Geez, this summer has been an emotional rollercoaster. So much so that I've been neglecting to take my medicine. And by medicine I mean bringing some modicum of meaning to my life by transcribing my strained relationships through metaphorical storytelling that freely switches genders, nationalities and conflicts to better fit the source material half of these characters originate from. My doctor swears this is healthy.
Nathalie's Resolution
Part 7
By: I Write Big
The song came to an end and Natalia took a seat. She quenched her dry throat with a glassful from her table's communal crystal pitcher. The cool water was barely down before the dance floor had burst back to life. Too tired to jump back in, Natalia relaxed and watched the wedding guests dance without her.
"Where did you hide it?" The speaker was Elena's mama, a thin woman who's only claim to fame was possessing the longest neck in Bucharest. She craned that long neck towards her dancing daughter and asked again, "Where?"
Natalia poured another glass, "You mean that traditional black ugly ribbon? It's buried in the trail hem."
The woman laughed in that chittery huff that reminded Natalia of a bird, "When I married, I hid that garbage in my hair."
"Hair?! I was told that crime had to be in the dress!"
Another chittery huff, "Bunica never tires of her rules."
"That's the part I don't understand," Natalia settled into her chair, "Aren't you and mom the traditional ones? Since when does bunica have traditions?"
"Your mom and I had been dreaming of our children getting married to each other since we were your age. However, when the time came, your bunica made it pretty clear she didn't believe the races should… mix." Natalia nearly choked on her drink. She examined the woman's face but saw no trace of a lie. "Don't give me that look. I overheard her say it to your mom the day before she married your dad. Your sweet old bunica changed her tune after you and Dumitru popped out. Before that, though, she disapproved from a distance. You're lucky she's not the kind to put how others think above her children's happiness. You might not exist otherwise."
Natalia spotted her bunica sitting at the head table. The senior's affectionate smile that was always permanently etched into her wrinkles was directed solely at the dancing newlyweds. How that pillar of understanding and warmth who read her bedtime stories could've once held such backwards views was incomprehensible. "She was one of the few who recognized that who married did not matter. Only love mattered," Elena's mama concluded and then slapped Natalia's shoulder, "So, when are you getting married, huh?"
Even if Natalia had taken another sip from her glass, she wouldn't have choked again. This was a familiar topic for her. "Not my highest priority."
Rather than persist like she expected, the woman shrugged, "Mmm, maybe not yet."
The song ended but another didn't immediately replace it. Instead, the DJ spoke into the microphone, "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, please clear the way. It's time for the godmother to take the veil." Everything went dark and Natalia sat in the void until a sudden spotlight glared down at her. Another spotlight illuminated the dance floor where only Elena waited. Natalia couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she was in her white dress.
With solemn responsibility, Natalia strode to the bride just as a tune that was both sweet and melancholic filled the air. Her fingers removed the delicate lace veil from Elena's hair and replaced it with a thick headscarf she somehow produced from nothing. The ceremony was completed. Elena was now symbolically no longer under her godmotherly protection but Dumitru's.
Nathalie let go of the knot she'd tied under Elena's chin and pushed through the darkness to the DJ booth. There she found little Natalia. "Why are you changing this part? I wasn't the godmother."
"You weren't?" Natalia scratched her young head with the microphone.
"No! That was Aunt Kathleen!"
"Then where were you?"
"I was still sitting over there—" She pointed back at the table with the crystal pitcher but the table was gone. In its place stood a suitcase. Wrapped around the handle was a ticket stamped with tiny yet somehow readable text.
Paris.
One way.
Nathalie growled, "Enough!" and she forced herself to wake.
She sat up without pause and went straight to the mirror. Immediately she got to work fixing her hair and forgetting the latest attempt by her subconscious. It was pathetic to slip her into a new role and assume the result would be different. All that was accomplished was a reminder of Nathalie's priorities. She had come here for a reason. A goal. And she had wasted nearly half the week already. That changed today. After her decision at mom's door last night, she'd taken a sheet of tracing paper from the sewing basket downstairs. Locking herself in her room, she spent most of the night drawing. This morning, it waited under the mirror and it would decide if this trip was actually pointless. Her hair back in the tried and true bun, Nathalie donned her heavy fur coat, tucked the folded tracing paper into her pocket, and went outside.
