the threshold and moved towards the chair at the far end of the room. Bright red. We had found it in a flea market about a year or so ago. It was rough. Worn down. Old. It had sat in a storage locker for weeks. Then, one day it turned up in the house with a giant bow on it. Cooper had had it lacquered a brilliant shade of red, my favorite color, as a surprise. I ran my hand along the chair frame, the curve--once rough, now smooth. Once dark, now bright. It seemed to be the reverse of my life.
I sat down.
And cried.
From the beginning Cooper and I had an unusual relationship. We met on an airplane; flying from London, where he had grown up and been living, to Berlin, where we both had business. I was in the middle of a multi-country business trip, hopping around from client to client, making sure that everyone was happy. I really wasn't very happy myself though.
I had lived in Paris for three years at that point. Coming over initially to run the Paris office of the advertising agency I had worked at in New York; I had left within nine months to start my own shop. It was hard work, but I loved it. I had a great team, a growing list of clients, and a creative outlet for all my energy.
I had never been very successful in relationships; when I left New York for Paris it wasn't hard to break up with the guy I had been dating. We had never really had anything more in common than great sex anyway. And my first few years in Paris, when I wasn't working, I was partying. Clubs. Dancing. Booze. Lots of Booze. And boys. Nothing serious.
And then I met Cooper.
We were seated next to each other on the plane, even though I thought I had strategically landed next to an empty seat. I wasn't disappointed when he sat down next to me. Tall, fair-skinned, fair-haired, piercing green eyes, and a killer British accent. I thought "he could be fun entertainment while I'm in Berlin...".
We hit it off on the plane, shared a few cocktails, and made plans to have dinner while we were in Berlin. We met up our second night in the city and the second night turned into the third day, turned into the third night, turned into the fourth morning. We connected in a way that I had never connected with anyone else. He was so... alive. Fun. But, brutally honest. With his feelings, his thoughts. It was like lightning storms in my head when we made love. I had had my fair share of sex before. But nothing like this.
I was due to leave the fourth night, and he had planned to stay to spend some time with friends. We exchanged numbers. Promised we'd see each other soon. In London or Paris or somewhere in-between. We texted the whole ride I had in the car to the airport...
I finally pulled myself out of the chair, those first, flush memories of Cooper ringing in my head. I stepped to the dresser and looked at myself in the mirror. Hot. Fucking. Mess.
The sun was starting to set. Somehow I'd have to go back to work tomorrow.
I crept out of the bedroom and continued down the hallway to the living room. Sophie had vacated the premises, probably once she started to hear my racking cries.
I looked around the room, at the end of the long hallway. The wall of windows opening onto Paris. The art. Some collected before Cooper, much after. The couch. We had been sitting on that couch when I asked him to move in. Fuck.
I shook my head to try and banish the thought, and proceeded back down the hallway, through my bedroom and into the bathroom. I turned on the shower and began to strip. Taking stock of myself as I did so. Well, if nothing else, I had lost weight this summer. Although I was much too skinny now. And I was tan. And... and... I really didn't know what I was, or what I had learned, or what I had overcome during the last three months.
My phone, which had been sitting on the counter, buzzed; startling me out of my daze. A text. From Thomas. "Looking forward to having you back at work tomorrow, boss. Let me know if you'd like to have a drink tonight."
I set the phone back down and stepped into the shower. Can water wash away sin? The past? Maybe this time.
As if on auto-pilot I walked through the Marais, even in the dusky Paris night I had my sunglasses on. Dressed in my cosmopolitan uniform of... black. With a shot of grey. I was trying to get back into the swing of city life. I was meeting Thomas for a drink, so I could feel somewhat more ready to brave the following day. Which was...Tuesday? No, Wednesday. Tomorrow would be Wednesday.
TO BE CONTINUED.