Page 105 of A Lifetime of Afters
“The Munsters or The Addams Family?”
“I’m definitely more Morticia than Lily.”
He could take that how he pleased. He knew his shows at least and it wasn’t just some lousy pickup line.
“The Flintstone’s or The Jetson’s?”
His voice held amusement now. I liked it that he remained unoffended by my failure to fall all over myself just because he noticed me.
“The Jetson’s if I’m feeling sassy, otherwise the Flintstones.”
I was starting to feel a bit sassy in fact. He had a nice voice. Even I could hear the smile in mine when I answered that time.
He chuckled. Nice voice and a great laugh that rumbled up from his chest.
“What about Leave it to Beaver?”
“No thank you,” I clipped. “Wouldn’t want to be a Cleaver.”
At this he laughed outright. “You’d never want to be a Cleaver?”
I turned, chin tilted up. At five feet two inches there were not a lot of people I didn’t have to look up to, but once turned to face him I found I had to look up and up and up. He was easily an entire foot taller than me.
My ‘seeyalater’ died in my throat. Long and lean, eyes lit with mischief and pleasure, he stood slightly slouched with his hands loosely tucked into his pants pockets, holding his suit jacket open.
It looked like he, too, was on his way home from work. Nice suit, tie loosened, short dark hair slightly mussed in the minute way that short hair can be, well defined lips tilting upwards at the corners, head tilted down towards me, and eyes so dark I could barely make out the pupil smiled down at me.
“Hello.” He shifted his weight and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jack Cleaver.”
“You are not.” I did not shake his hand but instead crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my chin down, looking at him from under my brow.
“I am!” He laughed and withdrew his hand. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a business card.
At this proof that he was indeed a Cleaver, I laughed, too.
“I thought you were trying to pick me up with a lousy pickup line about old tv shows!”
“I am trying to pick you up with a lousy pickup line about old tv shows but I’m no longer sure it’s worth it.” He smiled.
“Oh? And why is that?” I challenged him, smiling. His words were dismissive, but his tone was friendly and amused.
“Well, if you’ve already decided you’d never want to be a Cleaver, I’m not sure I see the point in getting to know you.”
“We’re talking about marriage already? You move fast.”
He grinned, and I was caught. “How about we start with a coffee.”
I purchased my DVDs, we went out for coffee, and went on to spend every spare minute over the September Labour Day weekend watching Gilligan’s Island. He didn’t kiss me until Sunday night. Three weeks after our first kiss, on my birthday, he moved me into his place. Three months after our first kiss we were engaged, and a mere six weeks after that, we married.
Ten years after our first kiss, almost to the day, he left me.
The world belonged to us. He was my sunshine and I, every star in his sky. We were going to set this life on fire.Wewere on fire. Excited about our careers, full of plans for the future, so much hope, caught up in our love for each other and the dreams we were sure we would bring to life. And we had. We shone for ten perfect years, ten perfect years that came to a screeching halt seven years ago.
It hit me then what was wrong with my face.
It was my eyes.
They held no fire.
