Olivia started packing her mother’s things the day after her funeral, which had been a bleak affair. Olivia went alone and held her mother’s ashes in a wooden box at the brief service. She packed cartons full of clothes, to give away, and others with her books. Olivia wanted none of it, except for a few pieces of furniture she sent to storage. The lesson she had learned from watching her mother was not to fade away and die, but to live life fully, not give up, and be true to yourself. Margaret had rambled on sometimes when Olivia visited her, asking when George was coming, and if he’d arrived yet. She was a shadow person, a ghost, who had willingly surrendered herself to live with a man who never risked his marriage for her. His wife always had the priority, and Margaret spent half a lifetime waiting for him. He no longer seemed like a hero to Olivia, once she knew who he had been to her. He was a selfish man, willing to sacrifice the woman who had handed over her life to him. Olivia didn’t know who she resented more, her mother for her lies and weakness, or her father for what he had done to Margaret in the name of love, because she allowed it. Nothing about it seemed loving to Olivia, and she wanted to erase all trace of them from the apartment. She had emptied it in two days and put it on the market to sell it.
And she found herself doing the same thing in her own office shortly after.
Olivia had worked hard for the last ten years on a decorating magazine she’d started. She had used some of her trust fund money to set it up and put her heart and soul into it. The magazine had failed at the same time as her mother’s death. Olivia had to fold her business, let the employees go, and clear out her office, on the heels of her mother’s funeral. All she seemed to do now was pack up painful memories. She put all the photographs of her mother and herself as a child in one box, to put them in a storage facility with the furniture. The rest of her mother’s belongings she gave away, clothes, personal items. It all reeked of sadness. Her mother had a collection of all George’s books. Olivia had read them before she knew he was her father. She thought his massive ego was evident on every page. She put them in a box to store them, since he was her father.
A month after she’d emptied her mother’s apartment, put it on the market, and closed her business, she sat in her own small apartment, wondering what to do next. Her mother had left her some money. She’d been frugal, and hardly spent any after George died, since she didn’t know how long it would last. As a result, there was plenty left, enough for Olivia to buy herself a new apartment eventually or go away for a long time. She could leave without having to worry about her mother dying while she was gone, or her business failing. It already had. The worst had happened now. She was free at last, with all the lessons her mother had taught her about how not to live a life. It was ironic that while trying not to get attached to the wrong person, and not following in her mother’s footsteps, not surrendering herself to a married man, she had dedicated herself to her business as an alternative to marriage or a serious relationship. Like her mother, Olivia had few friends, and she was alone in the world now, and had lost her magazine after a decade of hard work. She didn’t have to worry about the business anymore either. She didn’t need to think about her mother. She could go where she wanted, do whatever she pleased. There was nothing holding her back, nobody to take care of, no business to grow, or think about. She had no parents, no husband, no children, no business, no job, and no boyfriend. And a small circle of friends she hardly saw anymore and hadn’t seen socially in years. She was always too busy working. At forty-three, Olivia had nothing and she was alone. She could go anywhere in the world she wanted and had no idea where that would be. She had been to Paris a number of times and loved it. She knew no one there, and didn’t speak French, but maybe it didn’t matter. She had never felt so alone in her life, or so liberated and free.
She turned on her computer and looked on the Internet. She looked up prices of airline tickets. She could afford them, and to take some time off, with the money her mother had left her. Her pride was hurt by the collapse of her magazine, but she had free time now. She wanted to use it well.
Feeling bold and wanting to make a strong statement, she booked a first-class one-way ticket to Paris. She picked a website that showed short-term apartments to rent on the Left Bank. She took one for a month. It looked bright and airy, with a view of the Seine. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got there, but one thing was for sure, she had learned the most important lesson of all. Nothing and no one lasts forever, and the one thing she wasn’t going to do was hide and let her life slip past her, like her mother had.