An Unraveling Rose

one

"la mer

a bercé mon cœur pour la vie."

The soft sounds of La Mer filled my room, subsequently slowing my breathing, and perking up my dreams. 

"Et d'un' chanson d'amour la mer". 

Suddenly, I am aware of the sun's warmth streaming in from my window, as it spills over my bed and enchants the energy in the bedroom. I stretch my body out fully, something like a cat, enjoying this semblance of peace before what I know a hectic day will be. This thought falls over me like a damp blanket, my previous thoughts shadowed by merely the thinking of today's events.  

As the soft alarm comes to a close, I find myself blinking up at my ceiling groggily, a frown pulling my lips downward. For the first time in my life, the fact that I was looking up at the watercolor painting of my hometown on my bedroom ceiling did nothing to improve my mood. I drag my eyes away from the French city of Colmar, to instead glance at my phone as it begins buzzing again. I read the name on the caller ID, and a small scowl slips onto my face. If anything, Charles Trenet's gentle love song of the sea and his heartache further sour my mood, reminding me of my heartache and longing. 

I snake a hand out of the covers and grab a hold of the silly thing, switching it on vibrate and inevitably deciding not to pick up William's call. A pang of guilt hits me, but I ignore it and pull myself out of bed, the slight incentive needed to get me to the bathroom. 

On the bathroom counter sits a pale pitcher of fresh goat's milk and honey, warm and inviting, beside a small bottle of rose oil. I smile, already knowing this is the work of a worried Moroccan mother. As the tub begins to fill with warm water, I empty the contents of both containers, and watch as the water turns a creamy color, and a pleasant aroma rises with the steam in the tub, engulfing the bathroom with the scent of freshly picked roses. My sweet mother is always a way ahead of me, it seems. I brush my teeth with the running water as my soundtrack, glancing out the side window at the still ever-rising sun, an indicator of how early it still is. A distinct buzz on the granite countertop has me blinking down at my phone, notifying me of an uninvited text I have no intention of replying to. 

I quietly muse over the irony of the current situation, fully taking responsibility for the fact that this mishap was my fault. As I'd usually done when my boyfriend of four years had begun sharing his vision, I'd simply smiled, and nodded. He was the planner in our relationship and a meticulous one at that. From birthdays to our wedding to the birth of our children, the man had everything planned out meticulously. There wasn't usually much room for additions on my part unless it was to agree with the tasks he'd given me, if any. I appreciated that about him. It wasn't until he'd informed me last night about picking me up this early, "like we'd talked about", that I became aware of his plans. And that was on me.

I rinse the toothpaste from my mouth and step away from the sink. The water has filled the tub nicely by now, and a breath of relief leaves me, just thinking of how much I love this part of my day. I carefully pull the worn-out grey cotton tee I'd slept in over my head and onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. Shivers ride up my legs as I slip into the steaming tub, reaching over to the small bookshelf of laminated books. A few chapters of Le Grand Meaulnes later, and the water still wasn't at a point of discomfort, so I flipped to another page. 

The sound of sharp heels clicking against tile catches my attention, and I raise my head, a small smile on my lips as my mother glides into the bathroom. Her high cheekbones glow under the dim bathroom lights, heart-shaped lips pulled into a frown saved for me. "Bonjour mama." 

With a click of her tongue and a roll of her eyes, she is squatted down beside me. It's now that I'm noticing that somehow, she managed to get her thick, dark copper hair into a braided crown and wrapped around her head. A few wisps of the escaped coils rebel, playing against glowing amber skin. I can't help my wandering fingers, full of curiosity, as they reach out to touch the intricate braid. She's quick to swat my fingers away, and our identical hazel eyes meet in an almost amused way, despite her visible effort to cover it up with a wary look.