The garden house

We moved in a couple of weeks ago. The house is only one store, and there was just one extra bedroom, in case my wife’s parents came to visit. The garden was beautiful, but not very large, really, was just a small patch, enough for a few bushes and flowers, a corner with chairs and table and some space for the children to play, when they will be old enough to stay outside on their own.

Not something for now, my wife is still pregnant with our second one, but we thought it was a good time to buy a house, easier to take care of the new born and of our toddler, having a garden and all. Not having to think about disturbing the neighbours with screaming babies. Still, I had a nagging feeling since I met Adele a couple of days ago. She was my first true love, I remember it was so painful to let her go. I still ask myself today if I made a mistake, but at that time, I could not handle her sadness and her anger towards her parents and the whole world. I needed to be with someone happier. At that time, I was so naïve that I believed that. She seemed more contented now, at ease in her life, which for sure was not an easy ride, carrying all that burden around. Of course, over 15 years went by, she is also a mother of two. We met by chance at the check-out of a store, she was in the neighbourhood after taking her older child to see a friend, while I had a meeting with the architect to collect some documents. We walked together towards the metro and the sunny weather was an invitation to walk one more station, she said she loved the area and would not mind. She kept admiring the single houses with their cute gardens so much, that I barely saw her eyes. Sometimes she was so focused on the well-trimmed lawns or the flower arrangements, for sure made by a gardener and were cute, I admit, but I had to repeat the same question twice, silly questions, really, maybe it was not interesting. Her answers, when she heard me, were interrupted by her comments on how happy her sons would be to have such and such a garden or how her dog, because she had a dog, could run freely instead of having to wait for her to come home. The more she talked about gardens, the more hesitant I felt to tell her about my new house with one. Was I worthy more than her, why I had what she wanted so badly. What a stupid thought, and yet…sitting now in my small garden, which has nothing to do with those of the luxurious houses we saw, I had my coffee, and deep down I know I do not own this, however small, entirely to me. Some choices I made took me in this direction, but if I could find the right path to all this, well, it was just good luck which let me have such a great start in life. My parents’ faces come into my mind, and I silently thank them for being what they are. For without them, my coffee would taste much sour, and the only thing I would see looking out of the window of a rented flat would be a noisy city street.


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