3. Sara
Sara
I gasped in shock at Sofia’s pronouncement.
“Are you asking me out?” I clarified.
She nodded, an impish smile on her face that I remembered well. It was the smile she’d worn when she came to my house to change into more modern clothes before we went to a party, or when she snuck out her bedroom window after her parents went to bed.
“I’m not imagining the heat between us, am I?”
I shook my head.
“Honestly, I’ve been trying hard not to stare at you,” I admitted. “There’s a…connection between us, and I’m sure it’s because we’re old friends, but there’s more there. A more…adult connection that I’m dying to explore.”
“Shall we go on a date?”
“A date?” I asked in confusion.
“You know, dinner. A movie. Maybe a walk along the beach.”
“It’s February in Seattle,” I reminded her. “All the beaches around here will be freezing cold. And wet.”
“Did you just want to skip to the sex then?” she teased.
I’d missed this. The easy jokes, the comfortable conversation. I’d missed it more than I’d ever realized.
“How about we start with dinner?” I suggested. “Do you like La Petite Mort?”
“You want to go to the restaurant named after an orgasm?” she laughed.
The tongue-in-cheek restaurant was owned by a lesbian couple I knew through mutual friends. It was a hot ticket for the foodie crowd in Seattle.
“It’s actually pretty good,” I told her. “I’ve been there a couple of times now.”
“I’m game to try it. Are you free tomorrow night?”
“I am. How about I meet you there at six?”
“I can’t wait.”
The next day I walked from my townhouse to the restaurant, wanting to work out some of my nervous energy. I was forty-eight years old, I shouldn’t be acting like a seventh grader with her first crush. Yet, I was acting like a seventh grader with her first crush.
I’d been daydreaming about Sofia ever since we parted company yesterday.
Last night I’d even pulled out some old scrapbooks I still had from high school so I could look at pictures of us together.
As I looked through the pictures the memories had come rushing back. We’d had some good times, me and Sofia.
I hoped we were about to have more good times. There had to be a reason that fate or God or whoever had brought Sofia back into my life right now. I hoped it meant that we were finally getting our second chance.
Sofia was already seated when I walked in. She was wearing a long black skirt in a jersey fabric, the hem coming to the top of her calf-high boots. She’d paired the skirt with a peasant top that belted at the waist. The shirt was fitted enough to highlight her large breasts and narrow waist.
Like me, Sofia was thicker than she’d been in high school, and no doubt some body parts had drifted south over the years, but she still looked great.
I’d gone with black straight leg jeans, a fitted white tank top, a loose black cardigan, and ankle boots. I’d brushed out my blonde hair until it shone, helping to hide some of the streaks of silver that were starting to appear around my temples.
Sofia rose from the table to pull me into a long hug. I felt a tingle of excitement as our bodies pressed together for a few seconds longer than was necessary. I cleared my throat as we pulled apart and headed for our respective chairs.
We chatted easily, falling back into animated conversations we’d had when we were younger.
Our conversation was different now of course.
Instead of talking about boys and how unreasonable our parents were and how we were going to be rich and famous when we grew up, now we talked about jobs, investments, fitness routines, and ex-girlfriends.
“So you’re a yoga teacher?” Sofia asked me. “For someone who faked having her period every other week to get out of gym class, I have to say that’s a surprise.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I came to fitness a little later in life. An ex-girlfriend convinced me we should train for a half marathon and, well you know how it is early in a relationship, you’re willing to try new things they’re interested in.
But then I wound up getting injured, and my physical therapist suggested that I start taking yoga classes to help me recover.
I wound up dumping the girlfriend but keeping the yoga. ”
“Are you able to do that full-time? Teach yoga I mean.”
I shook my head.
“No, I’m officially a member of the gig economy. I teach four yoga classes a week, and I have a few clients for private yoga therapy sessions. Besides that, I do some freelance graphic design and flip websites.”
Sofia’s dark eyebrows raised. “You always were an overachiever.”
“I learned long ago that a nine to five office job just wasn’t for me. I live simply and I don’t have any debt other than my mortgage, so it makes it easier to get by with less income,” I explained. “At this age, I want to have more free time to enjoy my life, instead of working so much.”
“Wow, that’s really healthy.”
“What kind of work do you do now?” I asked.
“I work at a refugee resettlement agency. When people move here to Seattle from whatever country they’ve come from, I help them find employment so they can become self-sufficient.”
My eyes widened. “Wow, that’s so cool! I guess I never thought about that being a job before.”
“It’s hard work but rewarding. Most people come here with just the clothes on their backs, either because they left their home countries quickly – like the people who came from Afghanistan – or because they spent seven years living in a tent in a refugee camp waiting for their chance to come to America.
There’s a lot of trauma that people have experienced by the time they get here. ”
“Well, I admire you doing such hard work.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress bringing our food. La Petite Mort offered a French Fusion menu. After some consultation we’d decided to order several appetizers to share instead of full dinners, figuring that we could get a taste of everything that way.
We also ordered a bottle of red wine to share, a local Washington brand. Everything was delicious, and I realized that I was having a great time with Sofia.
It made me feel bold, so when Sofia said, “What do you want for dessert?” I met her eyes and spoke the truth.
“You.”