Simone #2
Remy shook her head. “I had a great childhood, mainly because she had the help of both her parents.” Simone focused on the photo Remy was currently looking at.
A photo of her grandparents outside the hospital, beaming, with a newborn Remy in her grandfather’s arms. He was almost two feet taller than his spouse and wore a brown suit with a fedora, and her grandmother wore a blue cotton dress with her arm hooked into the crook of his.
“My mum was so sure of her decision,” Remy said, “or at least, that’s what she always tells me but…
it’s weird. I have this strange feeling sometimes.
I think it’s from my childhood, where I sense this absence.
Like, I don’t always remember her being around.
But all of the photos in all of these albums tell me she was there.
I don’t get where that feeling comes from. ”
“You should ask her,” Simone said. “Maybe the feeling is something that wasn’t captured on film.”
Remy nodded. “I will, eventually.”
Simone continued to go through the album and Remy wondered why she hadn’t run out of the house yet, considering she didn’t want to come in to begin with—and why she was drawn to their photo album given she’d seemingly wanted nothing to do with Remy when they’d first met.
She watched Simone linger over a photo taken at Christmas: the whole family sitting and smiling around the table.
“Your father’s not in any photos?” Simone finally asked.
“No, I’m a test-tube baby.”
Simone’s eyes widened. “Are you really? I’ve never met one.” She tutted. “Of all the nonsense you come out with, you think you’d have mentioned something as interesting as that.”
“Nonsense?” Remy repeated. “When have I ever… wait, you think I’m interesting?”
Simone smiled. “Of course you would focus on that bit.” She shook her head. “So just you, your mum, and your mum’s parents. Were they… like her?”
Remy smiled innocently. “Like her how?”
“Like…” Simone tried. “What is the politically correct way of saying…”
“Wonderfully weird?” Remy offered.
“Yes,” Simone said seriously. “Let’s go with that.”
Remy laughed and Simone enjoyed the sound. “No, my grandparents were delightfully normal.” She waved her hand across the room. “As you can see.”
“They used to live here?”
“This was their house.”
“Was? They’ve passed?”
Remy nodded. Simone began to nod too before she said, “So, you are one parent away from orphanhood.”
Remy was clearly stunned but recovered quickly enough to say, “Have you always been such a conversationalist?”
Simone noticed Remy was attempting to lighten the mood, which then led to the realization that she had been the one to make it heavy. “Sorry,” Simone said. “That was blunt. Too forward and maybe insensitive. I don’t mean offense.” She turned back to the photo album. “Most of the time, anyway.”
“None taken,” Remy said, and Simone believed her. “You’re right, though,” Remy continued. “I am one parent away from… going solo.” Her frown deepened. “I’ve just never really thought about it that way.”
Simone nodded and conveniently turned the page to a photo of Ada mid-twirl. “Your mother does have a sort of Elixir of Life quality to her. You know, some are convinced the afterlife is simply how others remember you, and your mother seems impossible to forget.”
“No,” Remy said, “it’s not that I thought she’d made a secret deal for immortality.” Remy paused. “Although, if anyone would… I just mean that, I didn’t think I’d be alone when she left .”
“You’re thinking of your friends, aren’t you?”
Remy smiled sadly. “Nonstop, apparently.”
Simone decided it was her turn to attempt levity. She pointed to Remy’s stomach. “You might not be entirely alone.”
Simone earned a small smile for her efforts. “A point in the Pro column, then,” Remy said.
“It must be difficult to imagine,” Simone said. “Being without your mother.” She looked up and out into the garden. “There’s something I think about often,” she continued, turning to Remy.
“What’s that?”
“As more women choose to go child-free, there’s been a lot more talk about how difficult it is to have and raise children,” Simone said. “Sometimes I wonder when the conversation will turn to how difficult it is to have parents.”
Remy frowned. “What do you mean?”
Simone shrugged. “A number of things,” she said casually. “What it’s like to panic when they don’t answer their phone; when the list of medical ailments associated with age begins to lengthen; when you discover the difference between living your life for you as opposed to for them…”
Remy had many questions about what Simone had just said, but settled on, “What are your parents like?”
“I was just giving random examples, Remy.” Simone closed the photo album with finality. “Maybe it’s a topic to explore for your next book.”
Simone had already decided that there was no point explaining further; she didn’t know how to describe the sensation of feeling like an orphan when she was far from becoming one.
As Remy walked Simone to her car, she said, “Look. I need a friend and considering your cold and closed-off nature, I think you need one, too. So, if you ever decide to put yourself on the platonic market, will you let me know?”
Simone had worked hard to perfect her cold and closed-off demeanor, and in a way, she was glad her efforts had not been in vain.
But the truth was, Simone admired Remy’s striking honesty.
She seemed to have a rapidly diminishing fear of rejection, and Simone believed that over half the world’s wasted dreams and unfulfilled potential boiled down to the fear of being rejected.
It made her think that, with the right mindset, Remy could accomplish anything, if only she weren’t so afraid.
Afraid of doing things without others, of trusting her gut when it came to decision-making, of telling her friends how she truly felt about their absence…
But Simone didn’t say any of that. She simply nodded before getting in her car and driving home. Maybe she did admire Remy, but whether she would—or could—take her up on her offer was something else entirely.