Twenty years without ever giving her a present: a calm coexistence.
Sébastien Moreau had never bought a gift for his wife, even though they had spent two decades of marriage without a hitch. It wasnt that he was cheap; the right moment never arose. With Adèle everything moved quickly: a month after meeting, they were married.
Their dates had never involved gifts either. He would whistle beneath her window in the little village where she lived, she would dash out, and they would sit on the bench by the gate, chatting lightly until midnight.
He stole their first kiss on the day they got engaged. Then came the wedding, the routine, the worries. Sébastien proved a shrewd businessman, making his pig farm thrive. Adèle, for her part, worked hard; her garden was the envy of the neighbours. Children followed, with diapers, lacetrimmed dresses, childhood illnesses Gifts? There was no time to think about them. Holidays were modest, centred on a good meal. Their life flowed quietly, marked by labor but peaceful.
One day, just before March8, Sébastien went to the market with his neighbour to sell potatoes and pork. He had emptied his cellar, sorted the spuds, and decided to get rid of the excess. As for the pork, better to sell it before slaughtering the new pig. The market was crisp, already smelling of spring, and, against expectations, everything sold like hotcakes. The pork vanished in an instant, the potatoes disappeared as if they were sweets. Not bad, Sébastien thought, pleased. Adèle will be happy.
He loaded the bags into his neighbours van and set off for a few errands. Adèle had handed him a short list. Out of habit he stopped at the local bistro to celebrate his good sale. He wasnt a drinker, but he was convinced that refusing a toast would bring bad luck to future sales. After downing a glass of wine, he left with a light step, eyeing shop windows and the bustling crowd. Thats when he literally stumbled upon an unexpected scene.
In front of a shop, a young couple stared at a dress displayed on a mannequin. The girl, fresh as a rose, exclaimed:
Sophie, come on, lets go, youre not going to stay there all day, are you?
Look, Antoine, its gorgeous! It would fit me perfectly.
Pff, its just a piece of cloth.
You idiot! Its the newest retro trend! Buy it for Mothers Day, will you?
Sophie, you know were broke. If I buy it, well be eating pasta until the end of the month
Well manage, my love! I want it so much. Its been a year since we married and youve never given me anything, not even at Christmas!
Sophie, you drive me mad
I love you, she whispered, then kissed him gently and pulled him inside the store.
The boy, noticing Sébastiens stare, shrugged with a conspiratorial grin, as if to say, Women, huh? Soon after, the couple emerged, Sophie laughing loudly, clutching the treasured bag. Sébastien lingered, gazing at the window. The dress was simple, floralmuch like the one Adèle used to wear on their early outings. A forgotten feeling stirred within him. Was it nostalgia for their youth? A mirror of who they once were? Suddenly a thought struck: Ive never given Adèle anything. Too busy. I thought it unnecessary. Yet this kid would tighten his belt just to please his wife, out of love. Do I even love Adèle? Before we married I thought I did. Then routine erased everything. A life of toil, no memories What a miserably simple existence!
The stolen happiness hurt him. He wanted to feel it too.
With determination, he entered the shop. A smiling saleswoman approached:
Can I help you?
Yes, dear. Id like the dress in the window.
Excellent choice! Its the latest, pure silk, vintage style. Your daughter will love it.
Its not for my daughter, its for my wife, Sébastien muttered.
What luck shell have! the clerk chirped while wrapping the dress.
How much?
When she announced the price, Sébastiens breath caught. It was a fortune in his eyes.
Why so expensive? he growled.
Its a design by a renowned couturier, the clerk explained kindly.
He hesitated, then the image of Sophies bright face returned. He decided.
Ill take it.
He counted the bills, walked out feeling bold. His neighbour was already waiting. The ride home was cheerful; the neighbour bragged about his profits.
And you, did you do well?
What do you mean?
Made good deals?
Now youre counting other peoples money? Sébastien snapped.
Calm down, the neighbour muttered, taken aback by the sudden sour mood.
When they arrived, Adèle hadnt yet returned from the farm. Sébastien tended the animals, cleaned the stable, fed the pigs. Yet, despite the good deed, a weight pressed on his chest. Why this unease? He shrugged and went inside, poured a glass of wine, then another. It eased him a little.
The door slammed. Adèle entered, her face as closed as usual.
You there? How did the market go?
Fine. Heres the money.
Adèle counted the notes.
Some are missing. Did you sell poorly?
No, its just the rest is in this bag.
She pulled out the dress, suspicious.
Whos this for? Margot? It looks too big for her. Youre wasting our money
Its for you, he said shyly. For Mothers Day.
Silence fell.
For me? she asked, incredulous. Really?
Yes, for you! he replied, relieved she didnt scold him. Who else?
Adèle burst into tears and ran to the bedroom. She returned ten minutes later, eyes swollen.
It doesnt fit me anymore. Ive gained weight.
What do you mean? he stammered. I remember you had a dress like this when we used to sit on the bench
My poor old man, she laughed, trembling. Its been twenty years! Things change.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
Seeing those flowers made me think perhaps after all these years, the greatest gift isnt the dress at all, but simply finding each other again, just like on day one.
