Charlotte (Charlie, Lottie)
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"We need to buy the cafe"
Papa stares at me from the door frame, frozen in place. I've been standing out here all night, knocking and knocking until he finally woke up. I'm a bit surprised to see him cleaned up and dressed in anything other than his robe. He doesn't smell as putrid as I remember, and- is that aftershave?
He blinks a few times, before looking behind him and shutting the door on his way out. I wonder what he has in there that he doesn't want me to see. What am I thinking- it's probably trashed in there. He's most likely embarrassed. I'm just curious as to what has him in such a good mood.
"The cafe?", He repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose as he adjusts to the light of the hallway. "Why?"
"Mrs. Lola is sick and she has to sell the cafe and I threw away her paperwork for her highest buyer because I should be first in line for the cafe but we still need to pay her and-"
He puts a finger against my lips, and rubs his temples gently. "Slow. Down."
I take a deep breath, and take his hands in mine, grabbing his attention indefinitely.
"Mrs. Lola is sick. She needs somebody to buy the cafe."
He scratches his chin, looking up and pondering my suggestion. Then, he looks down, giving me his sweetest smile, and my heart leaps out of my chest.
"Non."
The smile slips from my face, and I furrow my eyebrows in disbelief, throwing his hands away from mine. Non!? NON!?
"Why!?", I stamp my foot against the carpet, the twinkle in my eyes completely faded. "I'd be so good at running it, I know I would be! I know how to bake, I can clean it, I'll be there everyday and lock up at Midnight-"
"You've never even had a job, Charlie. Do you know how to work a register? Do you know how to brew coffee, how to interview employees?"
I pause, and puff out my cheeks irritably, crossing my arms in the process.
"I'll have Mrs. Lola train me. She handled the cafe all on her own, no employees needed!"
"That's because the cafe wasn't particularly booming with business, ma cherie", He replies delicately, setting a hand on my shoulder. "Just let it go. I'll buy you your own cafe, much fancier and prettier than Mrs. Lola's. It'll bring in much more money, I promise."
"Non!", I shrug off his hand, backing up away from him. "I want Mrs. Lola's!"
He sighs, exhausted, shaking his head slowly. "You're so stubborn sometimes, Charlie."
"Buy the cafe."
"You know, when you were a petite fille, you were always so generous and patient and-"
"Buy the cafe."
"You never asked for anything, and now all I hear is-"
"Buy the cafe."
He lets out another sigh, and turns back towards the door. I scramble over, and quickly tug at the sleeve of his shirt. He looks over his shoulder, and I give him my best puppy dog eyes. It probably reminds him of when I was a baby. He can't resist me, I know he can't.
I have all the power, here.
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France (Francis)
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I know I say it often enough, but I mean it- She will be the death of me!
Splurging on a cafe that nobody goes to, next to a salon that I know I've never taken her to- It's so irresponsible and unreliable. I'd rather her first job be somewhere elegant, like the restaurant in Bordeaux. Perhaps it's my fault for this happening. If I had made her get a job as soon as she was sixteen, she'd have enough experience and maturity to know that Lola's cafe won't bring in enough money for her to rely on in adulthood.
She does know that I won't provide for her when she's an adult... right?
Those big, sparkly, blue eyes tell me that she's completely ignorant towards adulthood. That really is my fault. I never taught her how to pay bills, where to search for apartments- We haven't even discussed college! I'll be paying for her tuition in advance, then disappearing. Perhaps I'll move to Le Havre.
My chest tightens, and I know it's my heart wrenching. I shouldn't be thinking about this right now.
"I'll think about it", I finally say.
She releases me, grinning from ear to ear, and speeds off, cheering happily. I can't help but chuckle breathily as I walk back into my room. Angleterre is sat on the bed, shoulders stiff as he sips water slowly, trying to shake off the hangover.
I amble forwards, and throw myself besides him, earning a quick, embarrassed glance. The question lingers in the air, unspoken, but every second adds to the tension. Finally, he sets down the cup, and looks at me, folding his hands in his lap.
"So?", I tilt my head. "Which England loves me, drunk or sober?"
"I.. um..", The words choke up in his throat. How amusing.
His face his getting more and more red and hot by the second, to the point where he starts to tremble nervously. Avoiding eye contact, he mumbles something under his breath, looking away quickly afterwards. I smirk, and lean in close.
"What was that, Angleterre?", I purr quietly, setting my hand on his.
He quickly jumps up, and I fall onto the mattress, laughing. He stares at me, his lips tight in a straight line, fists clenched until his knuckles turn white. I can't help but give him a sympathetic smile. He needs to say it, but I feel a bit bad for making him like this.
The little black sheep who can't say his feelings fell for the big bad wolf.
"I-I.. I.. L-L..Lo...", He stutters, looking at everything but me. "L...Lo-Lov.. I.. I-I.. L-"
"Don't bother, mon amour", I grin, standing and walking towards him.
