FIND YOUR BALANCE

Welcome, everyone!

As usual, a little bit of a slow-burn. This story took a gentle turn I did not epect when i started it. I hope you'll enjoy.

F.

Celeste

“And, what do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect, Mrs Beaumont, I love it”.

“Victoire, please, if we are to be neighbours, let us be friends, shall we?”

Friends it is, and it’s graciously and sincerely that I smile to the woman before me: despite her old-fashioned posh way of speaking, she seems kind. And as she is going to be my landlady, I better make friends with her.

After signing the contract, paying a deposit, I get the keys, and she leaves, leaning heavily on her cane.

And leaves me alone in my new home. In a new town. A new life.

Well, new… Not really new, I’m just back in my own town, that’s it.

Thanks to Kai, aka “The cold devil”, according to my nephew.

Ten years together, five years officially living together, that is, until two weeks ago.

I knew something wasn’t right, of course, I’m not blind: Kai was always incredibly ambitious, and working hard was his nature. After studying law, and struggling to find a job as an attorney as he wished, he got hired by an American company as a law consultant’s assistant. He worked hard, I’ll give him that, spent nights at the office doing research instead of having a life, became the company’s main consultant two years ago, and that was the end of our already dying couple.

Weeks and months not seeing each other longer than a good morning and good night killed whatever passion there was between us, living together was more convenient than pleasant. But the very blond, very curvy and very ambitious secretary allotted to him was the last drop in the overfull bucket of mutual grievances. I was not willing to pimp myself up, buy expensive unwearable shoes with red soles, and hang at his arm for hours of boring evenings trying to find something to say to all the trophy wives while he was sucking up to the higher ups. A job Miss Secretary, called Candy would you believe it, was more than willing to take upon herself.

My lack of ambition was the bane of his life for a long time already, and me finding a couple of neon pink and green thongs in his pockets was apparently offensive enough for him to throw me out. I came home later that day, after confronting him and going for some fresh air, to find a small amount of cardboard boxes on the driveway, containing my clothes, my books, my electronics and a paper to sign my name off the lease.

I guess Candy will take care of his laundry now.

I don’t need ambition. I have a nephew I adore, a remote job I love and enjoy, a car I paid for myself, and what do you know, big enough to house my few boxes. After two nights of panic in the first decent hotel I could find, I realised that nothing held me in Dunkerque anymore, and the idea of going back home was the only appealing one at the moment.

I was prepared for the horror of searching the Internet for days to find a house, but I was astounded to find out that there is only one realtor in town now, the old Cavalier must still be kicking or he gave it over to someone willing to keep his name living, but anyway, a young woman told me that yes of course, they had rentals, and found me two possibilities within my price range, both available immediately.

And now, here I am, back on the streets of my youth, recognising everything, while nothing is the same anymore.

The first apartment was a bust, it was dark and too old, it gave me the creeps.

The second one was the one: the front is looking at the small river, the view green, and the singing of the stream hurrying under the windows very refreshing. The back is even better. This was a private mansion in the 1800′s, and has been later separated in separate lodges: twin narrow houses, three stories high, giving on an incredibly cute shared backyard covered in cobblestones and flowers, huge marble plant holders, and if you please, a fountain.

This is where I was introduced to Mrs Beaumont, who found the approval of her lodger much more important than a higher rental price.

And lucky for me, she approves of me. Her face is familiar, though, I’m sure I’ve seen her before in my youth.

The house is fully equipped, and I understand partially why they may have problems finding people willing to live in this: if you like antiques, this is the place to be, it’s only not that common in my generation, I guess. The only concession to modernity is composed of a very few things only: a flatscreen tv in the “old boudoir”, as Victoire calls it, a small living room where said tv slides in and out its slit on the wall, a flat couch from gorgeous creme corduroy, looking comfortable and inviting, and the kitchen is quite modern. Still antique looking, brass pans hanging from the high ceiling, but a huge fridge and dishwasher, both hidden behind the same gorgeous cream colored cabinet doors and an antique looking stove, and a laundry room on the ground floor.

I was sold at first sight, and Victoire liked me as soon as I said that I loved the bookshelves in the living-room. A woman who reads is a woman to her heart, she told me, and knowing I worked with books delighted her.

-

Home…

I made short work of opening my boxes, clearing up my clothes, bringing my winter shit to the attic, and putting my books on the shelves. I don’t have many, the most is on my ereader, but it’s still a nice thing to do and have. There ain’t such thing as too many books in my opinion, and if one day I’m sure I’ll stay in one place definitively, I’ll make sure to buy lots of them.

Once installed, I get my car, thankful for the perk of having a garage attached to the house, although the narrow street will be a bitch to get used to, and look for the biggest supermarket.

Groceries done, and cleared up, I look from the kitchen window, and realise the sun is shining in the backyard. Mrs Beaumont, pardon me, Victoire, urged me to make use of the garden as much as I wanted, without fearing to disturb her. “I might invite you for a cup of coffee once in a while, but do not fear, I am not one of these overbearing old ladies who can’t do without talking for an hour, I like my peace and I see already you value yours just as much, we will get along very well”.

So armed with a cup of coffee, and my ereader, I venture there, to my delight, find a shed with long chairs and thick pillows, find a place to enjoy the spring sun, and that’s how my first day back home goes.