Don't Worry, Life Is Easy

2

When I opened my eyes that Monday morning, I savored the importance of the day to come. That evening when I went to bed, I would be the sole proprietor of the book café, Happy People Read and Drink Coffee.

After my return from Ireland, it had taken me several weeks to decide to get in touch with my parents. I had no desire whatsoever to fight with them or to suffer their remarks about my lifestyle. When I'd finally called them, they invited me to come to dinner at the house, and I'd agreed. When I got to the family apartment, I felt ill at ease, the way I always did every time I went there. We didn't usually manage to communicate with each other. My father had remained silent and my mother and I beat around the bush without finding anything to talk about.

When we sat down to dinner, my father finally decided to speak to me.

"How's business?" he'd sneered.

His tone of voice and refusal to look at me put me on the defensive.

"I'm raising the bar, little by little. I'm hoping we'll be out of the red in about two months. I have ideas I want to put into place."

"Don't talk nonsense, you have no idea how to run the place. We've been telling you that since Colin died; he was the one who kept the bookshop going, as well as his regular job."

"I'm learning, Dad! I want to get there and I will!"

"You're not capable of it, which is why I intend to take things in hand."

"May I know how?"

"Since I doubt you'll find another man capable of doing everything for you, I'm going to hire a manager, someone strong and serious. If you want to go on playing at being the shopkeeper, I won't stop you. It will keep you busy."

"Dad, I'm not sure I understand…"

"I can see by the look on your face that you understand very well! Enough of this childishness!"

"You have no right!"

I stood up so quickly that my chair fell over.

"The bookstore is my home!"

"No, it's ours!"

I was fuming inside but deep down, I knew my father was right. They were the real owners of the bookstore: to give me something to do, they had taken out their checkbook, reassured and encouraged by Colin.

"Make a scene, if that amuses you," he'd continued. "I'm giving you three months."

I'd slammed the door and left. It was at that moment I understood that I'd changed, gotten stronger. Before, I would have been beaten down and gone through another depression. This time, I was determined, I had a plan. What they didn't know at the time was that I'd already started to put it into motion.

I'd gotten things back on an even keel, and I'd started by installing free Wi-Fi in the café. Thanks to that I'd attracted a student clientele—some of them spent the entire afternoon working in the room at the back. I'd also started given them a discount for coffee and beer to assure their loyalty. Most of them had gotten into the habit of buying their books from me, knowing that I was prepared to bend over backwards to find the biography they needed to salvage their term paper. And keeping regular opening hours had been successful: I always opened at the same time, unlike the days when Felix was the only one in charge. That had allowed me to create a reassuring atmosphere. No one ever found the door closed any more.

The three busiest times of the day were simple: in the morning when customers grabbed a quick coffee before going to work, at noon when the literary types had their lunch break—they were the ones who forgot to eat because they were looking for a new novel—and cocktail hour after work. That was when people came for a drink at the bar and every once in a while, they'd buy a book to keep busy on a night they'd be spending alone. Every now and then, I gave Felix free rein to organize a themed evening; there was no one better than him when it came to such events. He always found a speaker who was eccentric and unbelievably knowledgeable to discuss any theme arranged—and the debate was always controversial—which made the alcohol flow like water. So much so that the participants often left with several books under their arms, without really understanding what had been discussed. And Felix's tips were paid by promises of steamy nights. I never went to those evenings; they were his thing, the time when I let him have fun and closed my eyes to his avant-garde customers.

I had wanted the bookstore to become a warm, welcoming place, open to everyone, somewhere that all types of literature would find a home.

I wanted to advise readers while allowing them to enjoy themselves, to read the stories they wanted to, and without feeling ashamed. It didn't matter whether they wanted a literary prizewinner or a best-selling popular novel, only one thing counted: that our customers read, without feeling they were being judged because of their choices. Reading had always been a pleasure to me and I wanted the people who came to my book café to feel that, to explore, and, for those who were the most reluctant, to at least try it. All types of literature sat side by side on my shelves: detective novels, general literature, modern romances, poetry, books for young adults, biographies, bestsellers, and books for the most esoteric of readers. It was my own personal shambles, the place where Felix, my regular customers, and I came together. I loved the feeling it had of having to search through all the treasure to find the book. New clients were gradually initiated by each other.

Today, the bookstore was my equilibrium. It had allowed me to get my head above water, to resume my life in Paris, to realize the extent to which work was beneficial to me, to prove to myself—since I couldn't prove it to my parents—that I was capable of accomplishing something. Thanks to the bookstore, I had once again become someone blessed with relationships with other people; I was a woman who worked and took on responsibilities. I had to lose everything I loved the most to realize what tied me to this place, to these four walls. I hadn't taken a day off in a year; I was incapable of leaving and would never again let Felix run it alone.

The only failure in developing our business was not due to a lack of customers: it was my fault. I'd had the idea to start up reading workshops for children on Wednesday afternoons. Felix had encouraged me; he knew I loved children's literature. We'd done some publicity and distributed flyers in local schools, leisure centers, etc. I'd topped up my stock of fruit juices and especially my children's books. The big day had come. When I saw the first mothers coming in with their children, the little bell on the front door had made me jump for the first time in weeks; I'd hidden behind the bar. I just invited them to go to the little room in the back. I'd asked Felix to supervise getting them settled in while I went out for a cigarette. Since I was taking forever, he came out and told me they were waiting for me to start; I was the one leading the workshop. I staggered back inside to my little group. I'd started to read The Blue Dog and didn't recognize my own voice.

