122 - Dream About

Once again, Ari woke in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat and panicking. She had another nightmare. This one more vivid than the last. This time, she saw Jon and their little girl sitting on the familiar lounge chair under her tree looking at the star, just like her Grand-Mère would do with her. The little girl in her dream couldn’t have been more than two or three years old, and she was crying. Jon was trying to soothe her tears, telling their daughter how much her mommy loved her and would always be with her everywhere she went. Right up there, in the stars and in her heart. His voice, crystal clear as if he was sitting right in the room with her.  

 

Reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand, Ariana took a sip before sitting crossed legged in the middle of her bed. It had been exactly a week ago that her nightmares started, and she has had one every night since. Sometimes, more than one. Some worse than others. Tonight’s being in the worst column. Inhaling deeply, she tried to keep her breathing smooth and steady, focusing more on the length of her out-breath. Repeating the steps a few more times, she felt her heart rate returning to normal.

 

Anxiety attacks—that is what Dr. Barnes called them when she made an appointment to see her after she had the first one. And apparently, not uncommon. The doctor also explained that five to sixteen percent of women struggle with some anxiety disorder during pregnancy. Given Ari’s past fears of what happened to her mother and the stress of her relationship with Jon, it surprised her it hadn’t happened already. To reassure Ariana, she ran a few tests and did another ultrasound to show her that the baby was fine and healthy. Because of the pregnancy, she couldn’t prescribe medication but recommend Ariana try some yoga and meditation techniques.

 

Looking at the clock, she knew it would be useless to attempt going back to sleep, so she climbed out of bed and headed for a shower. Jon would arrive later that day for two shows in Montreal. It had been twelve long days since they’d seen each other, and she couldn’t wait to hold him in her arms. Though they talked daily, she never once mentioned her nightmares, knowing he would worry and insist that she come to him immediately, but she couldn’t. There was so much she still needed to do now.

 

Dressed and ready to face the day, she made her way down the backstairs of her home to the kitchen of Petit Soho. The smell of fresh brewing coffee permeated the air, filling her senses with a warm, comforting feeling. She could see the light under the office door was on and wonderd what Max was doing here so early. Filling her mug with the dark liquid, she went to the refrigerator for some cream.

 

“Ma chérie, que fais-tu debout à cette heure?” Max stood in the now opened doorway.

 

“I couldn’t sleep. Why are you here this early?” she asked, wrapping her fingers around the mug.

 

“Finishing up a few last-minute details. Come sit with me.”

 

Ariana followed Max into the small office and took the chair behind the desk. A concerned expression grew when he reached across the desk and took her hand in his.

 

“Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yes. They’re getting more vivid." 

"Have you told Jon yet about them?”

 

“No, I haven’t,” she jolted, “and you can’t either, you promised.”

 

“I don’t understand why? He has a right to know and could help you.”

 

“He would worry. That’s why.” Ariana said sternly.

 

“And Cara, have you told her?”

 

“No. She’s busy with her deadline.” She set her coffee on the desk and shuffled through some papers. “Besides, they both will know soon enough.”

“You know I hate seeing you like this. This is supposed to be a happy time for you. They are only dreams. Your mind is playing tricks on you.”

 

“They are not all dreams.” She gave an upward shrug of her shoulders. “Look at me, and what happened to my mother. Who’s to say it can’t happen?”

 

“Who’s to say it will? Chérie, we don’t get to choose our destiny.” Max raised a hand to the sky. “He does.”

 

“Don’t give me that he has a plan, crap! What kind of plan takes a mother from her child? Can you tell me that, Max?” 

 

“The one that brought you here today.” He gestured to her and the life she was carrying, “one that put you on the journey that led you to Jon and your precious baby. Please tell me you see that?”

 

“I’m trying to Max, really I am. But my dreams are so real sometimes, they scare me.”

 

“And you think by doing all the things you're rushing to do will change them if they are real?”

 

“No. But by doing what I'm doing, I would have a say. That is something my mother didn’t have. If my destiny is the same as hers, I don’t want my child going through life having the same unanswered questions I did.”

 

“I don’t believe you will need them.”

 

Standing, Ariana walked around the desk and took Max into her arms. Placing a kiss on his left cheek, then his right, she squeezed tightly.

 

“Thank you, Max. I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you.”

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

It was a typical March morning in Montreal. The air was crisp and cool, and the sun was already up and flickering its golden rays. A small breeze stirred as she walked along Saint-Gabriel Street as flashes of that dreadful day almost a year ago caused a pang of sorrow in her chest. Ariana stopped for a moment when she arrived in front of the number 450, the old stoic building that housed the offices of Fournier, Tremblay, advocates, to reflect on why she was here.

 

Opening the heavy oak doors, Ariana nodded to the receptionist as she made her way down the hall to suite 150. It seemed bittersweet to be here, standing outside the familiar door once again. The same woman sat behind the cherry mahogany desk as she stepped into the worldly offices.  

 

“Bonjour! Je peux vous aider? Can I help you?”

 

“Ariana Moretti, for Mr. Tremblay.” she said confidently, unlike the last time.

 

“Oui. He’s expecting you.” The robust woman rounded the desk and took Ariana to the same small conference room. Upon entering, the silver-haired man greeted her.

 

“Ms. Moretti, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Please have a seat.” He motioned to the high leather chair across from where he stood.

 

“I drew up the papers you requested.” Mr. Tremblay laid three documents before her, explaining what each represented as he did. “I’ve put markers showing your special requests, everything else is customary.”

 

Ariana took a moment to read through the highlighted sections of each document. Satisfied with what she saw, she picked up the pen he’d set down for her and signed her name.

 

“You understand that these two documents will need to be revised once this one,” he held the third document in his hand, “is finalized.”

 

“I understand. As soon as it is, I will messenger them over to you.” Ariana stood. “I’m hoping to have this matter taking care of within the next few days as I am going out of town again.” She extended her hand. “Thank you again. Your efficiency and quickness on such short notice is greatly appreciated.”

 

“It’s my pleasure. Your grandparents were dear friends. If there is ever anything else you need from me, please let me know.”

 

“I will. Bonne Journée.”  

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

Ariana stood on the terrace overlooking the beautiful city. No matter what time of day, Montreal was alive and kicking. Nestled between the river and the mountains, with soaring skyscrapers and heritage buildings. Quaint boutiques rounded out a setting nothing less than spectacular. Though she was not born here, it was her home and one she hoped to share with her daughter. Lost in memories of her childhood spent in this beautiful city, she didn’t hear him come in.

 

Standing in the foyer, Jon watched as she leaned against the French doors, the mid-day’s sunlight reflecting off her olive skin. Her red knit sweater and black yoga pants accentuated her growing features.

 

“Hey beautiful.”

 

The sound of his voice caused her to turn suddenly and drop the glass she was holding, causing it to shatter into a million pieces against the marble floor. Jon didn’t know which was louder, the sound of breaking glass or her cries that echoed throughout the room. Running towards him, she leaped into his embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

 

“Ssh. Ssh. Ssh." he whispered, trying to console her. “I got you.”

 

Swallowing the gasp that escaped from her throat, she looked up at him. Her eyes wet and tired, she whispered.

 

 “Marry me.”