Chapter 4
Well shit. I gulp, hysteria bubbling in the back of my throat. Am I really about to uproot my life and move to a different continent, all to fix up a chateau in six months? My eyes flick down to the ticket in my hand. Looks like it.
I grab as many blankets as I can and start rolling all my paintings up, protecting them as much as possible. I can’t bring them all with me. I definitely can’t leave them here either. As much as the thought of picking up a paintbrush today makes me want to cry, each of these paintings has a little piece of me in it.
Maybe I can get them shipped?
“What am I doing?” I say after the seventh painting is wrapped, and I throw my head in my hands. The trill ring of my phone acts like a reply to my question. Oh no, I hope it’s not Mother. I don’t think I have the emotional capacity to deal with two calls in one day.
Briar’s name appears on the screen. “Hey.” I continue to throw random clothes into the open suitcase, I don’t have time to stop.
“Rory,” Briar’s voice breathes. “I wanted to check in on you. You never answered my messages yesterday.”
That was intentional. I wanted to be alone, and I didn’t want to take my shitty mood out on her.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t see your messages,” I lie. I’m not annoyed with Briar, I’m just annoyed with everything, and I didn’t want to take my crappy mood out on her, so I decided to ignore all my messages.
“Are you okay, I hear a lot of shuffling?”
“Yeah, I’m just packing,” I mumble offhandedly, only half listening to Briar while throwing more clothes in an open suitcase.
On a whim, I throw in my vibrator, Ted—you never know when you might need him.
“Packing. What on earth, Aurora, where are you going?” Briar sputters.
“Oh, umm, I’m moving to France. My great-uncle passed away and left me a chateau. I think a sea change might be just what I need.” Dramatic much? Yes. But given the current state of my life, it almost couldn’t have come at a better time.
“I’m coming over.” Briar hangs up the phone.
“Suit yourself,” I mutter. I shrug my shoulders and hang up the call. I reach for my dad’s small box of oil paints. Most of the tubes are curled over from how well used they are. But they’re his, and now mine. I make sure to wrap a few pieces of clothes around the box, securing it tightly and placing it in the suitcase. I absolutely cannot forget it. I only have a few hours to finish packing everything, and I need to organize sending my paintings to my new home.
I’d just finished zipping up my second suitcase when a knock sounds at my door.
“Start from the beginning and don’t leave a detail out,” Briar announces the moment I open the door.
“Is that…” I stare at the two cups in the recyclable cardboard tray.
Briar huffs. “Double shot espresso with white chocolate foam and one sugar stirred…yes.”
“OOOHHH, coffee.” I eagerly grab the takeaway cup from her hand, grateful she remembered my go-to order. I sniff the air, there is only one coffee shop that has the white chocolate syrup that I love, and the aroma wafting from the cups in Briar’s hands tells me she went there. Most of the time people forget the one sugar stirred part, but if you don’t add the extra sugar, it isn’t sweet enough.
Briar pushes past me, and surveys the half packed up room. She crosses her arm over her chest and taps her foot insentiently against the ground. “Spill. Now.”
I hold up a finger; I need to get some hot coffee into my body before I even begin to think about forming another sentence. “How many pounds can I fit in a suitcase?” I ask after two solid sips.
“I don’t know, fifty.” Briar shrugs. “Now tell me why you’re moving to France!”
I hand her the will Timothé left, not really in the mood to go over the whole story, I need to finish packing. The walls start vibrating with the bass of an electric guitar, alerting us to my neighbors waking up. The annoying G string only getting louder with each stroke. I’m kind of relieved this is the last time I’ll ever have to listen to it. My neighbors are the epitome of annoying.
“Wait, is this real?” Briar finishes reading all the paperwork; she can have fun trying to decipher it. The whole thing is in French. I roll my eyes at her, because why would I be packing my life up for a fake will.
“Apparently.”
“And you’re just going to go? That’s it? Pack up your life? What about your work here, the Tyson Gallery? Your mom? Your apartment?”
I zip up another compartment in the suitcase. “The Tyson Gallery rejected me, remember. I don’t know if you saw on the way in, but I’m about to be evicted. And Susan is Susan. We talk to each other five minutes every month, and it’s not like I can’t do that from France.” I shrug. “Maybe a change in scenery is what I need. Who knows, I might even meet a cute French guy.” I wink at her. “The lawyer tells me I have six months to make it livable. It can’t be too hard, can it? Now, are you going to help me pack?” I stare up at Briar, taking another sip from my hot coffee.
“That depends. Can I come visit this summer?” A smile pulls at her lips.
“Of course. Now grab as many clothes as you can.”
Standing at the airport entrance, my shoes feel like they are lined with concrete—completely unmovable. Briar helped me pack everything into the two suitcases standing next to me, and she is using the gallery’s postal service to send all my paintings to the chateau, because that shit’s expensive. Hopefully they will arrive at the end of the month, and by then I’ll be more settled. She’s also informing my landlord that I will no longer be living there—not that I have a choice, being evicted and all. I’m lucky to have a friend like Briar.
Metaphorically waving goodbye to the only place I’ve ever called home, I turn the page on my life in New York and open a new chapter in France.
Here goes nothing.
“Aurora, you made it?” Timothé appears in the seating area beside me, where I wait for the airplane to board.
“I gotta be honest, I didn’t know if I was going to.”
“Don’t worry, Aurora.” Timothé takes the seat next to me. “I’m sure once you meet Jean-Luc you will figure things out and restore Chateau des éveillés to its former glory.”
“Wait, who’s Jean-Luc?” I close my weathered copy of Eat, Pray, Love with a snap and sit up a little higher in my seat. I vaguely remember him mentioning someone, but with everything that has happened, it hasn’t really sunk in.
“The man who inherited the other half of the chateau, of course. Didn’t you read the documents I gave you?” He stares at me with raised eyebrows, making me feel really silly for not reading all the documents he gave me before I packed up my life.
“What, yes, of course I did,” I say a little quicker than necessary, hoping he doesn’t see through my attempt to cover the fact I didn’t go through all the documents with a fine-tooth comb. I was more worried about packing than reading. Who the heck is Jean-Luc, and why is he inheriting half of my chateau? Didn’t Timothé say I was the sole living relative of Louis? “I was just, umm, confused with the name. So many names, so much French.” I slide farther down in my seat.
Could I sound more stupid? I really need to read that will, so next time I’m more prepared for these questions.
Timothé continues to stare at me, pursing his lips like he is about to answer the word diarrhea spewing from my lips but decides against it.
Yeah, it’s going to be a long flight. Screw my ban, I hope the plane serves tequila.