42. Mont-Royal

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Song: Andrew Allen - Amazing


ELLA'S POV


I hadn’t slept that night, just tossing and turning in my bed, looking at the ceiling illuminated by the moonlight outside. I thought about what I’d just done, was it the right decision? I felt empty and sick knowing that I’d not just broken his heart; I’d also broken my own heart.

Letting Jordan go had probably been one of the hardest decisions I had had to make recently. It was a lesson for both of us. For me, that I should follow my head, despite what my heart says; a woman’s tuition is incredibly valuable and is not to be underestimated. On the other hand, he should now know that a relationship is a two way exchange, and I had had enough.

A week had passed since I had made that phone call and to say I hadn’t been affected by what I had done was a lie. I hadn’t slept, I hadn’t been eating and I hadn’t been performing as well at work. Indeed work was a very welcome distraction but I felt that life was passing me by, like it was a blur and I was sitting on the outside watching a fuzzy video of my life and trying to make sense of it all at once. I was going through the motions, getting up, going to work, coming home, going to bed, barely eating anything, not wanting to go out. I had ignored Gina’s frantic messages, Félix was keeping an over observant eye on me, as if I was on suicide watch and my mother fluttered in and out, praising me for losing weight I didn’t need to lose.

Having had enough of my constant drifting for the last week and my recent insomnia I decided to get out of the house. I’d barely left Westmount except for work and I’d been turning down Marie-Pier’s offers of after work drinks, a dinner party and a trip to the cinema. I hadn’t wanted to be rude, I had just wanted time to myself.

Rising early on a Saturday morning I went for a long walk into Vieux Montréal to get away from Félix and his over protectiveness. Right now, I really didn’t want his opinion, even though he meant well, I just wanted some alone time. I took my purse and my book before scribbling a note for Félix to let him know where I’d gone.

Letting the fresh air clear my head, I walked alongside the edge of the St. Laurent watching the sunlight sparkle on the water. Not really walking with much purpose or in any particular direction, I followed the river east until I came to a small café in Place de La Commune. In my hurry to get out of the house this morning I hadn’t eaten any breakfast and my rumbling stomach was reminding me that it needed feeding. I ordered a coffee and a pastry before sitting inside in a corner of the quiet cafe.

“He had ceased to express his fondness for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, as if conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks of affection on him.”

A tear trickled down my cheek as I realised that Jordan wasn’t going to love me anymore. I’d broken his heart, and in its place I’d given him hate.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”

Another tear trickled down my cheek as I finished the ninth chapter. I was totally in the mode for wallowing in my self-pity this morning. I was broken from my solitude by a male French voice.

“Is the book really sad?” I looked up at the voice I’d just heard to see a gorgeous guy standing in front of me, offering a small pack of tissues which I politely declined.

“I don’t know, it’s just too much,” I began in French, feeling utterly embarrassed and helpless that someone had caught me like this.

“Well like you, I’m in need of cheering up too, I just buried my grandmother yesterday,” he said. Oh god, what did I even begin to say to this handsome stranger who’d just told me all of this.

“I’m so sorry. Sorry is never enough to replace someone’s loss,” I tried to justify which immediately sobered my tears. Why was I crying and feeling sorry for myself when this gorgeous guy had just had to see his grandmother pushing daisies? Instead of accepting my sympathies, this man just laughed at me.

“I’m telling you all of this, and we haven’t even introduced ourselves. Hi, I’m Vincent,” he offered me his large, tanned hand.

“Ella,” I replied, firmly shaking his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Mind if I join you?” Vincent asked.

“Not at all.” It’s nice to have some new company right now, I thought. He asked me about my book, to which I explained I was reading Wuthering Heights, which he told me he’d never read. I briefly explained the plot and about Kathy and Heathcliff. I don’t know why I did, but he seemed interested and it was nice to have a friendly ear.

“So what brings you to Montréal?” Vincent asked me after I’d finished giving him the brief synopsis of my book.

“I live here, came back after graduating and doing an internship in the city.”

He was so easy to talk to and it was easy to hold eye contact with him. Something about him made me feel that I could trust him; his eyes were soft, never judging or laughing but attentive. If there’s such a thing as listening with your eyes, he could do it. “And you?” I felt I should know something about this stranger to whom I’d just blabbed to for the last half an hour.