I realized I'd made a serious mistake when a little three-year-old boy came up to me. When I looked at him, I jumped back and started shaking all over. At that moment, it was Clara who I wanted to be coming over to me, to sit on my lap so she could see the book close up. Then I would have buried my nose in her hair. I dropped the book and called Felix to the rescue. It didn't take long for him to come over; he'd been standing there, watching me. He took over, playing the clown, and I went upstairs and locked myself in my apartment. I spent the rest of the day and all night rolled up in my quilt, screaming into my pillow, crying and calling out Clara's name.

The next day, the books were sent back to the publishers. That disaster made me realize something: I'd never get over losing my daughter. I could get over Colin, but not her. I'd realized that no child would ever come into my life again, or to the bookstore.

In spite of that incident, one decision had become essential. I'd made an appointment at the bank to review the situation on Colin's life insurance. He had taken every step to make sure I would want for nothing. I refused to squander any more of that money; it should be used for something important, something that would have made him happy. I had to find a project worthy of my husband. I'd already found it: I was going to buy the bookstore back from my parents.

We'd made it to the big day: ending these months of fighting with my parents. The importance of the day didn't stop me from visiting Colin and Clara. I walked down the paths of the cemetery smiling, with my head high. After putting down my armful of white roses, I twisted around so I could get down on my knees without looking ridiculous; I'd put on a black dress—it was a little tight—and high heels, which I hadn't done in ages. My parents had surely described me to the lawyer as irresponsible and depressed and I wanted to prove to them that I was totally the opposite.

"Today's the big day, my love! Tonight we'll be at our own place. I hope you're proud of me; I'm doing it for the two of you. And since I never do things by half, after we've signed the papers, I'll go out and celebrate with Felix! When I told him that, I thought he was going to cry tears of joy. Life is going on… it's strange… I can't be late; they need me to sign the papers! I love you both, my darlings. Clara… Mama… is with you…

I kissed their gravestone and left the cemetery.

The reading of the deed was carried out calmly and in silence. The big moment had come: the signing. I was shaking so much that I had to stop and start again. My emotions were surfacing: I'd succeeded, and all I could think about was Colin and the woman I'd become. When I sat down again, a few tears filled my eyes. I looked over at my mother: nothing. Then the lawyer handed me the document confirming that I now owned the property. The deed stated in black and white that I was a widow with no children. He politely told us we could go. Once we were out on the sidewalk, I turned towards my parents, looking for something without really knowing what.

"We didn't think you'd actually go through with it," said my father. "Try not to mess everything up, for once."

"I have no intention of doing that."

I looked at my mother. She came over to me and hugged me more warmly than usual.

"I never knew how to be the mother you needed," she whispered in my ear.

"That makes me sad," I replied.

"I'm so very, very sorry."

We looked into each other's eyes. I wanted to ask her "Why?" The look on her face told me she couldn't take my questions, my reproaches. My mother's armor cracked, as if she could finally deal with her remorse. But wasn't it too late? My father took her arm and said it was time to go. By way of encouragement, I was treated to "See you soon." They left on one side of the street and me on the other. I put on my sunglasses and headed for my bookstore. I walked down the Boulevard de Sébastopol to the Rue de Rivoli. I didn't take any shortcuts down the side streets: the wide avenues were calling out to me and I wanted to walk past the Hôtel de Ville and get jostled by the crowd by the BHV department store. When I finally took the Rue Vieille-du-Temple on my left, I was only about 100 meters from my bookstore. The moment the little bell rang, I told myself that Felix must have had informants on every street for he popped the cork on the champagne the minute I set foot inside. Champagne that sprayed all over the counter. Without bothering to pour me some in a flute, he handed me the bottle.

"You're amazing!"

I drank straight from the bottle. The bubbles tickled my taste buds.

"Shit! When I think that you're my boss now!"

"That's classy!"

"I prefer that to your father," he said, grabbing the bottle from me.

"Felix, you will always be a partner in my heart."

He crushed me to him and took a long drink.

"Shit, that stings!" he said, letting go of me, his eyes shining.

"Teach me the joys of partying again!"

I didn't bother going upstairs to change. I wiped the champagne off the counter and closed up. Felix led me from one bar to another. Known as the white wolf, he went into each place as lord of the manor. The cocktails had been chosen in advance; my best friend had planned the evening in great detail. All his lovers and would-be lovers stood aside in a group to make room for me; if Felix loved me, they had to take care of me. Our journey was scattered with eccentric encounters, red carpets, sequins, flowers stuck into my hair, everything needed to make me a princess for a day. The mad atmosphere that Felix organized probably went to my head even more than all the alcohol I was served.

It was time to stop to eat. We went to a tapas bar for dinner, which certainly wasn't going to be enough to soak up everything we'd drunk. Our seats at the counter had been reserved. Felix knew very well that I loved sitting on high stools and seeing what was happening backstage. A bottle of red wine was opened for us. Felix raised his glass.

"To your parents, who won't be a pain in your ass anymore!"

I took my first drink without replying; the wine was strong, powerful, just like what I was feeling at the moment.

"I have no family left, Felix…"

He didn't know what to say.

"Do you see? Nothing is tying me to my parents anymore; I have no brothers or sisters. Colin and Clara are gone. You're all I have left. You're my family."

"Ever since we met at college, we were a couple, and that will never change."

"We've done everything together!"

"Except sleep together!"

A nightmarish vision for both of us! He put one finger in his mouth as if to throw up and I did the same. Like two teenagers!

"On the other hand, if you change your mind about having kids and don't find the right guy, I can make a donation at the sperm bank. I'll teach the kid about life."

I spit out my mouthful of wine and he burst out laughing.

"How could you suggest such a weird thing?"

"We were getting too sentimental and that bothered me."

"You're right! I want to dance, Felix."

"Your wish is my command."