Thunk! "Ah, up so early, Natalia! Did you want breakfa—"
"I'll eat in town." She climbed into the truck and started the vehicle with the keys she'd grabbed from inside. Ignoring her brother's calls, she sped down the lighted driveway and straight toward Bucharest. Within half an hour she'd stopped by the bank and continued on foot into Oldtown until she arrived at her final destination.
The stucco almost glowed against the drab city with its shade of vibrant blue. When she saw it, there was some hesitation but only for the slightest moment. She stepped into the boutique. Mannequins garbed in dresses and suits most fabulous lined the walls that led to the front desk. Scribbling there was a hunched man with wiry hair that frazzled in ever directed save up. When he saw her, his pair of slim glasses dropped off his pointed nose.
"Young Natalia? Is that you?"
She nodded, "Nicolae. I hope I'm not bothering you."
"Bothering?!" He took her hands in his caring palms, "How could you think that? It has been so long since I've seen my most promising student. How have you been—"
"I've come with a design proposal," interrupted Nathalie, pulling out of his hold and marching through the back hall.
"A design?" the hunched man scurried after her.
She knew if she let Nicolae start, there'd be no end to his questioning. As Mr. Agreste had shown her, the only way to move things along was to make them happen herself. "Yes, a design that only a seasoned professional like you can handle. Do you have the bodies to work for the rest of the day on this?" She reached the back room she knew well and found a dozen young men and women working together on the same dress. "It seems you do."
"It is after the Holidays, so not much in requests. Only a few touch ups here and there," admitted Nicolae. "Let us discuss your project back at—"
"There is nothing to discuss." Nathalie drew out the sheet of tracing paper and pressed it into Nicolae's soft hands. "I'm on a time limit, Nicolae. Have your students stop everything and make a hundred of these by dinner." She then dropped a bulging envelope on the nearest worktable and fixed Nicolae with the undeniable glare she had learned from Mr. Agreste. "There's more than enough lei in there to cover any cost. Understood?"
The hunched man seemed to temporarily lose the ability to speak as he only stared, "...Natalia, are you—"
"Understood?"
He barely nodded and she left.
One of the women came forward to take the tracing paper and asked, "Who was that?"
"That was...well, actually I'm... not sure anymore."
As soon as Nathalie had left the boutique and was out of sight of anyone on the street, she leaned against an alley wall. Every step inside that building had been a battle against the doubts. Nicolae's kind voice was a continuous assault of guilt for failing the man who had believed in her since she was a child. The decade in Paris had trained her to pursue without rest. The years under Mr. Agreste had toughened her shell tenfold. Yet none of it was enough to keep her from shaking like a leaf in that alley. For a reason she couldn't explain, she pictured Adrien shaking his head in dismay at her actions. Nathalie let the doubts have their fun a while longer before banishing them back. She had made the first move. It would only truly be failure if she stopped now. By the end of the day, she'd have her design. Now, she had to spread the word.
Adrien's post-school fencing class dragged on for what felt like forever and finished without much excitement. The boy changed in the locker room as quickly as he could. His first real talk with Emilie last night had left him eager to see the assistant again. It was oddly fascinating to be learning about someone new. He'd spent hours pressing the woman to tell him more about herself. With each answer she seemed less reluctant and less embarrassed until she spoke as freely as Marinette did over the phone. Adrien considered whether he had a future in getting people to open up, like a therapist.
Bounding out of the school, he found Emilie waiting by the curb, right on time to take him home for piano practice. While walking to the car, though, Adrien spotted the Dupain-Cheng Patisserie on the corner. Among the multiple facts he learned over dinner was Emilie's love for anything coconut. She had claimed it was her absolute favorite food in the world. There was still a twinge of self-blame for not giving Emilie the chance she deserved and Nathalie had always taught him that gifts were an excellent way to smooth relationships over.
