By Jim Moens
I had met Claire at one of those business networking mixers that everyone feels obligated to go to, but no one really enjoys. The ostensible purpose of these events is to make connections, forge alliances and yes, build one's business network. Being an engineer, I have always been an introverted sort, so I would generally indulge in a glass of wine or two, sample whatever hors d'oeuvres were on hand and quickly head for home.
The March get-together for the Young Business Professionals Network was looking to be no exception. I was at the free open bar getting that evening's second and final glass of wine when Claire approached. She held up her stemmed glass in a silent request for a refill. I obliged and she smiled slightly.
“I hate these things,” she said after a sip.
“Everyone does,” I said, looking around the room. “People pretty much stay with who they came with. I don't think much networking really goes on.”
“It's like high school,” she replied, scanning the room also. “It seems everyone stays in their little cliques.”
I looked back at Claire. I might not have noticed her had we not become engaged in conversation, but I was finding her quite attractive... petite, small-framed and with hazel eyes framed by a pixie-ish haircut. Very cute.
“Right there,” she said, pointing to a group of stylishly-dressed men and women, “they're from the newspaper. They think of themselves as the cool kids.”
“It's like the high school cafeteria,” I said, nodding.
“I know, right?”
I nodded to a portly guy in an ill-fitting suit. He had been moving stealthily from group to group and currently stood at the periphery of the “cool kids”, apparently trying to move his way into their circle.
“What about that guy?” I said.
“That's Dave,” she said and took another sip of her wine. “He sells life insurance. His goal is to give his card to everyone here. I have, I think, five of them.”
I grinned at her and she smiled back.
“I actually went out on a date with him once. I had almost bought some whole life and an annuity from him by the end of the night.”
“But you didn't?”
She shook her head.
“No, thank God,” she replied.
“Dodged a bullet there, huh?”
She nodded and then regarded me curiously.
“I'm Claire,” she said, extending her hand.
“Barry,” I said, shaking her hand, “it's a pleasure to meet you.”
#
We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet for dinner two nights later. We met at a little bistro downtown where we each had a martini followed by some Italian entrees that I had long forgotten the specifics of. The tenor of the night was set by a somewhat meandering, free-flowing conversation that touched on more topics than I could count. Post-dinner, I walked her to her car, a shiny red Mazda sedan. We exchanged pleasantries and I leaned forward to kiss her goodnight, something I had been wanting to do all evening. She slid a hand around the back of my neck and my intended quick peck became a long, passionate kiss that went on for several minutes. I pulled away and she placed a hand to my chest.
“I think we should get together again,” she said, her voice hovering just above a whisper.
I kissed her briefly again.
“I think so too,” I said.
#
We did get together again, in fact it was the next night. She texted me about seven P.M.... “I think u should come over”. I immediately texted her back... “where do you live?”. She called me with her address and directions. I was there in less than twenty minutes and ended up spending the night.
#
Claire and I quickly fell into a satisfying routine for our relationship. We would spend most weeknights at her place, most weekends at mine. When we were just shy of two months together I noticed that our conversations often danced around the prospect of cohabitation, something I had a few reservations about but apparently Claire did not.
I was happy to be with Claire... she was certainly a cut or two above any of my previous girlfriends, by virtually any measure. She was lovely to behold, smart, funny and quite skilled in the bedroom. We met with some of my co-workers one evening at a bar downtown and jaws dropped as I walked in with her. Much of the water-cooler talk the next day centered around “Barry's surprisingly hot girlfriend”. This was a pretty fair assessment in my view.
We spent virtually every Sunday afternoon with Claire's grandmother Nora. Widowed, she lived alone in a small brick house tucked between a fire station and a strip mall, mere blocks from my apartment. We would all talk for hours, Nora would brew us tea and frequently bake a pie for us... generally apple, but sometimes peach or blueberry. In any case, always delicious.
“I'm so glad Claire met you,” Nora said to me as we sat around her kitchen table on one overcast October Sunday.
“Thanks,” I replied, “that's nice of you to say.”
Nora reached out for my hand and grasped it gently.
“She'd always meet these stupid boys at bars,” Nora said, “stupid boys who drink and smoke and fool around.”
“Grandma,” Claire said plaintively, rolling her eyes.
“It's true, sweetie,” Nora said, “how many times have I nursed your broken heart?”
Claire dared not disagree.
“You're a nice boy, Barry,” Nora said, turning to me, “I do hope you'll do right by my girl.”
“I'm certainly trying to,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in seat.
Nora patted my hand.
“That's all I ask,” she said.
