IN THE CITY OF LOVE by Susan Cornford

IN THE CITY OF LOVE by Susan Cornford

They had come to Paris for a romantic holiday but things were not working out as expected. Greg paced the length of their hotel room, with its expensive view of the Eiffel Tower, and back again with his face screwed up in thought. “I don’t understand,” he blurted at last, rather louder than he had intended.

Sandra just shook her head, dripping slow tears from her chin onto her fluffy, white dressing gown. He softened his voice and repeated his statement, reaching out a hand toward the back of his wife’s head, but then, on second thought, withdrew it.

She sat up straight, took a tissue from the box on the dressing table and blew her nose. “I don’t know why it’s so important to me,” she said, but her body was rigid with an awareness she was unwilling to admit.

Greg’s mind went back a few hours to when they had entered the restaurant for their first meal in France: the country where they had the best food in the world. He and Sandra soaked in the atmosphere, watching as the owner stopped and spoke in a familiar way to most of the diners in turn. She wasn’t too happy about the hygiene of the resident cat being curled up on a vacant chair, but Greg said, “When in Rome…or wherever.”

They tested their high-school French on the waiter, which was fun even when he did, in fact, sneer at them whenever they faltered. “Tick,” said Greg, as he crossed one of the experiences they had put on their bucket list. T

heir food came and he raved in English to Sandra and, in the best of his French, to the waiter and the owner, “Magnifique!” He noticed that his wife didn’t make as much of an effort but he assumed that she thought he was making enough of a fuss for the both of them.

This was not, in fact, what Sandra had been thinking. She had been enjoying herself very much, having looked forward to eating snails and frog’s legs and other things she would never have cooked at home. These had been different and interesting enough that she could say, “Been there, done that!” But Greg’s reaction had taken her by surprise; it had seemed over-the-top. Then, as the ecstatic words of praise went on, it began, a bit at a time, to hurt. She stiffened her body, trying to obscure self-awareness of the shameful feelings of jealousy. Greg noticed and asked, “Have you eaten too much garlic?” as it sometimes caused her heartburn. That much, at least, she could deny.

Back in their hotel room, Greg went on one knee in front of his still sniffing wife, took both of her hands in his and said, “Darling, I know I raved about the coq au vin and pommes frites, but your roast chicken and baked potato is still my favorite meal in the world, because you cook it for me with love.”

Sandra’s sniffing subsided; she stood and walked over to the uncurtained window. “I think,” she said smiling, “that we should climb it tomorrow.”

Susan Cornford is a retired public servant, living in Perth, Western Australia. She/her has most recently had pieces published or forthcoming in Ab Terra Flash Fiction2022, [Alternate Route], BigCityLit, Defuncted Journal, Flash Frontier, HalfHourToKill.Com, INK Babies Literary Magazine, Instant Noodles Literary Magazine, Roi Fainéant, Spillwords, Written Tales and Wyldblood Magazine.