5
Him: This is me thinking about us together last night: 😊🎉🌴
The film I was mentioning at cinematheque is called Problemista.
Her: This is me replying to your first text  😊🌞💃
The film looks great. I’d love to see it.
So, didn’t regret it?
She was interested?
She wasn’t a morning person, was that all it was?
He was twenty minutes early at the Cinematheque on Howe Street. He checked inside briefly on the wild chance she was there already, of course she wasn’t, and no one else for that matter for the Wednesday 7 PM show. The forlorn ticket girl held him in her gaze to be of assistance. He nodded politely and looked at the concession stand attended by a skinny goth boy hunched over his phone, scrolling. There was a soft bench along the window where he could wait but he couldn’t sit still and pacing would be far too active for this dead lobby vibe. He exited, a chill clutched his neck. He circled a large, circular red-brick enclosure containing two struggling shrubs and, after four revolutions, moved to the top of the stairs leading to the street. Cold wind gusted up his spine. He tried to resist the shiver. Two thirty-something women with short hair, hikers and backpacks ascended the stairs. “…but don’t be jealous, I love Tilda.” The other laughed, “Are we early?” He watched them enter, jealous.
The bench inside looked warm, but he abhorred the image of him waiting for her, a cold, old, lonely man. Outside, he looked strong and robust, but not if he was shivering, which looked weak and odd because she’d wonder why he hadn’t waited inside. There was no right place to be, perhaps home alone and masturbating was his proper place. He strode back to the circle as if approaching for the first time and thought he might go straight in and get the tickets and then stand and wait, not sit, not pace, but instead did another revolution, once, twice, three times, determined to enter the cinema with her, holding the door open, allowing her to step inside with ease. This was the right thing to do. He would then buy the tickets, a relaxed gentleman, in control.
After several more revolutions, he caught sight of her curls ascending the stairs, again taller than he expected as she approached. He gave her a quick hug and peck on the lips, then he squeezed her waist quickly with one hand to harken back their night together. She didn’t register or perhaps decided not to, her eyes were slightly agitated. “The parking meter won’t take my card, I still have to pay.”
“Okay, sure,” he said, happy to assist. As they walked the length of the block, he asked, “How’s your day so far?” His voice sounded odd to him, as if someone else were talking through it, and he wished he could tell her that.
“It’s been fine, this stupid meter though, I tried two cards.”
“Okay, we’ll figure it out.” They entered the underground parking and went down two flights to the parking entrance. She tried her card again, her shoulders dropped. She sighed, looking at her card front and back.
“Can I try mine?” he asked. It didn’t work either. There was a QR code to download an app to pay that way. She scanned it. He started feeling late for the movie, it was a couple minutes to seven. He moved to try his card again.
“It’s okay, I’ll get the app.”
“That probably won’t work either,” he said, feeling pessimistic. “Why?” she said, slightly alarmed.
“Mm, the whole thing’s probably broken.” Her shoulders slumped again. “If you get a ticket, though, you won’t have to pay it – the machine’s broken, so you won’t have to pay.” He knew that was probably not true, but thought it might make her feel better. He wanted the problem gone, so he took out another card of his, but she stopped him.
“Let’s go, it’ll be fine,” she said.
He pretended none of it bothered him. “Yeah, cool.” He took the stairs two at a time, but slow enough to be only slightly faster than her. They said nothing, returning to the theatre, his urgency leading them. There were two couples ahead buying tickets and everyone seemed relaxed as hell despite it being 7:01. He paid for the tickets monosyllabically and then had the impulse to go straight into theatre but Eva moseyed up to the concession behind a couple, Spencer followed her and then decided they would miss the beginning of the movie and the job now was to look like that was fine with him. It took some effort.
“Want something? My treat,” she said and smiled at him for the first time that evening.
They sold beer and wine and both looked good. The couple moved off, the Goth boy looked at Eva. “I’ll have a tea, please,” she said.
“I’ll have the same,” said Spencer, feeling old. A shot of tequila would have been the thing and yet he appreciated her prudence, it was good for him. He didn’t want to be with someone drinking all the time. He always swiped left on the party girls, holding up their wine glasses with big smiles.
There were all of ten people in the theatre, so they had their pick of seats. The movie hadn’t started, he sighed with relief. She chose seats in the front half, in the middle. She got busy downloading the parking app to pay. A minute later, she put away her phone.
“It worked?”