#
My relationship with Claire seemed to diminish over the next month or so. I spent more and more nights alone. We’d not always text one another throughout the day. Our deep conversations became trite and unexciting. We both knew we were ending, but neither was willing to admit it. It was one night in November, just days prior to Thanksgiving, that was the end of our time together. We lay naked in her bed, our bodies intertwined, both of us silent and motionless.
“Aren’t we kind of winding down?” I said finally.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I think you know.”
She rolled away.
“If you feel you have to leave,” she said, “then just leave.”
I laid there for a moment, letting the finality of this moment sink in.
“Just go,” she said.
I sat up and began collecting my clothes from her bedroom floor.
#
It was just a couple weeks later that I found myself yet again driving past Grandma's house. I thought it appropriate to explain my absence and perhaps say goodbye. I parked directly in front of her house, walked slowly along the front sidewalk and finally knocked lightly at her door. The door creaked open and she looked at me blankly for a moment.
“Uh... hi,” I managed to say.
“Barry,” she said and smiled.
She looked different than the last time I saw her... just a bit thinner now, perhaps. She leaned on a metal walker, which I didn't remember from my previous visits.
“Come in,” she said, “please come in.”
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
“I'm not intruding, am I?”
“Of course you're not, sweetie. Would you like some pie? It's apple.”
I nodded.
“That would be great,” I said.
She shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen. I followed. I took my usual seat at the kitchen table as she opened the refrigerator.
“I made it yesterday,” she said, “sorry it's not warm, but I can heat it up.”
“That would be great,” I said again.
We were both silent for a moment.
“Listen,” I said, “I'm sorry I haven't been around for a little while.”
She was slowly cutting a piece of pie.
“That's understandable,” she said, “that's okay.”
“So you understand why, right?”
She nodded without turning back to me. I looked around the kitchen. Though it had been mere weeks since my last visit, things seemed very different... I couldn't put my finger on it though. Maybe because it was dusk and I had always been there in the early afternoon. I was brought out of my reverie by the beep of the microwave.
“It's ready,” she said. “Do you want some ice cream?”
“No thanks,” I said, “the pie will be more than enough.”
She shuffled over and put the plate and a fork down in front of me. I took my first bite and it was as wonderful as I had remembered.
“You like?” she asked.
“Very much,” I said eagerly, my mouth still full.
“When did you last eat?” she asked me.
A strange question, I thought.
“Uh... I had dinner about an hour ago.”
“Good, good,” she said, then was silent for a moment. “I missed you, you know. That's the longest you've been away.”
Also a strange thing to say.
“I was a little worried,” she said, as she eased down to sit across from me.
“Worried?”
“Barry, I gave you that cell phone for a reason,” she said. “I called you, I texted you and you didn't answer. I was worried, but somehow I knew you'd be back.”
I stopped in mid-chew. My fork clattered to the plate.
“You always come back,” she said. “I know our life hasn't been perfect. I know you have your regrets. But we've done okay. And you always come back.”
I stood, so suddenly that I got a bit light-headed.
“Please don't get all excited,” she said.
I felt a surge of nausea and hurried to the restroom.
“Barry?” I heard her say as I fell to my knees, bent over the toilet. “Barry, honey?”
Nothing came up, so I finally stood.
“Why don't you take your medicine,” I heard her say through the bathroom door. “Then maybe you could take a nap.”
I turned just slightly and looked in the mirror over the sink. I didn't see the man in his late twenties I expected. My hairline was so far back as to be non-existent and what was there was thin and gray. My face was deep with creases and liver spots were all about my forehead and temples.
“I don't want to take my medicine,” I said as I tried to make some sense of the image in the mirror. “I hate it.”
She was silent. I turned away from the mirror and opened the door. She stood just outside, looking at me pleadingly.
“Please,” she said, her eyes beginning to water. “Do it for your Claire.”
I sighed.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Just go get me a glass of water. I'll be in the bedroom.”
Claire nodded and almost smiled.
“I am tired,” I said.
“I imagine,” she said. “I bet that was quite the adventure you had. Where did you go? What did you do?”
I shrugged. I had no idea.
“That's fine,” she said, lightly touching my arm. “What matters is that you're back.”
Wordlessly, I turned down the hall towards the bedroom. Claire headed for the kitchen.
I looked around the small, dark bedroom for a bit. It was just a bit chilly in there, but then again it always was. I slipped off my shoes, got under the covers and stared at the picture of our grandchildren Claire had placed just-so on the nightstand. It didn't take me long to fall asleep, but I knew I'd sleep for a long time.
I was tired. So very tired.
THE END