Whoever said ‘Don’t talk to strangers’ was very, very wrong particularly when the stranger is talk, dark, tanned and French. Yet it was also refreshing to be talking to a complete stranger about very trivial things which took my mind off the events of the last week.

“To bury my grandmother. I don’t live here anymore, I’ve relocated to Florida, but it’s always nice coming back to Montréal. It’s like a, what’s the word, aimant?” Vincent said.

“Magnet?” I suggested. Clearly his English was good, but I know the feeling when you forget the word. And Montréal definitely has that magnetic quality to it – there’s something about it which keeps drawing me back, I always come back for more.

“Yes, that. Magnet,” he grinned at me. We continued talking about Montréal for a while and his coffee was delivered to my table.

"I'm thinking about moving back, I forgot why I left this city, almost fell out of love with it," Vincent said. I didn't see how anybody could fall out of love with it.

"Excuse me? Fell out of love with it?" I said, I had to make sure he was being serious. He nodded, putting his coffee down.

"Too intense sometimes. Life in Florida is really easy going, you have continuous sunshine which is great and the beach is on my doorstep. Winter here is hard, it's grey, miserable and "

He had a point I guess, I've just never thought of Montréal in that sense. To me, winter in Montréal is beautiful - everything looks fresh and Christmassy covered in snow - cross country skiing, the lights and wrapping up in lots of layers. For me, winter cannot be considered winter without snow.


“So what are you doing for the rest of the day?” he asked me.

“Not a lot, enjoying my weekend and the sunshine,” I replied. I hadn’t planned anything for today, just to kick back and relax, get out of the house and enjoy the sunshine. I had thought about going shopping but braving rue St. Catherine on a Saturday is no mean feat.

“Come climb Mont Royal with me,” he said. It wasn’t much of a climb but it’d be fun. I hadn’t climbed the hill since last summer and I missed the view from the top. I knew that the fresh air and the pleasant breeze would wake me out of my zombie like status I’d had for the last week.

“Sure,” I said, closing my book and slipping it into my purse.

What had I got to lose?

______________________________________________________

When we finally reached the top, the view was spectacular. The sun was shimmering creating little heat waves over the city as we looked at the skyscrapers and the view of south of the river. We stood looking out over the stone balustrade, both out of breath after racing to see who would get to the top first. Sadly he had won, but I was a gracious loser despite my competitive nature.

“I forgot how beautiful it was,” Vincent said as he stood with his hands on his hips, squinting from the sunlight as he took the view in. I nodded, still getting my breath back. Whoever’s idea it was to race up here needed their head examining.

“Ice cream?” he suggested, taking his eyes off the view to look at me. I nodded. Ice cream sounded great right now. I’ve been up here many times but I’ve never had ice cream up here. We walked over to the building in comfortable silence, still a little out of breath, but neither of us would admit to it.

“Chocolate?” I said as Vincent plucked a small carton out of the freezer. I didn’t mean to sound surprised but I don’t know any guys who like chocolate ice cream; and even if they did, they were too manly to choose or admit to it.

“Oui, t’as choisi pamplemousse, t’es folle” he said, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t going to defend my ice cream suggestions to this stranger. I shrugged, I didn’t have a come back and he knew it.

As we made our way out to sit outside on the grass, I felt an overwhelming urge to thank Vincent. He had dragged me out of my comfort zone and made me feel alive. That sounded clichéd but I needed to say something.

“Thanks for bringing me up here,” I said as we watched two squirrels fight over something beneath a tree.

“No problem,” Vincent replied. “We both needed cheering up, and you looked like a lost soul this morning when I saw you. You needed a friend.”

Crap, I thought, thinking back to the coffee shop where I’d been reading Wuthering Heights. I grimaced ever so slightly – he had altered my mood in two hours from down in the dumps to feeling on top of the world. I shook my head, smiling ever so slightly and grateful that I had run into Vincent. ‘You needed a friend’ – I replayed his words in my head. He had said ‘friend’ – thank god because I’m sure as hell I don’t need anything else right now and you can never have too many friends.

“So, you know what I do,” I said, plucking at the grass beneath my fingertips, “but you haven’t said what you do. Is it a big secret?”

“No, not at all.” He grinned back at me, as I continued plucking grass. “I play hockey.”