Surrender

“Let me show you the pantry.” She hustled me to the end of the kitchen, opening a wooden door that creaked as it swung toward us.

“There’s so much space.”

“Yes. Do you and Mr. Birch have a lot of furniture?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No. Actually, we’ll be buying new things now that we’re in France.”

“Maybe I could recommend a few furniture stores for you?”

I smiled. “That would be great, actually. I don’t really know where to start. I think I’ll be handling the decorating while Leo is at work during the day. This is a huge apartment to fill.”

“Of course. I’ll jot a few of the stores down for you.” She looked around at the open ceilings. “Imagine decorating this flat from the ground up. It should be a work of art when you’re finished, Mrs. Birch.”

I swallowed. I wasn’t the artsy type. But I was also certain I wasn’t supposed to launch into diatribes with strangers about what kind of person I was. Eloise didn’t need to know I loved law and classic literature. Or that this was my first trip to Europe.

“But you didn’t bring anything with you from the States?” she pressed. “Nothing?”

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This was exactly why I wanted a story. Why I wanted to drink a bottle of wine with Vaughn and go over our entire contrived two-year marriage. Of course we should have something. What bride moved to another country without her wedding album? Shit. We didn’t have wedding photos.

I opened the top oven door and twisted the knob, pretending I cared whether it worked. “Leo and I decided until we knew how long we were going to stay in France, it wouldn’t be worth shipping everything. It’s so inexpensive to keep our things in storage back home,” I lied.

“I see. I’m sure it’s hard to be in a new place with no one. And nothing.” She smiled politely.

I looked at Vaughn at the other end of the room. “I have Leo.” I turned to her. “I don’t need anything else.”

“Oui.” She nodded.

Vaughn joined us. “Do you have any questions we should ask Eloise?” he prompted.

“Actually, I do have one.”

“What’s that?”

I turned to the realtor. “Does the building allow dogs?”

“I’m afraid not.”

I frowned. “Ok.”

Vaughn’s eyes followed me. I passed the realtor off to my husband while I inspected one of the many bathrooms. I couldn’t get over the tile work. Everything was intricate and delicate.

Vaughn and Eloise moved to a corner in the dining room to talk. I assumed it was to discuss numbers.

I floated from room to room. I stepped into the master suite. All the notions I had of European apartments were that they were tiny and cramped. I had pictured a dorm-sized refrigerator and a few burners on a countertop, not a gourmet stove and separate wine fridge. The master suite was breathtaking.

“What do you think?” Vaughn walked up behind me. “Is this the one?”

I spun in the center of the hardwood floor. “I love it. They have all been beautiful. But I really love this one.”

“This is the one?”

I still couldn’t believe we were doing this. We were going to buy an apartment and live together. I nodded. “How much is it?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s covered. You know this is considered a work expense.”

“But how much?” I wondered what Paris real estate translated into in American dollars. “I can’t imagine it’s inexpensive, not with this kind of space and these upgrades.”

“Almost two million.” He turned to find Eloise. She had given us a moment to discuss the unit.