A Forty Year Kiss

24

She was too old to be swept off her feet, but these past few months, it felt like that was Charlie’s goal. Only something began to trouble her. Or maybe trouble was too strong a word. She just felt constantly…overpowered? If they went out on a date, he always paid for dinner or their movie. He sent flowers once a week, like clockwork. They arrived on Monday mornings with the certainty of a newspaper subscription. When the delivery driver arrived at her house the first time, he had the look of a man arriving at the wrong address. And now, now he knew her name. Charlie was always coming over to their house to fix a loose doorknob or to shovel their sidewalks free of snow. She felt not just desired, which was lovely, but also, somehow, smothered. And yet, when she wasn’t with him, her own life, their house, her daughter and grandchildren, all of that could feel suffocating too, in a completely different way. A smaller tighter way.

One night they were seated in a fancy restaurant in downtown Eau Claire. Everything was expensive. Pork chops for forty dollars. A steak for fifty. The prices confounded her. Where did all this money come from? She glanced around the dining room, and there were couples in their twenties and thirties sprinkled here and there, laughing casually in their chic clothing. Checking their phones. No one was gawking at the menu prices or excusing themselves to go someplace cheaper.

She shook her head, took a long sip of the twelve-dollar glass of wine she had ordered, and laughed softly.

What is it? he asked, leaning back in his chair.

I don’t know, Charlie. Sometimes, I just don’t understand.

Don’t understand what?

I don’t understand, well, where all the money comes from. I mean, where are all the jobs paying all this money? And why couldn’t I ever find a job like that? What did I do wrong? Did I miss something? Some announcements in high school, you know, pointing me in the direction of a six-figure salary?

Now he took a sip of his ginger ale, glanced out the window, and laughed darkly.

What?

Is that really what you want to talk about?

She crossed her arms. Maybe.

You don’t think it’s always been this way?

Eau Claire? Chippewa Falls? Wisconsin? Where?

The world.

The world? How would I know?

Do me a favor. Take another sip of your wine.

She uncrossed her arms and brought the wineglass to her lips. Took a sip. Set the glass down on the white tablecloth and considered the light of the tea candle between them. The dining room smelled wonderful, and she felt warm. Outside a light snow was falling, and couples walked down the sidewalks with their arms intertwined.

Okay, and now one more favor. This is very important. Take another sip of your wine.

Not that I’m complaining, but you’re not even drinking, Charlie.

It was true. Lately, he found that a club soda on the rocks with a slice of lime somehow did the trick. Or almost did the trick. Even a ginger ale.

I know, he said. It’s not easy for me, to be honest. But I’m trying. And hey, don’t forget about my favor.

She couldn’t help herself and smiled. Took another sip of wine. Below the table, she eased one foot out of her shoe and rubbed it against his calf.

You know what I think? Charlie asked.

That I should relax?

That you look incredible. I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here with you tonight. That after all the years that went by and all the stupid decisions I made, that somehow, this is possible. You’re the most beautiful woman in this restaurant.

Come on, she laughed, that’s not true.

Yes. It is, he insisted.

You’re not even looking. I could easily point to ten women who are most definitely prettier than me. She scanned the room. Okay, five or six anyway.

You’re exactly right. I’m not looking. I don’t need to look.

He reached for her hands.

Hey? he said.

What?

Don’t worry about money, okay Viv? Don’t worry about prices. Just—be here with me.

She withdrew her hands and worried the hem of the tablecloth. It’s just that—I want to do something special for you.

Okay. You could kiss me.

She smiled. That’s not what I meant.

He laughed. It is what I meant.

No, listen to me. You’re always doing nice things for me. For my daughter. For the girls. Around the house. I want to do something for you. A surprise.

He took a deep breath, wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin, and said, I think I understand.

She had expected him to say something dumb. To make a joke. Something about sex. Or to run this conversation in a circle. To say that this, their renewed relationship, this date, all of it, was the surprise he was looking for.

You think you understand?

He nodded. If I was in your position, I might feel…a little bit…overwhelmed. Is that fair?

Well. Yes. It is.

And maybe you feel like the way things are going isn’t fair? Like I’m somehow always in control?

She felt her face flush. The wine. This man. She turned to the kitchen, a controlled chaos of hurried waitstaff and cooks, smoke, flames, plates held aloft, voices calling out orders…

She leaned across the table and took his face in her hands and kissed him. Kissed him like they were in some foreign city, in another country entirely, where there were no tethers tying them to these small Wisconsin cities, to winter and snow, to their houses, to the routines that acted like rails, directing their lives. It was all she could think of doing. His tongue tasted like sugary ginger. She sat back down.

Now he was blushing.

She reached across the table and held his face below the jawline. She thought about their first date, so many decades ago. He was so beautiful. So handsome. So trim. Such narrow hips beneath those wide shoulders. She thought about sitting on her bed in an old apartment after the date and releasing his belt, folding his blue jeans away from the zipper and pulling his pants down. She was embarrassed now, that what she remembered of their date wasn’t the date at all, but how badly she had wanted to make love to him that night.

It was spring, she remembered that. Her bedroom window was open, and it had started raining just before they entered the old house where she rented a room. His skin was wet, but hot. She remembered how he rolled on top of her, pinning her arms to the bed, and kissing her throat until she thought she’d pass out, and then, still held in place, he teased her nipples, and kissed her ribs, and then began licking her pussy, and just before she closed her eyes, she looked out the window, and there was rain falling so hard it passed through the window screen and beaded on the white paint of the sill. And her hands, and her forearms. Cool rain. And she ran her hands down the hot skin of his back and tried to cool him off, but she could not. Then he pulled the blankets over them, and the air smelled of lightning, and damp soil, and lilacs.

