Chez Moi

3 May 2024

Mon très cher ange Jeremy,

Well, first of all, oh my goodness! It’s happening!

Next week, I will be picking you up at the Gare du Nord. Then, in a month’s time, you and I will be marching to city hall --- 11 a.m., on the dot, precise as a timetable – so the mayor could officially wed us. (I know. It’s not very romantic, but yes, that’s the way things are done chez moi.). Of course, just a fortnight after, I can finally walk down a tulip-lined aisle towards your joyfully tearful hazel eyes at the ceremony we’ve planned to the minutest of details, the beginning of our journey as husband and wife. Just thinking about all of that makes adrenaline zoom inside me like a bullet train.

Wow! A breath away --- just a short whistle stop, so to speak --- and I’ll be Mrs. Carine Alexandre-Holborn. Sweetheart, it seems like only yesterday I took that ride across La Manche (The English Channel for you, of course) for a holiday in London and bumped into you in the bustling hallways of St. Pancras. Those years of yearning, of us both on opposite shores longing to intertwine our fingers into the other's on our daily commutes, feel as recent as my Ligne 14 train sliding into Madeleine station this morning. Yes, I could still picture the fragrant bouquet in your hand as I leapt into your waiting arms across a terminal ticket hall, my entire life in my suitcases. Soon, we will be husband and wife; there will be no more gloomy partings in a crowded railway terminus (Gawd, the number of times I imagined catapulting myself across the waters). Just the thought of that makes my soul levitate as if on magnets.

I know. It would have been perfect if you could have boarded that Eurostar with me, could have joined me returning chez moi for our impending nuptials. Worry not; I understand. Part of marrying a property barrister is knowing that sometimes, a case gets in the way of our most well-laid plans. Oh well. Even if we can’t broker being able to sit next to each other rolling into Paris, everything is still on track and, more importantly, you will be arriving here soon.

Speaking of that joyous day that you get here, you know very well that I’ve already prepared an itinerary for us, conceptualised a blueprint of a splendid stay for you chez moi. That’s not really a surprise now, isn’t it, Sweetheart? After all, any time we go on a trip, it’s always me who organises the list of activities so meticulously, it can shame signal controllers. What’s more, this is my home city, so please do indulge me.

So, yes, whilst we’re both here, pendant que tu me rends visite chez moi¹, I’d love to take you around these little slices of my city, of where my mind travelled the chains and miles over to you as my feet were planted on the banks of the Seine. I could even draw you a little map, if you’d like. Oh, you know your fiancée loves her diagrams, after all.

 Halt Number 1: Parc Montsouris – Well, Sweetheart, I told you this already, but that fated day my head was buried in my phone screen displaying Google Maps and I crashed into you at Hyde Park two days after my arrival in the British capital, I knew that the rails of my life were leading into your arms. As your hazel eyes sparkled in joy and your melodious voice (that I always tell you reminds me of that of the announcements on the Bakerloo Line) sounded out a “Fancy seeing you here again”, I was sold. The invisible gavel had been banged, and my heart went to you; no need at all for you to bid.

What you probably don’t know is that when it was time for me to head over again to chez moi, as we walked together soundlessly to Hanger Lane Tube station so I could catch my trans-channel carriage to France, my innermost self felt like it was a ghost town. As I sank into my window seat and England whizzed past me, my consciousness shuttled back and forth between the image of your shy smile as you asked to sit with me on the wrought-iron bench and the roar of our laughter throughout those three hours we strolled in that little pocket of green and then, grabbed a coffee. Could you blame me for wanting to recreate that momentous meeting, for reaching out to your memory like a pantograph to overhead wires?

When you get here, we will promenade, just like we did on your side of La Manche, in this little Eden I started to frequent after that unforgettable holiday we became acquainted. More than the park Napoléon III built in the image of the gardens we met in, it was also where I spent many a lunch break, my imagination transporting me to your arms once more as I savoured my daily café au lait. I want you to realise whilst you’re chez moi how happy I am to not only share a seat with you from now on but also a life.

Halt Number 2: Bistrot Audran – Darling, you know that whenever I remember that first dinner date we had, when my brain railroads all the memories of that night into me, I can’t help reliving and relishing every detail.

I know. You’re going to say that you’re embarrassed at how that supper went. Whenever we reminisce about that soirée, you would always shake your head and state that you wish you could build yourself a tunnel to hide from the shame. You’d blush, your face as bright as the signs for Ligne 5 of the Paris Métro, and apologise for the Central Line being so hot during that ride to your favourite Notting Hill restaurant, for “babbling on and on about rolling stock like an idiot out of nerves.” You would wince at the recollection of your hands trembling, as if it were a car on a steep gradient, to the point of spilling a bit of your vanilla ice cream onto your black button-down shirt.

