Balancing Act

128

G sat at the round antique dinner table with her mother and Remi, each on a different style and color chair, in their living room that also doubled as a kitchen and bit into a slice of Crottin de Chavignol with cherry jam. She was usually more conscious about her eating habits, but here, visiting like this, she just let herself go. But where else, if not in France during Christmas?

The room was painted plain white, but the walls of the old building were not completely straight, adding it some character. Colorful textile cables with lonely large bulbs formed the main light source of the room that reached out like the legs of an oversized spider across the ceiling. Remi had come up with that element years ago before it had become popular.

Being around art all day long, his and others, Remi didn't like having paintings around the house, wanting to keep the walls clean and uncluttered. Furniture, however, just like the previously mentioned mismatched chairs, was an eclectic and colorful pick mixing plastic, mid century modern and that of 1930s and -40s, including also a perfectly nondescript IKEA lounge couch. Instead of a TV the place had a projector. Come to think of it, very little had changed since she'd lived there, except for the computer having been exchanged for a newer one and the addition of a dozen or so potted plants around the place.

G was watching, rather than listening, her mother speak excitedly what had been going on with their lives - what they were thinking about renovating around the house, where they were going on holiday this year, how they'd made some big art deals the past few months and how Remi's son, now well in his late 20s was doing in college, having decided to go to art school in the UK, was doing. She'd naturally already spent a good deal of the road trip with her mother talking about how everyone was doing in the States and how school was going, but without really having gone to great depths. She could tell Sherry was desparately trying to connect, like always, and in her tone, when they were alone, was always some hint of guilt. But it was so easy to really just keep the tone upbeat and happy, G feeling like she needed a break from her problems as well - as much as she could take one.

What she could tell from watching her mother was that she still seemed as happy as she'd been when they'd lived in that house together. Sherry still looked energetic and was still almost as skinny as she'd been years ago, the yoga regiment having stuck with her from her first boyfriend she'd met when she'd first moved to France, but her face had changed - it was a little fuller, rounder around the cheeks, narrow wrinkles now showing on her forehead and around her eyes. Time was ruthless that way.

They'd snacked on some cheese, crackers, fruit and figs, and had a glass of wine, Remi probably a couple, not bothering to cook anything much on Christmas Eve. At some point G was woken from her haze of thought by someone calling her name.

"Earth to Georgia?" her mother asked, tilting her head to get her to notice her.

"Yeah, sorry," she reacted in English.

"Remi just asked you a question," Sherry said. She wasn't mad, just hinting that I'd be polite to answer if one was asked a question.

"Pardon, peux-tu répéter," G replied, apologizing and asked him to repeat the question. Remi understood and spoke English, he just preferred not to speak it, hence they were pretty much grown into a bi-lingual household. Besides, it had been good for G too to master the language.

Remi asked G whether she had a boyfriend in the States. It really wasn't what she had wanted to discuss, not with either of them, and instead of replying straight away she took a bite of brie.

"Je ne sors plus avec personne," she replied, explaining that she wasn't seeing anyone.

"Je trouve ça dur à croire," he exclaimed, essentially noting he found that hard to believe. He was always rather expressive, speaking with strong emphatics while gesturing with his hands.