15
Gigi
An incessant, continuous, banging sound refused to stop.
I’d rolled over in my sleep a few times now, hoping it was only inside my head.
It wasn’t.
“No, no, no, go away,” I moaned quietly, still in pain.
Everywhere.
I’d messaged everyone on our team thread and told them I was going to bed early because of a headache. Then I’d grabbed my Beau binder down and looked through it while I continued to cry my face off.
Thankfully, a couple of hours later, I’d passed out from sheer exhaustion.
The knocking would not stop.
I gingerly stood up and slowly walked to the door, hoping like heck that it wasn’t Beau. When I looked through the peephole, I was taken aback by what I saw.
Out of respect, I opened the door—even though I really did not want to. “Hi, Monique, what can I do for you?” I asked barely above a whisper. I hadn’t used my voice in hours and my throat was all dry and hoarse.
For some reason, she nodded her head and said, “Exactly as I thought.” She pushed on the door and I stepped back, inadvertently letting her in.
After she closed the door behind her, she found the light switch. It wasn’t even a very bright light, but it made my sensitive eyes squint as I shied away from the glare.
“Oh, Geneviève, what are we going to do with you?” Her warm hands cupped my cheeks as her eyes gazed over my face. Next, she did something so unexpected, it made me start crying all over again. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. I felt her hand press my head to her shoulder and I gave in.
It was the universal mom-hold, used by moms everywhere. She whispered to me in French, “Let it out, my dear. It’s not good to hold such things inside. They will eat you up if you do that.”
Monique smelled like roses, and I found it comforting as I cried and sobbed and sniffled into her shoulder.
I wasn’t sure how long she held me like that, but it felt like forever.
When I finally came to my senses, I gently pushed away and apologized. “I’m so sorry, Monique, I don’t know what came over me,” I said, turning to find a box of tissues. I wiped my face and blew my nose.
“Sit down, my dear. Did you eat supper?” she asked, making her way into the kitchen. She turned the water on to wash her hands.
“Uh, no.”
“How about lunch?”
I hesitated before I answered, “No.”
She turned her head around to face me. “Breakfast?”
I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth. “Oh, Geneviève,” she scolded in her motherly voice, “no food all day. No wonder you’re not feeling well. Sit down on the couch, I’ll make you something.”
There really wasn’t much alternative, so, I did what I was told.
Besides, her presence was like a comforting balm right now, and I appreciated her being here. I settled into the couch with my blanket and pillow. When I turned on the TV, pictures of Beau and I kissing on my balcony this morning popped up on the screen.
“Are Beau and Gigi finally back together?” the TV reporter said as they broadcast our embrace for the whole world to see. “Or, is Beau’s baby mama a contender?” They showed video of Sienna and Beau at the park with boys, then out at a kids pizza joint, Sienna nudging Beau’s arm as she spoke to him. He smiled down at her and a pain shot directly from my heart to my stomach.
“Enough, enough,” Monique said loudly, ripping the remote out of my hand. She’d actually startled me. I’d forgotten for a moment that she was here.
Before I knew it, a cold, open bottle of my favorite sports drink was in my hand. Reusable straw and all. I took a long sip, the cool liquid replenishing my poor, dry throat. Once she found a hockey game, she retreated to the kitchen—with the remote.