Chapter 38
Maxime
A new year has begun, and once again, the apartment was empty when I entered it half an hour ago. The absence of running shoes tells me that Aurora is out jogging.
Again.
Now she runs every day, and sometimes, when she's not working, seemingly twice a day. Her running has become something obsessive. When she talks about it, it seems like she needs it as much as breathing. As if she couldn't exist without the sport.
I cut a slice of cheese and take a bite, lost in thought. Clearly, I should talk to her about it. Things have been going so well between us lately. We share a new dream—to start a family—and it feels amazing. It has brought us closer together.
Perhaps her running is okay. She needs something to let off steam, and clearly, the exercise does it for her. Nevertheless, I should ask about it, at the right moment.
Before I finish swallowing the cheese, Aurora enters through the door with flushed cheeks, tired eyes, and a smile on her lips. She energetically walks down the hallway and throws herself into my arms. "Bonjour, mon chéri," she says, laughing.
I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my hips, kissing me so passionately that I feel a bit dizzy. "Seems like someone missed me," I say.
"Absolutely!" She wiggles until I put her down. "I'll quickly jump into the shower," she says and hops toward the bathroom.
Inevitably, hope rises inside me that we will dance together again soon, but I push it away quickly. It's Aurora's decision. She'll tell me when she's ready.
While she is in the shower, I prepare a small snack for us—cheese, grapes, jam, and white bread. Accompanied by the constant sound of running water, I arrange everything on a serving tray, set out wine, play romantic music, fluff the couch cushions, and even light a candle.
A little later, Aurora enters the living kitchen with damp hair. She's wearing yoga pants and one of my sweaters. Instantly, she notices what I've prepared. "Wow," she says in awe. "It looks amazing."
She hops over to the sofa, motioning for me to join her. I gladly comply. "How was your day?" I ask her while filling the wineglasses I've set out.
"I had a total blast. It was incredible," she replies, grinning. "Running makes me feel so alive. I can practically feel..."
Suddenly, she falls silent. I notice her pressing the nails of her little fingers against her thumbs. "Would you like a grape?" she asks, changing the subject.
"Sure," I say, puzzled, as she places a dark grape in my mouth. Why did she stop talking? What is she trying to tell me? "What do you feel when you run?" I inquire after swallowing the fruit.
She cuddles closer to me. "I don't know... when I run, I feel so alive."
"Beautiful." I understand that feeling, but maybe there's more to it. "However, I still worry that you might be overdoing it."
She dismisses my concern. "Nonsense. I'm an athlete. Movement is my elixir of life, remember?"
I study her, but I can't detect any lie. I'm sure I'd feel the same way in her shoes. "Let's go for a run together tomorrow," I suggest, which brings a broad grin to her face.
My eyes land on our little memory box, now beautifully placed on the sideboard next to the TV, thanks to Aurora. I get up to place it on the coffee table in front of us.
"It's full up there," I say, tapping the top drawer, where we've been collecting memories from the past year. Even Aurora's hairpin from the championships is in there. Despite the pain associated with it, she refused to throw it away. To me, it's a reminder to never ignore our problems. It's something I've learned from our shared hardship.
What happened still hurts like hell, but it's just as much a part of our lives as all the beautiful moments we store in the little box.
But today is about something else. So I reach for the golden handle of the second drawer and pull it open.
"What shall we fill this one with?" I ask, not without intention. When we dreamed of our future together at Christmas, it didn't just feel nice. It felt right. Our dreams have taken a back seat in recent months, but that will change this year.
"You mean, apart from baby photos?" Aurora scoots closer to me, her index finger tracing the edges of the drawer. "I don't know," she says thoughtfully.
"For the baby photos, we'll need a separate box," I say, putting my arm around her.
Beaming, she looks at me. "Definitely."
A warm feeling envelops me. "But we should also come up with at least one big adventure and many smaller ones for each of these drawers," I suggest because that is just as important. "How about getting a caricature of us on our first anniversary? The street artists in Montmartre offer that."
