saturday, she woke up slowly, late in the morning. she lingered in bed, keeping company with her daydreams. she imagined their life in paris, two years from now. she imagined a flat with high ceilings, ornate white moldings and a large crystal chandelier over the dining table. a wood-burning fire place. white and grey and ivory and cream and black, the palette. bold, monotone striped drapes. a kitchen with wooden counters and a stove top espresso maker. greyscale photographs, framed. a nursery in shades of soft pink and dove grey, where she wraps a little lucia into her arms in the morning. the babe wears charcoal cashmere and little boots lined with fur. she slips a flower into her hair and a kiss on her cheek, and hands her to her papa for a walk to the patisserie. he cradles the babe against his chest, he wears a knitted tie, he wraps the babe in a black fabric sling to carry her close to his heart. while her love and her daughter are out, she dresses. black cigarette pants, navy blue ballerina flats, a grey knitted wrap that layers and ties, a string of crystals around her neck. she ties her hair loosely on her head, and starts the espresso. she lays the table with small bowls for foamy lattes and golden vintage spoons and a tray for the pastries. when her love returns, he unwraps croissants and pains au chocolat. they speak in both english and french, kissing often. she brings the sweet babe to her breast and nurses, reveling in the sound of suckling and swallowing and in the scent of milky breath. they sip coffee, pull apart flaky pastries and bask in the soft morning light flooding the home. they plan travels in marrakesh and tokyo, they plan an afternoon at an art gallery. she shared her dream with him. awake to the sweetness of her current reality, they lingered longer. he read the news, she read about paris. he turned on anour brahem and the ethnic sounds filled the home. she felt the music resonating in her body, reflecting off of the walls and floors as though they were literally present in the space. the music accompanied their slow pace. she cracked five eggs into a large ceramic bowl, colored of wheat. they added dill, asiago, ricotta, ham, mustard. he baked the mixture into a frittata and they sliced it on a bamboo board. they savored and read at the breakfast table, with the sunshine and the fresh cut flowers in a vase. he knotted a tie, she wore stripes and her tiffany pearls. they spoke mostly in french for some time. she in long, fluid sentences and he in halting phrases filled with nouns and adjectives. they understood one another. they went shopping for diamonds and were entranced by carat, color, cut and clarity. street food and street musicians. a nostalgic walk through the kitsilano streets that they used to frequent often. change breeds nostalgia, she remarked. they will live a life washed in both. a visit to coco et olive, a place that now feels like home. they sat near the window with lemongrass soup and beetroot hummus, and took in the familiar quiet hum of the saturday afternoon. he ordered his latte in a to go cup, and they walked down to the beach, where he sat near the sand and watched the people. she met with a couple-in-love and photographed a vintage-styled session in warm light. a plaid tie, feathers, lace, red sling back pumps, a handful of brightly colored tulips, a family ring with a vintage yellow diamond. the styling, the soft reflected light, the laughter: she adores her work. at home, they crawled into bed in the evening with dark chocolate. tyler brule educated them on the affairs of the world in the background, while she wrote and processed. ratatouille simmered on the stove. aubergine and capiscum and whole cloves of garlic and onion and ripe tomatoes and black olives. basa grilled, coated in lemon juice and cracked black pepper. brown rice steamed, a nourishing foundation. they heaped rice and stewed vegetables and fish into white bowls and savored the life they love.
