First day
I am very happy. I have a little girl and a husband. Everything happened very quickly: maternity, confinement, our family bubble in the apartment we bought. Before, I felt like I was in the waiting room of my life. Women are conditioned to think that they are living a half life until they meet the father of their children. During my twenties, the quest for this spouse took up space, I would have liked to be lighter, even if I still enjoyed it, but there was always this pressure not to waste time in order to finally be able, thanks to a couple, enter into life, the real one.
With my husband, it was immediately obvious that it was him. I met him when I arrived at my communication agency, he was so funny, fine and sweet. Once this building was built, a dizziness seized me: I was certainly out of the pangs of single wandering, but what, my life was going to be like that until the cemetery? Where are the thrills, the risks, the things that rub and disturb?
With the birth of my daughter, I discovered a new power. I feel good about myself, more desirable, less entangled in my little shitty complexes. And the love that my husband offers me gives me the foundation. I’m 36, I’m on top of myself, I want to take advantage of this state of grace to explore my desire.
It’s spring, I go into a bookstore to buy a musical book for my daughter, precisely. The boss tells me about his shop which he uses to promote new authors. At the back, there is a bar, and leaning on the counter, a silhouette is drinking a coffee. Three-day beard, cap turned upside down, Simon is a young writer supported by the bookseller. I greet him, he is rather cold. ” You write ? », I asked him, a little gourd. He mumbles yes and replies not very pleasantly that he has a hangover. We discuss, I explain to him that I too write short stories, that I get bored in my job, and that I admire people who manage to make a living from their pen.
I end up walking away: I have the impression that he speaks to me more out of politeness than out of envy. The same evening, I follow him on Instagram, he intrigues me. I want to see if I can have it. When his book comes out at the end of June, I order it on Amazon. I’m starting to read it, I like the tone, the humor, this look at the little things of everyday life, this endearing world of losers. Simon belongs to the category of men I looked for when I was younger. With my girlfriends, we called them the “little clever ones”, these arrogant and detached guys that we loved so much at 30 but who invariably made us suffer.
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