BorealFAREWELL POSTINGSChantal and AnneFebruary 28, 2025 Just about every morning I open my Facebook page, and seldom close it without first taking a peek at Chantal’s and Anne’s pages. Chantal’s page rarely changes and Anne’s page hasn’t since she posted her weeding photos almost two years ago. Chantal once worked for me. Anne is the woman that almost got me to leave the woman I loved for a woman I liked. ************************************************ CHANTAL (Abbreviated from Love, Sex & Islam, Boreal Books) Chantal lost her mother to breast cancer when she was in her teens, perhaps earlier. I think Lucette reminded her of her mother, and Chantal reminded my Lucette of the daughter she never had. She got to know Lucette while working for me part-time in the two years I continued as a consultant after returning to Ottawa from Montréal. Most of that time, I worked out of my home office with Chantal helping out. Lucette and Chantal enjoyed each other’s company and it showed. When Lucette would open the front door and announce her arrival with a joyous, “I’m home,” Chantal would bounce down the stairs, shouting, “Lucette’s home, Lucette’s home,” greeting her before she had a chance to close the door behind her. Chantal would often help Lucette with dinner and then stay for part of the evening. Yes, this is the same Chantal that you have already met. Chantal thought her father would make a better husband for my Lucette and “maybe we should introduce them,” as I obviously did not deserve the woman who “absolutely adored me.” She was unable to suppress an expression of disbelief when she said that. I must admit to fantasizing about being the married man Chantal had been seeing the last few months that she worked for me. Who wouldn’t? I don’t think Chantal realized the effect she had on me when she stood next to me in shorts or tight jeans that drew attention to her nice round bum as I tried to focus on explaining the work that had to be done that day. The view was even more enticing when she curled up in the fetal position on the office couch to take a nap. It was a nice distraction, I must admit. What I did not care for was her prattling on about who was enjoying what she had to offer. It was enough having to resist offering to scrub her back when she jumped in the shower before running to meet her adulterer (yes, I am aware of the irony) for a nooner. I asked her repeatedly not to talk about her sex life with that man. …. It was a sunny summer morning; Lucette was away at the Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake with a girlfriend, a yearly tradition, when Chantal showed up for work. She went on and on about spending the weekend with her married man on his boat. She was happy and I couldn’t take it anymore. I spoiled it for her, for me and for my Lucette: I fired her then and there, telling her to leave, and that was that. Like the others there was no turning back, which may have been my way of avoiding falling any harder for Chantal and risking hurting my Lucette again. ANNE
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