sorry.”
“I think she was, too.”
By that point, we’d reached the main chapel on campus, and Jane and I paused for a moment to admire the architecture.
“That’s the most you’ve ever told me about yourself in one stretch,” she remarked.
“It’s probably more than I’ve told anyone.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I understand you a little better now,” she said. I hesitated. “Is that a good thing?”
Instead of answering, Jane turned toward me and I suddenly realized that I already knew the answer.
I suppose I should remember exactly how it happened, but to be honest, the following moments are lost to me. In one instant, I reached for her hand, and in the next, I found myself pulling her gently toward me. She looked faintly startled, but when she saw my face moving toward hers, she closed her eyes, accepting what I was about to do. She leaned in, and as her lips touched mine, I knew that I would remember our first kiss forever.
Listening to Jane as she spoke on the phone with Leslie, I thought she sounded a lot like the girl who’d walked by my side on campus that day. Her voice was animated and the words flowed freely; I heard her laughing as if Leslie were in the room.
I sat on the couch half a room away, listening with half an ear. Jane and I used to walk and talk for hours, but now there were others who seemed to have taken my place. With the children, Jane was never at a loss as to what to say, nor did she struggle when she visited her father. Her circle of friends is quite large, and she visited easily with them as well. I wondered what they would think if they spent a typical evening with us.
Were we the only couple with this problem? Or was it common in all long marriages, an inevitable function of time? Logic seemed to infer it was the latter, yet it nonetheless pained me to realize that her levity would be gone the moment she hung up the phone. Instead of easy banter, we’d speak in platitudes and the magic would be gone, and I couldn’t bear another discussion of the weather.
What to do, though? That was the question that plagued me. In the span of an hour, I’d viewed both our marriages, and I knew which one I preferred, which one I thought we deserved.
In the background, I heard Jane beginning to wind down with Leslie. There’s a pattern when a call is nearing an end, and I knew Jane’s as well as my own. Soon I would hear her tell our daughter that she loved her, pause as Leslie said it back to her, then say good-bye. Knowing it was coming—and suddenly deciding to take a chance—I rose from the couch and turned to face her. I was going to walk across the room, I told myself, and reach for her hand, just as I had outside the chapel at Duke. She would wonder what was happening—just as she wondered then—but I’d pull her body next to mine. I’d touch her face, then slowly close my eyes, and as soon as my lips touched hers, she’d know that it was unlike any kiss she’d ever received from me. It would be new but familiar; appreciative but filled with longing; and its very inspiration would evoke the same feelings in her. It would be, I thought, a new beginning to our lives, just as our first kiss had been so long ago.
I could imagine it clearly, and a moment later, I heard her say her final words and hit the button to hang up the call. It was time, and gathering my courage, I started toward her.
Jane’s back was to me, her hand still on the phone. She paused for a moment, staring out the living room window, watching the gray sky as it slowly darkened in color. She was the greatest person I’ve ever known, and I would tell her this in the moments following our kiss.
I kept moving. She was close now, close enough for me to catch the familiar scent of her perfume. I could feel my heart speed up. Almost there, I realized, but when I was close enough to touch her hand, she suddenly raised the phone again. Her
“I think she was, too.”
By that point, we’d reached the main chapel on campus, and Jane and I paused for a moment to admire the architecture.
“That’s the most you’ve ever told me about yourself in one stretch,” she remarked.
“It’s probably more than I’ve told anyone.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I understand you a little better now,” she said. I hesitated. “Is that a good thing?”
Instead of answering, Jane turned toward me and I suddenly realized that I already knew the answer.
I suppose I should remember exactly how it happened, but to be honest, the following moments are lost to me. In one instant, I reached for her hand, and in the next, I found myself pulling her gently toward me. She looked faintly startled, but when she saw my face moving toward hers, she closed her eyes, accepting what I was about to do. She leaned in, and as her lips touched mine, I knew that I would remember our first kiss forever.
Listening to Jane as she spoke on the phone with Leslie, I thought she sounded a lot like the girl who’d walked by my side on campus that day. Her voice was animated and the words flowed freely; I heard her laughing as if Leslie were in the room.
I sat on the couch half a room away, listening with half an ear. Jane and I used to walk and talk for hours, but now there were others who seemed to have taken my place. With the children, Jane was never at a loss as to what to say, nor did she struggle when she visited her father. Her circle of friends is quite large, and she visited easily with them as well. I wondered what they would think if they spent a typical evening with us.
Were we the only couple with this problem? Or was it common in all long marriages, an inevitable function of time? Logic seemed to infer it was the latter, yet it nonetheless pained me to realize that her levity would be gone the moment she hung up the phone. Instead of easy banter, we’d speak in platitudes and the magic would be gone, and I couldn’t bear another discussion of the weather.
What to do, though? That was the question that plagued me. In the span of an hour, I’d viewed both our marriages, and I knew which one I preferred, which one I thought we deserved.
In the background, I heard Jane beginning to wind down with Leslie. There’s a pattern when a call is nearing an end, and I knew Jane’s as well as my own. Soon I would hear her tell our daughter that she loved her, pause as Leslie said it back to her, then say good-bye. Knowing it was coming—and suddenly deciding to take a chance—I rose from the couch and turned to face her. I was going to walk across the room, I told myself, and reach for her hand, just as I had outside the chapel at Duke. She would wonder what was happening—just as she wondered then—but I’d pull her body next to mine. I’d touch her face, then slowly close my eyes, and as soon as my lips touched hers, she’d know that it was unlike any kiss she’d ever received from me. It would be new but familiar; appreciative but filled with longing; and its very inspiration would evoke the same feelings in her. It would be, I thought, a new beginning to our lives, just as our first kiss had been so long ago.
I could imagine it clearly, and a moment later, I heard her say her final words and hit the button to hang up the call. It was time, and gathering my courage, I started toward her.
Jane’s back was to me, her hand still on the phone. She paused for a moment, staring out the living room window, watching the gray sky as it slowly darkened in color. She was the greatest person I’ve ever known, and I would tell her this in the moments following our kiss.
I kept moving. She was close now, close enough for me to catch the familiar scent of her perfume. I could feel my heart speed up. Almost there, I realized, but when I was close enough to touch her hand, she suddenly raised the phone again. Her
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