“Yep.” She smiled.
“Thank Christ.” Another wave of relief passed over him.
She giggled. The lights dimmed and the trailers began. He wanted to put his hand on her knee. Some people found cuddling during a movie distracting or awkward. And was she the type who would let his hand rest there if she didn’t like it? If she was, he’d rather not know her, he had enough of that for one lifetime: women who weren’t honest about what they wanted or didn’t want in bed and did it just to please him. So far, at least during their one night together, nothing indicated this, she had been very direct about what she wanted, which turned him on. But saying No, that took more courage, and wondered if she would.
He put his hand on her thigh and after a moment asked, “Do you like that?” He suddenly realized he had asked for consent and felt himself a member of the newly woke citizens of the world.
She looked at him with honest confusion, “What do you mean?” He understood immediately why his question needed clarification because these days, it wasn’t simple. Was he simply referring to his hand atop her thigh? Or was he looking for encouragement to go further? She needed him to be specific because “Do you like that?” had become an ambiguous, if not a loaded question.
“My hand on your leg,” he answered, and they both chuckled at how something so simple had become complex.
“Yes, why?”
“Some people find it distracting during a movie,” he shrugged as if he couldn’t understand such a notion either.
She put her hand on top of his and held it there. His chest flooded with warmth.
The movie wasn’t very good and as they shuffled out, he braced himself for her dissatisfaction. She made no comment, which said it all, but she had chuckled a few times, probably out of politeness. He wanted a beer and on his way to meet her, anticipating the possibility of a post-movie drink, he had spotted a pub. This enabled him to be decisive and avoid the detestable feeling of being at loose ends on the street corner with questions like, ‘Hm, well, where should we go?’ or ‘Where would you like to go?’ or ‘Why don’t we walk and find a place?’ Women hated that shit.
“There’s a pub around the corner, shall we go for a drink?” he asked.
“Sure!”
The pub seemed out of place in central downtown, with its odd assortment of scuffed brown tables and stools and student clientele, even though it was nowhere near a campus. But it was unpretentious, so he felt it was fine enough for a post-movie beer and chat. They sat near the window, which looked out onto a calm side street with drab blobs of pallid light on lonely parked cars. There wasn’t any table service. Eva asked what he wanted, intent on buying. He had a pint of IPA, she took a cider. Around them, twenty-somethings huddled around pints, vying for each other’s attention.
The conversation turned to how and why their marriages ended. They had both been the one to leave the marriage. Hers had lasted 8 years and his 16. For her, there were difficulties before the plane crash but after, when she started having symptoms, it got worse. “He couldn’t deal with it.” She sipped her cider and glanced around the bar.
“How did you meet?”
“At the cottage, teenagers. It petered out, we were living too far away from each other. The next time I saw him was twenty years later – he’s an office productivity consultant, he’d been brought in by the company I was working for at the time.”
“You’d had no contact in twenty years?”
She shook her head slowly, bemused. “I knew where he was, in California.”
“And how soon after were you married? I hope I’m not asking too many questions, just curious.”
“A year.”
“And during those twenty years, were you in a relationship?”
Her lips pressed upward, her eyes went to the side. “I had another relationship, kind of more like a close friend. He wanted to marry but I didn’t want to.”
Spencer nodded. “Are you still friends?”
“No. I would be, but he got married and his wife didn’t like it.” He nodded, they both took a drink. “What about you?”
Knowing she would ask, he had an answer ready to paint a reasonable picture of two people in their late thirties, biological clock ticking, married soon after meeting to have kids, and, as the years passed, realized they wanted to live different lives.
The full story, which he dared not utter, was that he came to believe Jenna wished he were someone else. His self-loathing through her eyes turned his feelings for her to rubble. They had started strangely wonderful, like a fairy tale. The combination of his professional stature and good looks elevated him to ‘hot prospect’ for career women who wanted kids. Jenna worked in the human resources department, and they married a year after she started at the company. He was taken by her classic beauty, that of a mythical Greek goddess, and by the compassion and care she expressed. She would be a loving mother, and he was right about that part, but their misalignment became apparent as they got to know each other while raising kids and paying the mortgage. The boys were wonderful and there were times of tenderness and understanding but increasingly one triggered the other into exchanges of regrettable utterances that laid brick upon brick of resentment until it was toxic. The version he told Eva: “We realized we wanted different lives. It was amicable.” He smiled at her, she returned it weakly with a nod.
