After the divorce he tried living in New York but work continued to return him to Southern California. So, he rented a little house in West Hollywood. Unassuming from the curb, it was quintessentially him inside. Done to a T in aboriginal chic, colors warm, everything in its place, twinkling.
This date was one of a series of exploratory meetings, all initiated by her in an effort to heal the break-up wounds. The deeper scars incurred during the twenty-year marriage were beyond intention, past access.
He’d endured his third cycling accident, all of them body-busting. This time his collarbone snapped, his lung was slightly punctured and his replaced hip was out of alignment. He couldn’t drive. He couldn’t walk straight. When she arrived she found him barefoot, unable to sock and shoe himself. She knelt between his knees and haunched down backwards to sit on the floor. It felt intimate. She’d forgotten how tight men’s socks can be when you try to stretch them over those big man heels.
Being the designated driver felt useful. She recalled how, at the end when they hated everything, he’d hated her driving. Now it was natural, easy and went without comment. She’d intended one Indian restaurant but he prevailed with another. Wonderful food. Still their favorite cuisine. The aromas and flavors made it seem like they were still joined.
Once more she sent reassuring feelers his way. Only regretful tenderness and cautious curtain-partings allowing a view into a potential future. So careful to own her own feelings and not expect, demand or manipulate his. She talked softly, sweetly and animatedly while he basked in the warmth of her stubborn love.
He ordered coconut sorbet, which arrived frozen hard in the shell of half a coconut. One arm in a sling, he’d managed to feed himself the main course, but this treat presented problems. The shell sat in a slippery bed of ice so that his one-handed attempts to scoop caused the shell to tip and slide. She instinctively reached both her hands to steady the little coconut boat.
His turn to talk, he speaks of how far they’ve come, how good it feels to be able to spend time together. She can feel the BUT coming. But … wherever he looks, he can’t seem to find any romantic feelings for her. She needs to know that this may be all there is. She takes this in. She arranges her face so that it’s smooth and brave. When she turns the coconut shell ninety degrees to the right, he wonders if her hands are cold. No. She explains that she’s positioning the sorbet in the direction his spoon is aiming. He remarks that it’s a great scene for a movie and finishes his dessert.