Well, what if I told you that I enjoyed every minute of it, that every hallway of my mind is filled with that magical evening having a meal with you? In fact, I had so much fun that I scoured the city I call chez moi for a food joint that reminded me of the one you took me out in. It was such a lovely night for me that I always imagine you in the banquette across me, that I do not find it a problem to accidentally dribble bit of my dessert onto my clothes. I hope it’s fine with you that we stage that first rendez-vous when you get here.

Halt Number 3: Le mur des je t’aime – Oh yes, Sweetheart. I’d like for you to see it in person, the very same art installation that made me appraise everything I knew here in France and decide to take that Eurostar to England, all my belongings packed. I don’t know why but somehow reading “I love you” scrawled on onyx-coloured tile played your voice in my head, flashed the images of your countless visits to me in my heart. It was as if a dot matrix display scrolled out the words “Come to Jeremy” right before my eyes.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. Gawd, trying to master the often-confusing rules of English grammar sometimes felt like trying to diagram the metro system of an urban agglomeration I’ve never been to. Then, of course, there was the brouhaha of trying to find a job, an undertaking which I found comparable to navigating the maze that is the Gare Saint-Lazare. After a year of trying, though, I finally made my way to my favourite destination in the world: your arms.

If it’s okay, I’d love to show you the starting point of that journey.

Halt Number 4: My childhood home – But of course, Sweetheart! You know this was coming up. Before we are wed, before we can officially share the tracks of our lives together, my family would like you to spend some time with them in the original chez moi. Call it an official “Welcome aboard” message from my folks.

Oh, I can’t forget the day I brought you over to introduce you to my parents and sister. You were shaking to the point of leaning over to me and whispering jokingly that you needed an adjusting spring to stabilise yourself. Of course, as you would come to discover, you needed worry at all. Yes, from the moment I disembarked that high-speed train from the British capital for the first time, I’d been gushing about you, could not stop raving about how you make me feel like the queen of some château. Naturally, they’d already earmarked a place for you at the dining table.

By the end of that supper, you’d been served so much Reisling, fed so much, fussed over by all residents of a brick house in Saint-Denis. As you smiled in relief and glanced at me across our living room, I mouthed out “I told you so.”; there is no doubt that all of us wanted you, my home, to feel as though you were chez toi. They even insisted to drive us to the Gare du Nord for our journey back to London just so they could chat with you more.

As much as you’re excited to visit my family again, they’re very much chuffed to have you with us for a further time. Maman joked about practically putting your name on the house deed soon. Why not!

My sweet Jeremy, I’m beyond honoured to be officially your wife soon, for our lives to finally be at a junction with each other. Tu es et seras pour toujours mon chez moi.²

Excited to build a home with you,

Your Carine

P.S.: As you requested, I will book a cab so we could fit your luggage. Worry not. 

***

26 July 2024

Ma très belle raison d’être Carine,

Whenever I’m in your city of origin, I also feel chez moi, as you know.

Being here in Paris, exploring all of the places you highlighted in your letter with me coupled with you, I can’t help observing how the City of Lights shines brighter, how the Métro stations’ buzz resemble a heartbeat. Of course, all of that is because of you, because of the woman I will always call my home.

Look, I’m sorry. I could almost hear you say “Keep on rolling, Sweetheart”. You wouldn’t want me stuck like some rusty cab in a depot. My mind’s in a loop, though. If I didn’t ask for that taxi, if I let you fetch me at the Gare du Nord by rail, I’d still have your hand to hold. If I didn’t insist, you wouldn’t be chauffeured to the station by an intoxicated driver who crashed his vehicle into a tree. That’s just how it is, mon amour. For now, I feel like a termite-infested, condemned house. I feel....

Yes, I'm listening. Your voice might as well be blared from a tannoy in my mind. You'd want me to move to the next stop. Can I, though ? I still don't know.

Don’t worry; I will be okay. Time will continue chugging along with me as a passenger. At least, I was able to bring you back chez toi so we could intern you in this French capital you adored so much. At least, even if you’re gone, I had those seven years with you, found chez moi in your arms.

My heart will always be your property.

Trying to make sense of a life rerouted,

Your Jeremy

***

Translations:

1.     Whilst you’re visiting me here at home

2.     You are and you will always be my home.