Promising that this would only take a minute, Adrien raced across the street to the bakery and scoured the glass displays for the perfect gift. Unfortunately, he was only finding sweets with nougat and nutella filling. When he stood to ask Mrs. Cheng if she had anything with coconut, he saw her daughter behind the counter instead.
He made the mistake of making direct eye contact with Marinette and the poor girl instantly froze like a deer in headlights. Years of Nathalie's lessons on manners kicked in and Adrien gently waved to her and, to his absolute surprise, Marinette shakily waved back. He could see her lips trembling. He fully expected her stutters to start filling the silence she couldn't stand.
"Hhh...hhhee..."
Marinette scrunched her eyes, covered her mouth, and breathed deeply several times with considerable effort. Adrien waited patiently as she recovered and eventually put her other hand down which had been endlessly waving the entire time. With a last clearing of her throat, Marinette smiled at Adrien and said...
"Hello."
Pride shined in Adrien because, even though it was only one word, there wasn't a hint of fear. Marinette had spoken with the same confidence and clarity he'd come to expect over the phone. His friend had come such a long way in such a short time.
"Adrien?" The bakery door jingled as Emilie entered. "We need to go."
"Oh! Right, hold on," he gave Marinette a smile, "Do you have anything made with coconut?"
His question seemed to sap every bit of Marinette's momentary bravery and she looked away. "Uh! Um! S-s-sure! They're over bear—where—mare—mmm..." The girl's slips frustrated Marinette until she gave up entirely. Silently, she bagged a couple chocolate covered coconut mounds. Marinette put them on the counter and disappeared into the kitchen before Adrien could ask the price.
The retreat saddened Adrien. He blamed himself. He shouldn't've smiled so wide. That always seemed to trigger Marinette's nerves and he completely forgot. With a heavy sigh, he left more than enough euros near the register and exited the bakery. He gave Emilie her gift and climbed into the car.
"Was that Marinette?" clarified Emilie, "She was much shyer than you made her sound."
"She's better when she doesn't have to look at people," muttered Adrien.
"At people or you?" Emilie asked with a knowing smile.
Adrien didn't hear that question nor see that smile. His mind was elsewhere. As the Gorilla drove them home, Adrien watched Paris speed by, worrying if he had accidentally undone some of Marinette's progress.
The bag crinkled in the passenger seat as Nathalie drove out of Bucharest. She wondered what she planned to do with the sample she had taken. It was only one of the hundred-fifty Nicolae and his students had completed over an hour earlier than expected. She graciously tipped them for their hard work. The rest she had left in the storage room of Greta's. The owner, a cousin of Greta who still remembered Natalia, had readily agreed to tomorrow's arrangements in the store. All that remained was for Nathalie to launch the online campaign she'd spent the day building. For hours, she had crafted every future post, researched the most optimal times they should go online, and organized them into a graph. All of this was done on her phone which received incessant attempted calls from Dumitru. She'd have to explain herself at the cottage. All of this was necessary. Except, there wasn't a need for Nathalie to take one of her designs with her and yet she did.
Nathalie turned onto the lighted driveway just as the nightly wind storm began to roar. She rushed to the cottage door, but found it locked. Thankfully, the key was in still in the flower pot and she let herself in.
"Dumitru, I'm back. Sorry, today was very busy."
There was no answer. Only the creak of mom upstairs.
"Dumitru?"
She hanged her fur coat and noticed his hook was empty. Nathalie checked her phone. Among the dozens of unread texts was one voicemail. She played it.
