Free ice creams every day

The first year I worked with her, I didn't even notice she was around. She was like the shadow, the houseplants, the gray curtains. Although I heard her soft, humble voice, I did not take notice of it. Despite the fact she was sitting in front of me, she managed to stay invissible the entire day. Like she was part of the dim light.

It was only when I told my colleagues that my father had died in a car accident, that during the lunch break she just stood beside me. Maye one or two seconds. She put her little hand on my shoulder, let it rest for a moment and whispered: “It's going to be alright.”

The gesture and the words my seem extremely hackneyed, from her it felt like very real and meaningful. After that day I started to learn who she was, Lydia. Like me, she was a chemical analyst and an expert in working with databases and data visualization. We start cracking jokes, discussing the daily challenges and problems, we even start gossiping about our managers and our colleagues.

As small and insignificant as Lydia seems from a distance, she turns out to be impressive and erudite when you really get to know her. You cannot bring up a topic without her telling something about it. Astronomy, organ music, French literature, Vietnamese spring rolls, women's football, meadow birds, Caluwé's color theory. She explains it to you without batting an eyelid.

But above all, without any form of arrogance. The difference between stars and planets, which chorales and fugues by Bach are most suitable for learning to appreciate the musician, how much time it took Marcel Proust to write the book In search of Lost Time.

That is the situation. When she starts to speak, we remain silent.

But every now and then, she confides it to me. How her mother is doing. She is ill. Critically ill. Lydia lives with her in the house where she was born. Her father died from an aggressive form of leukemia when Lydia was only three years. Since then, they have been together and inseparable. She and her mother.

Usually, Lydia is calm, almost stoic. Only when she starts talking about her mother you do see her soft, delicate side. But this is not how it is experienced in the department. People whisper that she is bound. It is believed that her mother leaves an extraordinarily strong mark on her. People think she is a selfish woman who wants to keep her child for herself. That is why Lydia is still single.

People mutter that her mother is filthy rich. Her husband once owned a successful trading company in Jakarta. And what will happen to all that money when Lydia's mother dies? One suspects so. Lydia is going to start partying. All those pent-up desires, only then do they get a chance. She is like a wild lioness in a cage.

Then one day we hear the message through the receptionist. Lydia called. Her mother has passed away. Six days later I am at the funeral with my colleagues. Lydia seems defeated. She is pale, cold, and dazed. As if she had been run over by a steam engine.

After the funeral she no longer shows up for work. And the longer she stays away, the more vicious the gossip becomes. She is said to have gone on holiday to Bali. She would be surrounded by beautiful young men, luxurious food, wine, jewelry, expensive perfumes, electronic dance music, sport cars, art works.

Exactly fourteen days after we said goodbye to her mother, Lydia is sitting across from me in the office. She went to the hairdresser; she bought new clothes. Does she have different glasses?

“I will always miss her,” she says quietly. “Many family members ask me if I will continue to live in the big house. But I am not moving. Why should I leave? I love the house, the garden.”

She takes a sandwich from her lunch box and tries a bite.

“By the way, I gave a large part of my inheritance to a friend. She really wants to have that ice cream shop. Now she can buy it. And you know what the best part is? If she owns one and I come over, I get ice cream. Just for free! Can you imagine what a beautiful life I will soon have? I will get free ice creams every day!”

She looks at me like a child who has just been kissed by her mother.