It was hard to ignore the heart-shaped decor in the hotel lobby. When asked if she wanted two keys, Delilah snapped at the receptionist.
“Do I look like I’m with someone? One key will suffice.”
Arriving for dinner, the hostess questioned if there would be others in her party.
“I clearly made the reservation for one. I’d appreciate a window table and a bottle of the house red.”
“This was a terrible idea,” thought Charlotte. But out loud she sweetly said to her husband, “How quaint!”
They were hesitant to take their marriage therapist’s suggestion to get outside their comfort zone and try something new.
“Charlotte, you aren’t fond of art galleries or museums. Gary, you don’t like fashion shows or shopping. Find an activity that neither of you has done before and experience it together. Perhaps outside the city?” Dr. Zelinsky had suggested.
They’d discussed sky-diving, river rafting and sailing. But neither were very athletic although they worked out with personal trainers twice a week. A Google search for “nearby outdoor activities” led them to a listing for a gorgeous cabin in the woods just two hours away. Surprisingly, they both agreed that a weekend “roughing it” sounded like fun. They booked online, ordered groceries for delivery, and arrived right before dusk.
Au lit: le baiser, 1892. By French artist Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec
Dr. Zelinsky opened her office door to find her client upside down in the middle of the room, performing a perfect headstand.
“Hey, Dr. Zee. I started yoga like you suggested. This is my favorite pose. Come join me!”
“Very nice, Brandy. But I prefer my sessions right side up.”
Brandy gracefully descended and went to lounge on the couch, chattering all the while.
“I’ve been to a class every day this week. Who knew there were so many styles? That Jivamukti is too “out there” with all the chanting, and Yin just dragged on and on. But Vinyasa is definitely my groove. Great idea. Do you do yoga?”
Athena did the dishes after dinner and poured herself a glass of wine. She wasn’t sure she was ready but there was no reason to delay any longer. She took a deep breath and opened the envelope. Her eyes glanced over the paragraphs explaining the test and jumped to the results.
Just as she had always believed, the people who raised her were not her biological parents. There was never a doubt that they loved her, but she always had a feeling that she was different. She questioned her mother once when she was a teen and was quickly and sternly rebuffed for asking. She never brought it up again.
When her father passed she discreetly trimmed a bit of his thumbnail and stored it in a sealed container. She did the same when her mother passed a month ago, and both were sent to a genetics lab.
He lifted the binoculars, focused the lenses and could just make out her red foul weather jacket, bright against the tiny white triangle of the sail. She headed away from land, away from him, towards the horizon. The ocean was calm and the sunshine cast a path of shimmering diamonds between them, reminding him of the jewelry she left behind.
His fortune was made many times over in the dot com bubble by fortuitously cashing out and missing the crash by just a few months. He’d become an angel investor in an organization that housed and trained homeless youth, where he met her when she was barely 18. They married on her 21st birthday and he bought her everything money could buy, but the truly pleased smiles didn’t dim the haunted look in her eyes. She never talked about her past, except for the fact that her parents had died when she was very young and she bounced through the foster system, never owning more than could fit in a backpack.
Amy was early and sat stiffly on the couch. It was her first time seeing a therapist and she wondered if she should lay down.
“Hello, Amy. I’m Dr. Zelinsky.”
Amy stood, tentatively shook the offered hand, and sat back down on the edge of the cushion. The doctor eased onto an adjacent chair.
“How can I help?”
Amy took a deep breath. “I’ve never done this before. I’m usually strong but lately I can’t shake this depression.”
I took teeny bites of the protein bar as I watched the screen showing my husband’s vital signs. Different colored graphs scrolled by on a continuous roller coaster but no alarms were ringing so I figured things must be stable. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even. I folded the empty wrapper into a small square and put it in my pocket.
We’d just spent a week in Annapolis, Maryland at the longest running and biggest sailboat show in the United States. We walked miles and talked for hours to different vendors about systems and products to enhance our future lifestyle of living off the grid and circumnavigating the globe. Solar panels to create our own electricity, celestial navigation books, battery monitors, a stainless steel folding swim ladder, “marriage saver” headsets for bow to stern communication, and lots and lots of conversations with other sailors.
“Watch your step!” Wendy shouted, jerking him to the side.
“What the hell?” Ben shook his arm free from Wendy’s grasp. “Do you really think that stepping on a piece of broken cement will hurt mama?”
“I’m not taking any chances. We need all the luck we can get. And we’re already late, so get a move on.” Wendy strode ahead, eyes down to watch for sidewalk cracks, leaving Ben shaking his head and staring after her.
It had been a week of “lasts.” Her last term paper, her last shift at the coffee shop, her last Taco Tuesday at Don Jose’s. She heard the toilet flush and realized that this would be the last time Zoe would slip under the covers next to her in their bed.
Eve stared at the crack in the ceiling. It was barely visible when they’d moved in three years ago and she’d emailed the property management company. She didn’t want to be responsible for the repair when they moved out tomorrow.
“We better get our deposit back,” Eve stated as Zoe entered the room.
“Let it go, Elsa,” Zoe quipped back. “I think they’ll care less about the crack then the chalkboard paint in the kitchen.”
“They should consider that an upgrade! They also got a veggie garden out of us. It took us weeks to till that soil.”
“Nana, why doesn’t daddy like mommy anymore?”
I was stirring the pot of chili that we’d made at home that morning. It was a simple recipe using mainly canned ingredients so that it was easy and engaging for my seven-year-old grandson to help create.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and swallowed my tears as I fixed a smile on my face before turning to the kitchen table. Cody was working on homework and didn’t look up.
“Well, Coco, sometimes mommies and daddies don’t get along and can’t live together anymore. It doesn’t mean that they don’t love you, though.”
Vivo O Sonho 