I wrap my arms around his waist, and pull him close to my chest, resting my chin on the top of his head. "That's all I need."
I can feel his heartbeat when he slings his arms over my neck, hugging me tight. For once, it seems he's worried I may be the one to run away. Every worry, ever responsibility slips from my mind, and only images of the man before me floods my memory.
Perhaps he'll let me trim his eyebrows now.
"We shouldn't let Charlie see you", I say quickly, pulling away only the slightest to look into his eyes.
He nods in agreement, then looks towards the window. I don't want him to leave yet- but he'd be rushing out the door anyways when I let him go. I have to sort out this whole Lola's cafe with Charlie anyways.
He breaks away from my grasp, the cold of the room finally hitting me, and opens the curtains. I wince, trying to adjust to the light. My room hasn't seen light in over a year. The clutter is overwhelming- perhaps I should have spent my sleepless night cleaning. I watch as he flings open the window, peering down the two stories.
"Not that far of a drop", he mumbles to himself, looking back towards me. "Are we taking a page out of dear Lottie's book?"
I laugh, walking towards him and looking outside. The sunlight burns like a bitch, but I examine the drop anyhow. I don't like making him climb out the window. He could hurt himself. I turn to advise against it, but he just shakes his head, setting a soft hand on my cheek.
"I'll be fine. Maybe you could use your hair like Rapunzel?"
"Fuck off", I snicker, and he smiles smugly.
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Charlotte (Charlie, Lottie)
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There must be a woman in Papa's room.
There's distinct creaking that comes from the ceiling where Papa's room is. There hasn't been much, given his state of mind, but now, there's movement- and there's more than one pair of feet in that room.
I know Papa used to be quite the womanizer. He still tends to flirt with women he finds on the street, but Alfred informed me that once I was born, he stopped having them over. I just wonder how he had a child with Mama, then. Surely she would have left him with all the flirting?
I sit down at the counter, and rest my chin on my palm. Mama.. I recall the girls asking me about her- but I don't have any answers. I never asked Papa, because I knew it would probably pain him.. but what if I'm the product of some one-night stand? I always assumed she died after I was born.. but some girl that he just picked up off the street could be my Mama, and I'd never know. I could have passed her while on a morning stroll, and neither of us would know of our blood correlation.
I hear Papa's steps glide downstairs, then towards the kitchen. I don't look up at him as he wanders over to the other side of the counter, mimicking my position. The other set of footsteps stopped. She must be in the shower, or left through the window.
"So, about this cafe-"
"Who's my mother?"
He freezes, and stares at me without blinking. I don't lift my gaze from the granite. I have to know. I always thought it'd be better to bite my tongue about it, but in one year, I'll be an adult. I want to know who she is, or if I was right all along. If she really is dead, I want to know what she was like when she was alive.
"Why are you asking me this?", He finally replies, turning and digging through the cabinets for ingredients for breakfast.
"Why not?"
He pulls out some eggs and milk from the kitchen, and turns on the stove. "It's just a bit sudden, ma cherie. What brought this up?"
"Nothing in particular", I lie, finally looking up at him and fidgeting with my thumbs. "Are you going to tell me, or not?"
He pauses, then turns the stove off. I guess he assumed he could sidetrack me into forgetting I asked. When he turns there's a pain in his eyes that I can't quite place. Maybe I really was right.. She's dead. I avert my gaze, looking down quickly. I've never been this uncomfortable with Papa.
A heavy, shaky sigh escapes his lips, and he walks back over to me, sitting besides me instead. I look at him, at his sympathetic face, and realize that I was wrong. He's not pained by the memory- He's pained by what he's about to say.
"There's something you need to know, mon cherie... I thought I had more time before I'd have to tell you..."
I tilt my head, my heart sinking. What could be so huge.. And why couldn't he have told me before? I start to worry about the unfathomable, but quickly shake it off. There's no way it can be that serious. Papa's always been a bit dramatic, maybe this is just one of those suspense ridden moments.
"I don't know who your mother is..."
I nod understandingly. "I suspected as so.."
Still it's a bit troubling. For now, I feel a bit indifferent. There's no reason to be mad, these things happen. I know he's changed since then- but now, all I want to do is search for my mother. But.. maybe I don't want to. She could be horrible- that could be why she left me and Papa. I smile subtly and weakly at him, but he doesn't return the gesture.
"What is it..?", I whisper, his face troubled and his eyes glossy.
He takes a breath, then slides his hand from his cheek to his neck, rubbing it slowly. He's contemplating on whether or not he should tell me whatever it is.. I mean, it can't be as bad as not knowing who my mother is. I await with bated breath, leaning in a bit closer unintentionally. Nothing can come as a shock to me anymore.
Finally he looks up to me, biting his bottom lip, and it seems as if he's lost in a mind of his own.
"I don't know your father, either."