Mid-morning… The sun fully committed to the day — no gentle suggestion of light, just the full declaration of it through my curtains, landing exactly where it always does, which is directly and without apology across my pillow. Today, that meant across my protesting eyes.
I reached for my phone. Habitually. Before the mind had quite caught up with my body. Reaching for my phone – routine of course. But this type of muscle memory, shall we call it, is helpful in less, isolated circumstances as well.
There was a message. He was texting. Again.
His name still does something to the air when I see it. I have decided this is not a problem to solve. Only a puzzle to be Savored.
He was waiting. At my front door. He had brought coffee. He had not asked how I took it. He remembered.
He had simply arrived — the way certain people can -as though the decision had already been made by both of us and he was just showing up for the part that involved him.
I stretched. And then stretched again, luxuriating across my linen bedclothes. I reached for my little dress from last night and then realized, no. This was…different… And I wrapped myself in a little mischief instead. Not because he might like it- although yes, he would. But because I loved it.
You know, there are times I need to digress…even from a story as hot as this. When I say, I loved it, it doesn’t mean there are things in my collection I do not love. Oh from my basic bralette to my steamy floral lace, I love all my things. My wardrobe is curated. By me. Never have anything – or anyone- you put anywhere near your body that you do not Love. Without hesitation. Without pure and complete adoration. That does not preclude wearing something you love perfectly for a specific occasion. Such as this…
This was meeting someone unexpected but most probably welcome, at my door, who is holding coffee, and a piece of my story. Both past, and I should hope, future.
I stood in the doorway doing what I always do when I have not yet decided. I looked very calm and said nothing particularly useful. He handed me the coffee. It was the right temperature. So was he.
This is the part, Darlings, where some women might remind their guest of their last meeting and says: I appreciate the gesture, but I wasn’t expecting company.
I said none of that.
What I said was, “Come in, then.”
We sat, the pool and garden desperately trying to catch a glimpse of us through the glass. He asked me something about the morning — something easy, something that required almost no answer — and I found an acceptable reply hiding under my questions. And gave it.
He then said something I am not going to repeat here. Some things belong only to the room they were said in. Yes Darling, those are the phrases dust bunnies are made of.
So no, I won’t tell you what he said. But I will tell you what those words did.
They made the sensible thoughts — the ones that line up so neatly — simply dissolve. Dissolve the way morning fog casually tips its hat and says “Have a nice day.” You look away for a moment, back, and it is simply no longer there.
There is a corridor, I have found, between ‘probably not’ and ‘oh.’ It is very narrow. It takes approximately four seconds to cross. Yes, I have counted. This corridor is lined with cracks and small bits of tumble weeds. These are designed to distract if you give them any moments of focus.
I have crossed this corridor before. I will cross it again. I have never once regretted being on the other side. Portals were created to dare us. To welcome us. To hide adventure from the uninterested.
His arms were there. Then I was in them. In that order. Both were the right temperature. The garden provided a back drop of sounds that matched our passion. A bird encouraged us towards a dance whose tempo varied as the shadow of the trees caressed his feet. Somehow, my pillows cradled our toes and our heads, our mouths, his sandpaper jaw line were where, well…. They were exactly where they needed to be.
Where I needed them to be. Desperately. And completely.
I strained and heard something splash into the pool…or perhaps it was my own personal waterfall navigating towards the stillness of the desire satiated?
· · ·
I am not going to describe every detail. We are, after all only puzzle pieces trying relentlessly to connect. And to enjoy and celebrate every little bit of friction we find along the way.
At some point the coffee went cold and neither of us minded. The garden nudged us with her full afternoon light but neither of us saw it. The day rearranged itself around us rather than the other way around, and this felt- more than anything -exactly correct.
· · ·
I am back in the garden now. Writing this in my softest dress. His cup is still on the table.
He has gone — not away, just elsewhere, the way someone goes when they intend to return and both people know it without saying so. He has done this before. As have I.
There is a difference in these kinds of goodbyes. I have learned, over many years and many mornings, to tell them apart.
The breeze is doing its reliable thing as it gently caresses me. The light is long and gold and framing tomorrow.
I have been thinking — not very seriously, just turning the thought over the way you turn a stone in your hand — about what it would mean to give this garden a name. Would the pool area have a different name? Would they be connected?
I sigh, a woman with the nibbles perhaps, but whose appetite has been pleasantly satiated by the spicy scent of a main course she plans to enjoy again.
Not leftovers so much as reimagined bounty. The kind to be shared, I thought, as I reached for my phone.
Perhaps I will invite him to my next party.
Perhaps.
