A Paris Dream: A Novella (eBook)

“Olivia Banks, it’s about time we saw that pretty face of yours around these parts.” Genie Robertson, my parents’ long-time neighbor, barrels across the lawn toward me, almost running straight into the movers I’ve hired to clear out my childhood home.

“Hi, Mrs. Robertson.” Hoping she isn’t planning to embark on one of her two-hour neighborhood gossip sessions, I pull my ever-buzzing work cell from my purse to find the eighteenth desperate text that hour from Sabrina, the host of one of the most popular talk shows on television, and also my obscenely needy boss back in New York.

Did you see what a cow I looked like in that frumpy blue dress this morning? This stylist is an absolute catastrophe! Give her the ax! When are you coming back to the Center of the Universe???

I don’t have time to respond, though, because Mrs. Robertson is in front of me now, all floral prints and perfume, tears streaming down her puffy, rouge cheeks. “Genie, really, there’s no need to get upset—”

“Oh, dear. Just seeing those big blue eyes of yours makes me think of your mother,” she cuts in, her voice quivering. “God bless her soul. And your father only a month later. I knew he couldn’t live without her for much longer. They were so in love; I’ve never seen a happier pair.” She is sobbing now as she reaches for me, pulling me tightly into her chest where her massive bust swallows me up. “To think you’d lose them both after the loss of beautiful Jules all those years ago. And now the house. You poor, poor girl.”

I try to pull away—not to be rude, but only because she is suffocating me. Mrs. Robertson’s breasts are famous in the small town of Wooster, Ohio, and once she traps you in that endless abyss, there’s no telling if you’ll make it out still breathing.

As children, my little sister Jules and I had many near-death experiences in that bust. Finally, after her tears have sufficiently soaked my long strands of dirty blond hair, I manage to release myself from her stronghold.

“Thank you, Genie. But really, I’m okay,” I assure her. “Just finishing things up with the sale of the house, then back to Manhattan.” I smile warmly at her as she wipes at her tears; I’m used to being the strong one amid unimaginable loss. There is no other way to be, really, if you want to survive the loss of a home, the loss of an entire family.

She sniffles as she grabs my hand. “You’ve always been such a busy bee, with your fancy talk-show job in Manhattan. So glamorous. If only Jules could be here to see all of the amazing things you’ve done with your life…”

As Mrs. Robertson continues gushing and babbling, the way she has been doing since I was a child, my gaze drifts out to the “For Sale” sign I have just taken down in our little front lawn—the same lawn my sister and I used to run around in as little girls. The same lawn where, fifteen years ago, I watched my mother collapse when a policeman pulled up and broke the news that Jules had been killed in a car accident at the young age of sixteen. And the very same lawn where my father keeled over from a fatal heart attack only three months ago, shortly after my mother passed from pancreatic cancer.

I need to get back to New York, I think as the familiar sound of Mrs. Robertson’s voice makes me remember a time when my entire family was together, when we were happy. Now, it’s just me. And I need to get out of here.

“Olivia, dear, are you listening?”

“Of course, Genie,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. “And I’m so thankful for your concern, but I need to wrap things up with the movers, sign some papers, and catch my flight back to the city tonight.”

“Oh, I hope I haven’t upset you. You know not to pay any attention to me. I just can’t stop chattering!”

I can’t help but laugh a little. “I know, and that’s why we love you. But I really do have to run. I’m sorry I can’t stay and talk more.”

She nods, reaching for my hand. “You’re still so much like your mother, you know—always so strong, so put together. You will stay in touch, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I say, knowing that my demanding job catering to Sabrina makes it next to impossible for me to stay in touch with anyone these days, but what else can I tell her?

She hugs me one last time, and just for a moment, instead of fighting Genie’s embrace, I allow myself to enjoy the feeling of someone else holding me up for a change. She kisses me on the cheek, then whispers in my ear. “It’s okay to be vulnerable once in a while, dear, especially after all that you’ve been through.” With a squeeze of the hand, Mrs. Robertson sets off to her little brick home across the street, and I am left alone on the front porch, swallowing the knot in my throat, knowing that vulnerable is not an option.

After the movers pull away, I turn to lock the front door for the last time, but instead find myself pushing through the doorway and stepping into the empty living room. The sun has set outside, leaving the house almost completely dark, but I don’t need anything to light my way.

I have my memories.

End of Reading Sample.