Simone #2
Remy nodded solemnly. “I’d gone in for only a cinnamon bun when I saw it. A chocolate Guinness sponge filled with blackcurrant curd, fresh blackberries, cream cheese, and chocolate shards.” Remy smiled fondly.
“Then what happened?” Simone asked.
“I ate the whole thing,” Remy answered. “Throughout the course of the day, so the consumption was relatively spaced out, but the cake wanted out before bed, and I was throwing up for hours.” Remy shrugged. “One of the best days of my life.”
Suddenly Simone wanted to tell Remy she adored her, but she couldn’t quite admit that to herself yet. Remy was still a stranger, after all.
Wasn’t she?
Remy sat on one side of the Scrabble board. Simone sat opposite and swiped the letters back into their bag to be reshuffled. While Remy selected her letters, Simone turned to a new page in her Scrabble notebook and as headers wrote the words Simone and Remy .
“A teacher versus a writer in a game of words,” Remy said. “This should be good.”
They each scored a few simple points before Remy said, “You were going to spend your birthday at home, then?”
“Yes,” Simone answered. “I like my home. I have a comfortable sofa, a TV with various subscription services, shelves lined with books, a fridge full of food, and proximity to a toilet I can trust.”
Remy laughed. “Well, when you put it that way… I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d travel.” Remy shrugged. “I’ve never spent a birthday alone.”
“Have you always spent it with Lin, Nova, and Melissa?”
“For as long as I’ve known them. I usually spend the morning with my mum and then the rest of the day with the girls.” Remy chuckled. “I still can’t believe you remember my friends’ names.”
“Well, you do talk about them a lot.”
“I know,” Remy said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Simone said. “That wasn’t a criticism. The way you talk about them… I feel like I know them, too, and… I quite like that. I have a question for you. If Melissa is the organized one, Nova the fun one, and Lin the adventurous, ambitious one, who are you?”
Remy shrugged. “The one who’s just there .”
“Is your self-deprecation an attempt at modesty or genuine low self-esteem?” Remy did not answer. “Is that how your friends would describe you if I asked them? ‘Remy is just the one who’s there.’”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Remy admitted. “I think they’d call me the romantic.”
Simone played all her seven letters, putting her in the lead. “Even though you don’t date.”
“Like I said, I’ve never believed in reserving romantic love for partners.”
“How can you be romantic with someone you aren’t attracted to?”
“Well, think about it—what does it mean to be romantic? To buy flowers; to take someone out to dinner; to commit thoughtful actions and to give thoughtful gifts; to have long, meaningful conversations; to be loyal and devoted? I’ve done all of the above with my friends.
In essence, platonic love can be incredibly romantic. ”
“Interesting,” Simone said. “Do you ever think you might have latent sexual feelings for your friends?”
Remy smiled and collected nine points. “No, and I’m afraid that way of thinking might say more about you than it does about me.”
Simone was taken aback. “How so?”
“If you knew what it was like to deeply love and care for someone outside of your family and your bed, you wouldn’t think what I’m saying is strange,” Remy said gently.
“But because you don’t, your instinct is to try and fit what I’m saying into a category available to your understanding.
Woman deeply loves another woman equals lesbian. ”
“Oh. You may be right.” Simone collected twelve points, and while Remy considered her remaining letters, Simone studied her, wondering if she’d be more sympathetic toward someone going through a divorce than someone who’d lost their friends.
“The way one heart might yearn deeply for a partner, yours does for a friend.”
Remy looked up at Simone’s sudden proverb. “Exactly.”
Simone nodded and thought of Jenni. Then she played a word that earned her twenty-one points, winning the first game.
“Family is a good example of platonic love, isn’t it?” Simone asked quietly.
Remy knew this was more of a rhetorical statement but she took the opportunity to say, “I’ve never asked because I assume you won’t tell me, but spending your birthday alone makes me wonder why you never talk about your family.”
“I have a mother, father, and younger sister,” Simone replied instantly. Then with more hesitance, “We’re not particularly close.”
“Has that always been the case?”
Again, another quick response. “No, it has not.”
Remy paused. “Do you miss them?”
“Most days,” Simone answered truthfully. “I’m… I’m very good at…” Simone shook her head. “I’ve become very good at… keeping my mind off it. I focus on other things.”
This was the first time Remy had witnessed Simone unable to carry a sentence. It was as if she were coming to terms with her words as she voiced them.
On the other side of the table, Simone could tell Remy was silently running through all the questions she wanted to ask, finally settling on: “Is it too late?”
“It’s never too late.” Simone tried to disguise the hope in her voice and failed. “However, reconciliation is up to whoever has the ball in their court, and my court is empty.”
Simone had to admit that there was something romantic about sharing secrets on your birthday, in releasing something while stepping into a new year of your life.
However, the one thing she would never divulge aloud was her belief that she and her family would find their way back to each other one day.
They were family , after all. Simone just had to accept that it would not happen on her timeline.
Simone glanced at Remy in that very moment and struggled to decipher the look on her face. Remy rearranged her features quickly and built the word CHOSEN, scoring twelve points.
Simone would lose the next two games but would always remember her thirtieth birthday as a good day—which is exactly what she’d blown out her candles and wished for: a day where she shared food with a friend and ate cake; a day where she lost at Scrabble and thought very little.