“Did you see your dad, by the way?” Feng asked recently.
“Not yet. I will… I think. I mean, we can’t go to his place—it’s far and hard to get to by train. Apparently, he’s trying to come to Nantes… but he plans to hitchhike. May take a while.”
Of course, I want to see my dad. But hey, it’s not my fault he settled in middle of nowhere, Brittany. I’m not taking sides or anything. However, if he wants to see us, he has to find a way to make it happen.
I’m flexible. I’m patient too.
At least I’m trying to.
I gave up on hoping my parents splitting up was just a phase and they would work things out. I mean, they literally haven’t talked to each other since the breakup—crazy, isn’t it?
Some of it is none of my business. Some of it kind of is because it affects my sister, my brother and I. it’s not easy to master the fine art of maintaining a healthy relationship with both sides of the family when your parents decide they have had enough of each after forty years together.
I love both of my mom and my dad and I do believe they were (are) good parents.
But holy shit, this new dynamic drives me crazy.
I don’t always agree with my mom but we can talk and I get her point. My dad’s plan—or rather, his lack of plans—is more of a mystery to me. What should have been a wake-up call makes him feel he’s right.
He finally made it to his parents’ place last weekend and this is where we had to meet because Nantes wasn’t an option.
So we drank coffee and went for a walk in the countryside—the best plan to avoid an argument. I mean, it’s harder to argue when you’re walking and nature provides helpful distractions. How my dad deals with money matters? I have no idea because LOOK, BERRIES! Did he change his mind about—HEY, APPLES! Is there any chance that he will—WOW, AMAZING GRAPES!
Mark even saw a cow pooping, which was the highlight of the day.
We followed a small river, la Sèvre nantaise, and stumbled upon a hamlet called Ville Bachelier—just four of five houses in the middle of nowhere. It felts like being in the 1930s. An old woman was outside a very old-fashioned house and we asked for directions.
“You can trust me on that,” she added after pointing out we were taking the wrong way. “I’ve been living here since I’m eight months old and I’ve never left this place. I don’t even go to the city.”
I don’t think she was exaggerating and I found it somewhat terrifying. Living all your life in the same house, at the end of the same street? Considering Nantes, just 20 kilometers away, is a “big city” and never setting foot in it? I just… don’t get it.