"So, what's the story?"

"What's what story, Mathilde?"

"Oh, come on." Her bored eyes stab me from behind her glasses. "You think Jeanne didn't tell me already about this Mr. McAllister guy at the supermarket?"

Gee. I should have known.

"There's no story to tell, really." My reply is sober and quiet enough not to raise suspicions, and I keep knitting. That's the job I found for my spare time a few days ago. They give me a list of things I must knit, mostly sweaters and scarves. If I succeed to meet their deadlines, I get paid a small bonus. That's where my mind is at the moment, not thinking about Ian. "He's a guy I know from elementary school, but I haven't seen him ever since high school started."

"Your daughter said he looks like Matthew." Adjusting in her rocking chair, her eyes are still on me. "Not like I know who this Matthew is, or if he is a cute kid or not, but she didn't mean it as a complaint, so I guess he mustn't be a bad looking man."

"Oh my God, Mathilde, you're more interested in him than I am!"

Silence overtakes her, and she turns off the muted TV. Making a big scene out of it, she pulls off her glasses and massages the bridge of her nose. Finally, when she finds the words she wants to say, her voice is calm and collected as she speaks, mostly because Jeanne is already sleeping.

"I'm just saying that it's time for something good to happen to you, Cynthia. And maybe this Ian guy is that something."

"Look, Mathilde, I really appreciate what you're trying to say. I mean it." I tell her, putting down my knitting needles. "Good or bad, I lost my husband, my house, and I would've probably lost Jeanne too if it weren't for you opening the door of your house for me. Enough has gone wrong already for me, so I'm not ready to take any risks yet."

"Then don't take risks. Go with the flow and see where it takes you." Her motherly tone gets me immediately. "Even if you love to be pessimistic about it, you can be happy too, Cynthia."

"Seriously, I've just crossed an old classmate in the supermarket. He probably isn't even interested."

"So I can assume you're interested, then?"

"I didn't say that!" I reply, rising my voice, and Mathilde's lifts her finger to her lips.

"You're going to wake Jeanne."

"I'm not interested and he probably isn't even interested either." Pursing my lips purposefully, I look away. I wonder why this topic makes me feel so uncomfortable.

"Then there's no reason for you to not call this guy and have a cup of coffee." She says, smirking. "If none of you are interested, there's nothing to lose."

"My God, Mathilde. You're impossible."

She stifles a laugh and puts her glasses back in place.

"Joy isn't going to come to you without a little effort, dear."

Joy, huh?

My only source of joy since I can remember is Jeanne. And Mathilde, now that she's becoming the closest I've ever had to a mother, as much as Jeanne's Granny. I don't know if I'm ready to find anything else anywhere. Not like I'm willing to, anyway.

Even if I was, do I have anything to offer, not just to Ian, but to anyone else? I'm just a simple woman with no future, depending on an old lady's good will. I'm worth nothing. I'm not worthy of any joy. Except only for my dear Jeanne, that is. So long as I manage to keep her by my side.