anyone else. I love our friendship, I don't want it to change. I'm so fond of you. Please understand." I said more, I can't remember what, and through it all he listened intently, his body inclined toward me, his head cocked in polite attention. He really is the most wonderful listener.
Finally I stopped. I felt sheepish and dissatisfied, and very much as if I were missing something.
He said in a low, controlled voice, "Isabel, the last thing I wanted to do was upset you. I didn't know it would take you so much by surprise. The truth is, I've wanted to kiss you for a long time." I may have blushed. I said, "I had no idea." He frowned, as if that amazed him. Whatever may happen between us, I can never, ever tell him what I thought. Already it's almost inconceivable to me that I believed, as recently as yesterday, that this man was gay.
He put one hand in his coat pocket and looked down at his feet. "You could think about it some more. Let the shock wear off. Then. . ."He made a casual, hopeful gesture, stealing a glance at me through his eyelashes.
"I can truthfully say that tonight I'll think of little else." "Well, that'll make two of us." A good exit line. He made a little bow, murmured good night, and walked away. Nice timing, too. Must be the theatrical background. He's the reverse of Gary in that way-Gary had awful timing. But then, he's the reverse of Gary in almost every way.
I kept my word and thought about him at length. It's possible the time has come for me to find someone. I divorced Gary four years ago, and there's been no one at all since Richard Smith. "The aptly named Dick," as Em-ma always calls him. I try never to think of him; he comes with too many bad memories. A year and a half after the divorce, three months after Richard and I began a relationship- he was an instructor in my graduate school program - I found the lump in my breast. Or rather, Richard found it, fooling around at the movies. 'What's this?" he whispered, breaking in on a touching scene in Sense and Sensibility.
I knew exactly what it was. In fact, I - knew everything in an instant, all that would happen, up to and including my death. Fortunately, I was half wrong. But half was enough for Dick. He stayed around for the surgery, but after that he "couldn't see us going anywhere." I wasn't angry-I left all that to Emma. What would I do without her? My surrogate man hater and grudge holder.
But Richard was over two years ago, and since then there's been no one. I haven't felt the lack; I'm delighted by the pleasures of my solitary life. I love my cramped apartment. I painted it peach, white, and sea green, and I ripped up the rusty carpets and left the scarred wood floors bare. There was too much furniture in my Chevy Chase house, Gary is welcome to all of it. I have my bookshelves, my rocking chair. An old sofa, an assortment of rickety floor lamps, and for my friends, oversize pillows to sit on -when they come to see me. I have enough dishes and silver to serve dinner to eight people, the perfect number. I have raucous neighbors, quiet neighbors, eccentric neighbors. My landlady, Mrs. Skazafava, barely speaks English. Lee says I'm living like a hippie, and I suppose I am-I missed that -era when I was young. Ramakrishna says our lives move through cycles in no prescribed order. I'm traversing a circle that my contemporaries experienced thirty years ago. No matter; it's only the journey that counts.
I was daydreaming at my desk in the- afternoon, petting Grace and staring-out the window instead of studying for my families-at-risk exam when, overhead, I heard the door to Kirby's apartment open and close. I hear it all the time and unconsciously, unwillingly, keep tabs on him that way. Soon I heard footsteps in the ball, a knock at my door.
Grace stopped barking the second I opened it and she saw Kirby. He had on his uniform: corduroy trousers and a baggy sweater. And something in his hand. "Look what I bought," he said, and held out a
Finally I stopped. I felt sheepish and dissatisfied, and very much as if I were missing something.
He said in a low, controlled voice, "Isabel, the last thing I wanted to do was upset you. I didn't know it would take you so much by surprise. The truth is, I've wanted to kiss you for a long time." I may have blushed. I said, "I had no idea." He frowned, as if that amazed him. Whatever may happen between us, I can never, ever tell him what I thought. Already it's almost inconceivable to me that I believed, as recently as yesterday, that this man was gay.
He put one hand in his coat pocket and looked down at his feet. "You could think about it some more. Let the shock wear off. Then. . ."He made a casual, hopeful gesture, stealing a glance at me through his eyelashes.
"I can truthfully say that tonight I'll think of little else." "Well, that'll make two of us." A good exit line. He made a little bow, murmured good night, and walked away. Nice timing, too. Must be the theatrical background. He's the reverse of Gary in that way-Gary had awful timing. But then, he's the reverse of Gary in almost every way.
I kept my word and thought about him at length. It's possible the time has come for me to find someone. I divorced Gary four years ago, and there's been no one at all since Richard Smith. "The aptly named Dick," as Em-ma always calls him. I try never to think of him; he comes with too many bad memories. A year and a half after the divorce, three months after Richard and I began a relationship- he was an instructor in my graduate school program - I found the lump in my breast. Or rather, Richard found it, fooling around at the movies. 'What's this?" he whispered, breaking in on a touching scene in Sense and Sensibility.
I knew exactly what it was. In fact, I - knew everything in an instant, all that would happen, up to and including my death. Fortunately, I was half wrong. But half was enough for Dick. He stayed around for the surgery, but after that he "couldn't see us going anywhere." I wasn't angry-I left all that to Emma. What would I do without her? My surrogate man hater and grudge holder.
But Richard was over two years ago, and since then there's been no one. I haven't felt the lack; I'm delighted by the pleasures of my solitary life. I love my cramped apartment. I painted it peach, white, and sea green, and I ripped up the rusty carpets and left the scarred wood floors bare. There was too much furniture in my Chevy Chase house, Gary is welcome to all of it. I have my bookshelves, my rocking chair. An old sofa, an assortment of rickety floor lamps, and for my friends, oversize pillows to sit on -when they come to see me. I have enough dishes and silver to serve dinner to eight people, the perfect number. I have raucous neighbors, quiet neighbors, eccentric neighbors. My landlady, Mrs. Skazafava, barely speaks English. Lee says I'm living like a hippie, and I suppose I am-I missed that -era when I was young. Ramakrishna says our lives move through cycles in no prescribed order. I'm traversing a circle that my contemporaries experienced thirty years ago. No matter; it's only the journey that counts.
I was daydreaming at my desk in the- afternoon, petting Grace and staring-out the window instead of studying for my families-at-risk exam when, overhead, I heard the door to Kirby's apartment open and close. I hear it all the time and unconsciously, unwillingly, keep tabs on him that way. Soon I heard footsteps in the ball, a knock at my door.
Grace stopped barking the second I opened it and she saw Kirby. He had on his uniform: corduroy trousers and a baggy sweater. And something in his hand. "Look what I bought," he said, and held out a
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