She sipped her cider then her eyes narrowed. “There’s something…I,” She tipped her head to loosen her neck. “I just need to tell you something.”
“Of course, anything,” he said, trying to put her at ease.
“Afterwards when we’re together, I don’t…I don’t want you to stay the night afterwards.” Her face had flushed. She turned her head but her eyes on him, bracing.
The miffed expression on her face when she handed him the toast came to mind. “That’s fine,” he said, agreeably, as if she’d asked for the window seat. “I get it,” he said with a smile, wanting to put her at ease despite his irregular heartbeat and hot temples. Her shoulders dropped and she exhaled the breath she had been holding. He forced himself to make no assumptions and decided not to put her on the back foot by asking why. It was much better to see her relieved. It could be many reasons and none of them personal. Maybe she just wanted to be lovers, the affection of which felt good, but the prospect of inherent distance pricked his heart. Just be patient! “I appreciate the honesty and clarity,” he said after a gulp of his pint. “We shouldn’t assume we’re going to follow some relationship template, we need to find our own way, particular to us. Connections happen when people have the courage to speak up. That’s how you build trust.”
She blinked a few times, a little stunned, and took a long, slow breath and then a drink of her cider.
“Good,” she said almost inaudibly. She swallowed the lump in her throat. The tense look in her eyes vanished.
“Of course!” he said, painfully aware of his false assertion and disappointment. He gave her another reassuring smile and changed the subject as if the exchange was superficial. “I’m happy to read anything you write, if you’re into that.”
“Oh, sure. That would be good. Thank you for offering.”
“You know I did some acting too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah I went to VCC for the drama program straight out of high school.” He giggled like it had been folly and had revealed an amusing but inconsequential secret.
“Oh! What happened?” she said innocently.
“Oh, yeah, I guess like a lot of people, stars in my eyes. Didn’t go anywhere, obviously. But I still have an interest, I mean, in terms of reading and being able to appreciate your play.”
She nodded. “Cool,” she looked warmed. “You’d be the first I share any of it with.”
“Honoured, then, deeply honoured.”
After the one drink, they left the pub and he wondered what was next. He intended to walk her to her car and see. She stopped at the parking entrance and faced him. “I know I told you I didn’t want you to stay the night but I’d like to get naked with you now back at my place.”
So, he had made her feel safe. Had he told her he was disappointed, they’d probably be going their separate ways now and of all things at their age, he needed to be very accommodating if he hoped to build a connection.
He wanted to put his arms around her and kiss romantically but it felt out of place in this clear, but detached agreement. Instead, he tried to play it cool, like a savvy lover who knows the score and kept his gaze down, nodding casually, but it didn’t last and he looked at her with unambiguous affection. She smiled back, politely.
As they approached her car, she said that after having one drink, she didn’t like to drive and asked if he could. He said, of course, and felt good to be of service – he had no issue driving after one drink. He believed, however, her request was more about foreplay than her being tipsy – certain women wanted the man to drive.
Dopamine lit their synapses as he pulled out of the parking lot, now that some fucking was imminent. He took out a box of TicTacs and popped a few into his mouth, then offered them to her.
“Yes! I shouldn’t, but I will.”
“Well, don’t if-”
“It’s fine, a TicTac won’t kill me.”
Twenty minutes later he parked her car in front of her place and they floated up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. They gulped water in the kitchen and then fell quickly into a rush of pleasure and primal screaming on her bed.
They lay entwined in the receding tide of intense joy, ebbing into normality, his self-awareness waking. He got up to be on his way, wanting to do so before she reminded him. He pulled on his clothes without a rush, however, hoping she would change her mind, and had the impulse to ask, ‘Is this what you want?’ But he said nothing. He acted as if everything was as it should be, but he didn’t want to just be her lover. He wanted to stay, cuddle and giggle and fuck some more and share all night long and wake up and fuck again and laugh at themselves acting like insatiable twenty-somethings while sipping bad instant coffee and munching toasted pita. But his passion was weak compared to her directive to leave and he fell to serve it. Fully dressed, he ordered an Uber and pretended all was normal and good. At the door he pulled her close and gave her an affectionate, but intentionally brief kiss, cutting it off to recall the end of an evening that had come too soon.
The stink of the Uber burned his nostrils, even with the window down. It was lovely being with her, he tried to focus on that, but all it did was inflame a longing that smarted.
* * *