Did you ever think about me? he asked.

She was still back in that bedroom, back in that vivid earlier time, but his voice called her up, moved her through time and back towards the present, into the dining room. She looked at him. She did not mean to, but she bit her lip.

He had asked a well-meaning question, but it was the sort of question a person asks who doesn’t remember their transgressions, their shortfalls. It was an innocent question, a selfish question. And instead of thinking of their first date, and those moments of promise, when everything that lay ahead of them was unknown, or better yet, brightly imagined, it reminded her of the opposite. Of all the years that separated their first date, the first year of their marriage, and now. Those forty years of disappointment and hurt.

You broke my heart, she said at last. What we had—especially at first—it was the best I ever had. You were my husband. I worshipped you.

He looked down at his lap.

I know we were young, Charlie, but everyone was. And other couples, they made it. Some of our friends from back in those days, they made it. I see their pictures on Facebook. Their grandkids. The vacations to Florida. Their lake cabins. We could have done it too. There didn’t need to be a forty year break.

Those last two years of our marriage…you were awful, Charlie. Awful to me. Every night I went to bed, and I prayed for you. I prayed for us. I was still religious back then, you know. I used to make you go to church sometimes. God, you hated that. Near the end, you made a show of being hungover in church. Can you imagine that? How that made me feel? Sitting beside my drunk husband in church while he snored?

He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.

After our divorce, I stopped believing. You know, I took our vows seriously. I thought that god would protect us, protect our marriage. I asked him for help so many times, Charlie. When you didn’t come home at night. When some bar would call me to come pick you up. When you’d come home, but you’d bring two other guys. Guys I didn’t know. Drunk guys, Charlie. Sometimes, I didn’t feel safe. Strangers. In our house. I used to go into our bedroom and lock the door and pray that no one would try the knob, because I didn’t know if it would be them or you.

He sighed, glanced out the window, across the street.

Sometimes, I don’t know what to feel, she said.

What do you mean?

I mean, I’m sixty-four years old. What am I doing? What are we doing? What are we supposed to do? Get married again? Move in together? I mean—

Their waiter seemed to have swooped beside the table without any warning and now stood between them, a plate balanced in either hand, an ill-timed and unknowing smile animating his very young face. Here is the gnocchi for the lady, he said. And for the gentleman, the porterhouse, medium rare. Anything else I can do for you at this time?

They sat quietly, looking at their plates as if they had never ordered the food in the first place. As if this food was an uninvited intrusion.

No, thank you, she said. Everything looks just lovely.

The waiter nodded and disappeared. The volume of the dining room rose. Neither of them reached for their utensils, but by and by she did manage to reach shakily for her wineglass and bring it awkwardly to her lips.

Charlie sighed before clearing his throat. He stood, and set his napkin in the seat, and she assumed that he was retreating. That he was marching to the bathroom to reassess all of this, what they had been working to rebuild these past many months. Part of her wanted that. For him to go away, and for things to return to how they had been. Peaceful. No surprises. No great heights from which to fall.

But then he was standing next to her and lowering himself to his knees.

What are you doing? she asked.

He was looking up at her, and he was not exactly crying, but his eyes were moist, and they were scared too. She could not remember the last time she had seen a man look that way. Like he was on the verge of losing something, something incredibly dear. Like he was on the verge of losing everything. Like he was afraid.

Vivian, he said, I am sorry. I am sorry for anything and everything I did to disappoint you, and to hurt you. I am sorry that I was an alcoholic. That I am an alcoholic. I am just so sorry that I did not realize that I could lose you. I am so sorry for everything. And I don’t know how to convince you that I’m not still that man I was. But I’m not.

The dining room, which only a moment before had been loud with laughter and the music of cutlery on porcelain, ice cubes against glass, all of those sounds dimmed down, and she was aware that people were watching them, watching him.

I love you so much, he said. I love you so much, Viv, and I hope you love me too. I hope that, however it looks, we are together for as much time as we’ve got left. And if you don’t love me, I won’t like it, but…I’ll understand. And I’ll still be a good friend to you if you want. I’ll still come running, any time you ask.

All the ways I treated you back then? All the ways I hurt your feelings? I’m here now to do the opposite. I’m here to try to make you happy. I’m here to try to make your life easier, not harder. Sometimes I just wish you’d let me. I wish you’d just relax and trust me. Mostly, though, I just want to say to you that I’m here to try my best and love you the way you deserve.

She did not want to, but she began crying. She realized that he had taken her hands in his and was now looking at her face with the hopefulness of a boy. She leaned down and kissed him.

The dining room, which had been frozen in confusion and curiosity, returned to a normal volume level, normal activity, but a few tables were pointing at them and smiling, giving them the thumbs-up sign.

They think I just proposed, don’t they?

She could only nod her head and laugh.

In which case, I can kiss you, right?

She nodded again, laughed again, and he kissed her in a way she felt deeply, a way that conveyed to her that he meant everything he had just said. The kiss was soft enough to be exploratory and timid. Soft enough that it might just be from a friend experimenting with the boundaries of friendship. But long enough, and desperate enough, that she knew it could only mean love. That this man was very much in love with her and meant every word he had just said.

The young waiter showed up again, beaming, holding a slice of cake with a sparkler garishly glowing golden. Compliments of the kitchen, he said. Congratulations.

They looked at each other and smiled. Thank you, they blurted out, laughing.