Summer in France || 𝖩𝖤𝖭𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖠 ✔︎

twenty-six

Lisa had taken to drinking while she cleared out the annex. The bottle of Pastis was next to her on the nightstand as she piled up the boxes she was either going to throw away or keep. She hadn’t had time to go through her things before she first started renting out the house, so she’d thrown all her paperwork and personal things into boxes and pushed them under her bed. But now that she was spending more time in the annex, she was running out of space, and it was time to get rid of anything she didn’t need.

She had a vague idea of what was in them, but it still stung when she found old photo albums from her time with Selma in the first box she opened. She slumped down on the floor, leaned against the bed, and refilled her glass before she picked one up and flicked through it. There were pictures Selma and her on the beach where they used to hang out on the weekends, and pictures of Lisa on her birthday with Selma, her grandfather and a brand-new puppy that Selma had gifted to her.

“Look Gumbo, this is you when you were a baby.” She held up the album for him to see. Gumbo sat next to her on the floor.

He turned his head and stared at her hand instead, clueless as to what she was referring to. Lisa smiled, thinking back on the memory. Her grandfather had insisted on calling him Gumbo, and despite the ridiculous name, Lisa had given in. That was a good day, she remembered. They’d had dinner with friends and played music all night long while Lisa checked on the sleeping Gumbo every ten minutes, making sure he was still breathing. They were both so young then, Lisa noticed.

She had long, braided hair and a nose piercing back then. Selma had dyed her hair bright red and she wore black, as always, even in the midst of summer. She had her arm around Lisa's shoulders and her lips pressed against Lisa's cheek. Her grandfather was smiling into the camera, holding up a glass of Champagne. That was Robert alright. Always positive and passionate, and always living each moment as if it was his last, even at that difficult time, when François had just passed away.

The only comfort she felt in his death, was that he had no regrets. Lisa still missed him every day, but she was finally at the point where she could look at these photographs with fond memories, instead of feeling the pain of not having him around anymore. The next page had pictures of her and Selma holding up the key to their first apartment. Then, more pictures of them having a celebratory picnic on the floor of their empty living room. They’d been happy, and Lisa was convinced the love between them had been mutual. She could tell by the way Selma looked at her in the photographs.

Lisa skipped to the last page, and there was Selma with her suitcases packed. Despite their fights over Selma’s departure, they’d been convinced they’d be able to work it out somehow. They’d both promised they would call every day, and that they’d see each other once a month. Lisa would fly to New York, or Selma would come to France. It seemed doable at the time, or at least that’s what they thought. Lisa put the album on the ‘keep’ pile and opened the next photo album, containing pictures of her and Selma in New York, the first time she visited.

Lisa had made sure to keep well away from her old neighborhood, avoiding any places she could have bumped into her parents. But that hadn’t been hard. Selma had managed to get an apartment in Manhattan, and she was living the American dream while working her ass off for a promotion. Even during Lisa's visit, she hadn’t been able to take any time off, or so she said. For the duration of the week, they only saw each other when she came home late at night, exhausted from a twelve-hour day. They still looked happy, though, sitting in a restaurant in Chinatown, smiling for the picture. Selma had promised she would come to France after that, but she cancelled two days before, claiming she had a big deadline she couldn’t afford to miss. So, Lisa flew to New York again. And again.

In between the visits, it was mostly Lisa who initiated contact until finally Selma stopped calling her back. Instead, Lisa got a text message from her, saying she was very sorry for her lack of reply, but that she’d met someone else. Lisa had been devastated, and flicking over to the first empty page, she remembered the pain and the desperation she’d felt that day, when she broke down on the bedroom floor of the apartment they’d shared together. Until recently, she’d been convinced that Selma was her one true love, that she would never be able to love anyone the way she loved her. She also thought she’d be able to settle for less at some point, that she could be happy with someone else, as long as her expectations weren’t too high.

But Jennie had blown her away, proving that there was such a thing as a second chance. Only this time around, it hurt even more. Lisa took another gulp of her drink. Her head was starting to spin now, and although she knew she’d had too much, she reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. Everything about this was so wrong. Is it me? It must be, because it seems like history is repeating itself. She turned to Gumbo.

“And now, I’m back where I started, Gumbo. Missing someone who left me for a job. A job for fuck’s sake. And I can’t even blame her this time.” She sighed. “I should have known better.” Feeling lonely and in need of some comfort, she scrolled through her phone and dialed Beth’s number. It went straight to voicemail. A little later, she got a text back. Bruce is here. Don’t call me this week.

Great. Not even alcoholic Beth had time for her. She scrolled further until she stumbled upon Christine Delevoire’s number. She checked the last time she had called her. It was almost nine months ago. Christine had called her many times since then, but she’d never answered. It was funny, she thought, in her drunken state, that the only options for booty calls were in her client list. She pressed call.
The phone rang a couple of times until a cold voice answered.

“Lisa?”

“Hey, Christine. Yeah, it’s me. How are you?”

“How am I?” Christine sounded flat. “Are you seriously calling to ask me how I am? How dare you.” She raised her voice. “You never called me back, Lisa. Not once.”

“I’m sorry, I was busy and…”

“Fuck you, Lisa. I thought we had something special, you and me, and suddenly, you just ignored me and sent that chubby colleague of yours to finish the work in the garden. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I’m sorry, Christine. I thought it was just a bit of fun to you. I never meant to…”

“And then, I found out that you slept with my friend,” Christine interrupted her again. “My only friend, as a matter of fact. Farah told me about you. So, what happened? You dumped me for her and then you dumped her for someone else? Is that how it works with you, Lisa? Huh?” She sniffed. “I know you’re only calling me because you’re drunk. I can tell by your voice.”

Fuck… Lisa kept silent. Christine was furious and she had every right to be. She could try to apologize again, but it wouldn’t make things better. Not for Christine, and not for Farah. Without another word, she hung up and refilled her glass.