"You drove off before I could tell you, Natalia. I know I said I would stay until tomorrow night but Elena asked me to come back today. I told her about your… cry last night and that you should probably not be alone. Then you stole the goddamn truck! Hehehe, that was… that was scary. You have to understand, I haven't seen you in ten years. I was scared for my little sister. So, I followed you. I didn't know where you were going or what you were going to do after yesterday. Imagine my surprise when I saw you working. Negotiating. Creating like you had always dreamed. And I realized that I am not needed. You can handle yourself, Natalia... There are… there are days when I wish I could be as determined as you. To be a risk taker. I know I smile and laugh, but I dream of quitting my office job and becoming more... like you have. Sorry, I shouldn't have said. What if Elena heard, right? Hehehe... So, after I knew you were safe, I came back here and I waited for as long as I could, hoping to say goodbye but I guess this will have to do. Some heads up, word has been getting around that you're back. You may have some visitors soon. Be strong, Natalia. You are meant for great things. I love you... and so does mom."
The message ended. Nathalie moved to the kitchen, dropped the sample on the floor, and sat before the crackling fire. On the table waited a still warm bowl of fresh piftie.
The rest of the day had been as uneventful as fencing class. While Emilie gratefully thanked Adrien for the candy and Adrien was happy to share more with the assistant, he couldn't stop thinking about the bakery incident earlier. It nagged at the back of his mind all the way to dinner. It didn't help that Emilie kept asking for details about Marinette with as much enthusiasm as she had asked about him only the other day. Like before, Adrien found the strong interest weird but chalked it up to his ignorance again.
A professional cough interrupted his meal picking, "I'll see you first thing in the morning," said Emilie as she headed for the door.
"W-What? Wait!" Adrien looked at the dining room grandfather clock and almost bolted from his chair after her. "It's still early. I told you yesterday, you don't have to go around this time."
"I actually have a thing to take care of tonight, Adrien," she apologized. "I'd happily come early tomorrow to make up."
Adrien was stunned at her offer, "Really?"
"Of course! Sometimes meeting halfway works best." She offered one last knowing smile, "Like when people are having trouble communicating." Emilie then excused herself for the day and Adrien was left to finish his dinner alone in deep thought. Mostly alone.
"What a strange lady," commented Plagg from Adrien's shirt, "How come the older you humans get, the more annoyingly cryptic you get too? Come on, what's wrong with 'Hey, try doing this?'"
Adrien ignored his Kwami as Emilie's words swam laps through his head, teasing their true meaning. By the time he marched past Father's still lit office and sat on his bed, he thought he had a plan. He fished out his phone and dialed.
"H-Hey..."
He cringed as he heard her shame, "Hi… Marinette, I have, uh, an idea. Do you have tape? Not like clear tape, the solid colored in kind."
"Yeah..."
"Put a strip of tape over the top of your phone."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know how to explain it so, please, trust me," he begged. He listened to the fumbles of movement on the other end. At last, she said she was done. Doing a silent prayer, Adrien pulled his phone from his ear and pressed 'video chat.' A message of the request being sent appeared and he waited for what felt like hours. Then his screen went red and he saw a tiny live feed of himself in the corner.
He waved and dared to smile that extra millimeter, "Is this okay?" There were hushed squeaks from the red screen and Adrien feared this wouldn't work. Still, he couldn't give up now, "Marinette, look at me." Her hushed squeaks stopped for a second and he took it. "It wasn't that bad. You can't let what happened today get to you. You've gotten so much better at this, Marinette, but I want to be able to talk to you in person. Face to face. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but someday. I know I'm sounding selfish but it's the truth. Please, until you're ready, can we try this?" He peered at the solid red. There wasn't any discernible shape hidden in the color but he knew she was just beyond.
"...Yeah, I think this is okay."
END
The veil-headscarf ceremony in the first scene is a real Romanian wedding tradition. A godcouple is chosen specifically for the ceremony. A song titled "Say Goodbye, Dear Bride" is played. The godmother takes off the bride's veil and replaces it with a headscarf to symbolize becoming a housewife who takes care of children.
I still prefer the wedding tradition of Best Man. That's where the groom chooses his best swordsman to hold a blade to his bride's throat during the exchanging of vows so nobody interferes! I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP AND I AM REQUIRING IT IN MY PRENUP!
