"Hot Blooded", New Constellations
The day after, I spent most of the afternoon out, walking in the streets, lost in my thoughts. I bought some books in a shop I loved, mostly poetry, and I went back to my apartment to read a little before going to my club. Then my phone rang.
"Mum, how are you? Are you ok?" My son, Ethan, was calling from Greece, on the last video call app he had made me install recently.
"I am fine, honey," I said.
He took off his sunglasses. He looked concerned. "Are you sure? This is not what Anna texted me. Look, I'm sorry, I should have stayed longer after Nicolas' funeral."
"No. It is ok, honey. Well, of course, I have been quite sad lately, but I am going to be fine. You do not have to worry about me." He did not look convinced but I did not want to tell him about the night before, about the painter. "I promise. I feel better. I just need time to process it. That is all. It is going to be fine. You know me. I can take care of myself."
He sighed and let it go. He knew how stubborn I was. "Alright. But please call me if you need me."
"Duly noted. You know, I sing again. It had been a long time, but I find it very cathartic."
He smiled. "That's a good thing."
"I hope your trip went as you wished. Do not forget to send me some pictures: I would love to know what you are working on right now."
"It's a portrait series. It's going well. I met amazing people. Look!" He changed the camera and showed me on the wall a few pictures he had printed. "I'll send you some stuff and you'll tell me what you think about it."
"It looks beautiful."
I heard a voice calling him. The camera went back to selfie mode, and he put his sunglasses back on. "I have to go. I miss you, Mum. Take care of yourself, ok?"
"I will. I love you."
"Love you too."
I smiled and went back to my reading. The light of day declined very early at this time of the year, and the pinky gold of dusk subtly invaded the apartment. I put down my book and looked through the window. It was almost time to choose my outfit for the night. Maybe I would sing. Why not.