Love Day at the Opera

It’s Love Day, and Hugo has a whole program in mind.

I gave him my surprise later that day, as soon as we woke up, in a pink envelope, but he wouldn’t tell me his. When the clock rang 3, he only told me to get ready with the fanciest attire I could find, and he drove us to the Newcrest Opera House.

The Opera House is a gigantic building surrounded by a hedge maze, and it somehow manages to be more imposing than any Uptown building — it has this majestic feel that only centuries past can give a monument.

He leads me, not to the pit where most of the seats are, but to the box of honor, facing the orchestra, except several feet above the stage.

And then we hear the most beautiful piece of music; it rings through my bones and vibrates against my shivering skin.

I am in awe.

But really, none of all of this mesmerizes me as much, as the simple yet unique — absolutely unique — sight of Hugo in a full dress suit and bowtie. Not only because he did not wear a tie even for our own wedding; but because he looks absolutely stunning.

Posing on the steps. There’s a millennial building behind me, but I really only have eyes for Hugo.

My dapper husband. Never thought I’d use these two words in the same sentence.

When we walk inside, I do have to stop and take in the beauty around us. It’s all so grandiose!

Clearly, Hugo has visited before, or he’s much harder to impress than I am.

Our private box, far from the crowd.

Stolen kisses before the show begins.

And then when the show is over, sweet whispers on the Opera House’s balcony.

The Top of the World

Here we are, in that fancy nightclub at the top of the Fashion District. The aptly called Top of the World Club. This is where I bought my wedding dress; I never thought I’d have the opportunity to go back as a party-goer.

And I’m not alone.

The Romain-less Rascals have finally found the time to meet up again, and this means a trip back to our past. An enhanced trip back to our past.

Our past never had hot tubs overseeing a whole city.

The toddlers are with their nannies, and we are fully relaxed at last. The bubbles help.

We don’t remember a single choreography, but that doesn’t stop us from trying.

Until someone comes to ruin the party — and that someone is not my unexpected sister.

We don’t know how he knew to find us there, but here he is.

And things are about to get ugly all over again.

Except no, not this time.

I decide that the boys are going to have to talk, and that Marie and I will not hesitate to lock them together in a closet for a week if we need to.

This seems to be a good enough incentive. When I leave them alone, Hugo, with who we have been practicing better communication after all, says sorry first, and pours his heart out.

Contrite, and probably realizing upon seeing him again how stupid it was to stay away from his oldest friend for so long, Romain goes on to apologize as well.

This weight lifted off of his shoulders, he goes on to apologize to Marie in his own way.

She’s not displeased.

The Musicians

This, I hear through Shanna and Marie. They tell me that Marie holds zero grief against me or Hugo, but she spends all of her time with Romain, and Romain will have nothing to do with us.

On the other side of San Myshuno, Romain and Marie have a singing duo that’s struggling to get heard. They do opening nights in Brindleton Bay and Windenburg, but they’re still a long way away from the shadow of a song on the radio.

It’s not for lack of trying. They spend most of their time writing, training, and recording, though it would seem they do not always agree on the process or the product.

And it’s harder to focus with a tiny little toddler who’ll just decide to wreak havoc from time to time.

When little William has a fit, it’s often Marie who picks him up.

It’s not that Romain doesn’t care for the kid, Shanna explains, diplomatic as ever. But their lack of success is getting to him, and the more time passes, the angrier he gets, and the angrier he gets, the less he wants to be around William.

In short, Charlotte intervenes, Marie has to be the grown-up.

There are worse places to be struggling artists.

Marie and Romain are renting a loft in the Arts District, but most of the rent comes from old family money, both the Barcet and the Stewarts. Which, it would seem, only angers Romain more.

Romain and Marie are both always waiting for the big break — so their phones are always turned on.

So when Marie receives a call that makes her heart speed up, she can’t wait to tell Romain.

Who just walked into the living-room, but for the sole purpose of complaining about the noise William is making.

“How am I supposed to practice? Can’t he stop being so loud?”

“Rom, he’s a kid, kids are always going to be loud.”

“Listen, you have to take a break anyway, I just got some news and you’ll want to hear it!”

“It’s a producer. He saw our video on SimTube, and he wants me to work on an album for his label!”

“Wait, you? As in only you?”

“But we’re a duo! That’s absolute bullshit.”

“I thought you’d be happy for me.”

From what I hear, Romain and Marie have more than one issue to work through.

Patience

Though the Rascals and I haven’t met in ages, I have kept in touch with Shanna and Charlotte through phone calls and social media.

As she had been planning for a long time now, Shanna quit her career as a journalist to begin a career in politics, which she started as a charity events organizer. She was now rising in the San Myshuno spheres, from office to office and position of influence to position of even more influence, but always, in true Shanna fashion, worried first about her moral compass and sense of justice, and very, very last, about what anyone might think of her.

Her hours were long, but Shanna knew, she felt, down to her gut, that it was right.

Charlotte had kept her course in fashion, and from assistant in a magazine, she had risen to designer for a well-known couture brand. She still dreamed of starting her very own brand, but she wasn’t quite there yet.

This did mean that you would never see her outside of their new, slightly bigger flat, without flawless make-up and designer clothes.

Shanna and Charlotte were sure to keep in touch, not only with me, but with my mothers, as they had very specific questions to ask them. To be precise, questions about me.

Shanna always comes home later than Charlotte.

So she often gets there in the middle of Charlotte and Patience’s activity of the evening.

Charlotte was always very self-centered; but since Patience was born, her bubble of awareness has grown to encompass her daughter, as well.

The only downside of giving your toddler your undivided attention is, of course, that you might entirely miss the sound of your companion coming through the front door.

Thankfully, Patience hears, and sees, that her mom is back.

“Hey darling!”

“Don’t mind me, keep going! I’ll hug her when you’re done.”

But now Charlotte’s attention got divided…

Not for long though. Just long enough for Shanna to sit close and listen.

Shanna is never too tired to have a magical wrestling match with her daughter — even in the first hours of dawn.

It takes Charlotte a bit longer to wake up, so she just watches.

“How about you make breakfast, Lotte?”

“Pancakes, Mommy, pancakes!”

“You got it!”

Charlotte never cared much for cooking, but she did learn how to make some mean pancakes.

I don’t think she’s ever been happier than she can be struggling with pancake dough.

“You should come visit, Azalea,” they tell me. “The view here is even better than in our last apartment!”

“Ours is not bad either,” I always reply. “But I’ll see it when I come ‘round!”

But we’re all very busy; and none of us hardly ever comes around anymore.

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