I get home in time to have dinner at a reasonable hour. I reply to a text from Roxanne while simultaneously trying to shove noodles in my face. We’re planning our first double date with the guys, which is going to be hilarious since Cole isnota double date kind of guy. We’re being nice enough to take them out to a rock concert instead of torturing Cole with something like brunch.
I’m about to text Julien and let him know we’ve confirmed the details when a call from an unknown number pops up.
“Hello?”
“Allô, MadameMonroe?” a man’s voice asks.
“Speaking.”
“I need to tell you that there seems to be a bit of a mix up with the delivery of the tiles you ordered from our company...”
His tone suggests he expects me to begin screaming at him, but as he goes on to explain the situation, I just start to laugh.
“Is this, um, a problem?” he asks, probably wondering if he’s talking to a crazy person.
“Oh, it’s a problem,” I reply. “It’s a pretty big problem, but I’ll get it sorted, and I’ll be in touch about a refund too.”
I add just a hint of menace to my last few words before ending the call. After that, I dial Julien’s number.
“My darling, sweetest, most precious love,” I greet him.
He sees straight through me. “What do you want?”
“Are you busy right now?”
He lets out a resigned chuckle. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not asking that in a sexy way?”
“Because I’m not,” I chime. “I need you to come help me move several hundred pounds of tiles off the sidewalk.”
* * *
“What isit with delivery companies in Montreal being totally incompetent?” Julien complains, straining under the weight of the box in his arms.
“It seems to be a recurring issue,” I agree.
For the second time in our lives, Julien and I are carting packages of tiles into a bar after they’ve been unceremoniously dumped on the sidewalk of Avenue Mont-Royal at night.
“This was the last load?” he asks.
“Mhmm.”
I wheel the dolly away after he’s got the last box off and tuck it away in a corner. Taverne Toulouse is an all-out construction zone. Buckets, boxes, ladders, and tools cover every available surface, and big white plastic sheets are stretched over the bar and parts of the floor.
“I spend so much time envisioning what this place will look like,” I muse, “but when I’m actually here, it’s so hard to see it.”
This is supposed to be the part of my life where my dreams come true, where the hopes and fantasies I always felt so guilty about finally appear in front of me and make me realize I never had to feel guilty at all. This is what I’m supposed to be doing. This is the life I’m meant to lead. I know the hard work is far from done, that it probably won’teverbe done; that’s not what’s been bothering me.
I just wish this all felt morereal, that I didn’t wake up sometimes and feel like an imposter in my own skin as I wonder just how the hell this actually worked out.
Julien walks over to stand by my side.
“It’s going to happen,” he assures me. “Maybe you can’t see it, but I can.”
Just like always, he seems to know exactly what I need to hear to make all my worries go away.
“Does it look like it’s turning a profit?”
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound bouncing off the bare walls of the room.
