Dinner Conversation

Kathryn Durrant

“Short of an H. G. Wells’ time machine, a Delorean, or Dr. Who’s blue police box, there’s no reason for me to answer.” “Oh, come on,” he said, “It’s hypothetical. That’s the fun of it. What if you could go back to one day in your life?” He leaned toward me, a wicked gleam in his eye. I braced myself to maintain a neutral expression. “What day would it be? I know. That day you told me about. You know, seventh grade French. When your skirt fell of. I’d have liked to see that.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Seventh grade? You were a pervert that young?” With a wolish grin, he said, “You can drop your skirt for me anytime” Shaking my head, I let out a moan. “At the rate, you’re going that won’t be soon.” I knew it was a lie. Even a hint he was serious about me and the skirt would drop. Since the beginning of our friendship, we teased like this. Back and forth, pretending to be crazy mad for each other. Except that it no longer felt much like pretending to me. With a leer, he began again, “No, I got it. When that guy–” Before he could dredge up yet another of my embarrassing moment, I interrupted, almost shouting, “What about you? When the coach picked you to go into the game. Huh? You pulled your sweats down so fast your basketball shorts went with them.” I waggled my eyebrows up and down. He shook his head, “Low blow, I expected better from you.” I placed my hand on my chest as if ofended. “Me?” Lordy, how I wish I’d been at that high school game. But he couldn’t know that. “I’ll have you know some scientists believe a rupture in the spacetime...” he snapped his ingers to help bring the word to memory. “Continuum,” I deadpanned, knowing full well he knew the word. Forgetting a word was his go-to trick to draw me back into his world of science iction. He snapped again and pointed his inger at me. “Yes, continuum. For that lucky lady, you get a prize.” His wink suggested something sexy. My mind strayed to a lot of things I wished he’d do. His rush of words pulled me back.

“You’d time travel. Although it could be a parallel universe. There’s a strong school of thought in that direction.” I had to stop him. “I love it when you talk nerdy to me.” My lips twitched in an efort not to smile. A corner of his mouth turned down. He knew I would not go down the sci-i rabbit black hole with him. Without thinking, I reached across the table for his hand, but he pulled away a moment before I would have touched him. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying and failing to keep the laughter out of my voice. His mouth tightened. He was skeptical of my apology, and rightly so. We both knew I wasn’t sorry. “Okay,” I said in resignation, not wanting to end our meal together on a downbeat. “Just one day? Not to meet someone from history, keep Lincoln from being shot?” Eager to have my participation again, he leaned forward. My breath caught. “Just one day.” I raised my eyes toward the ceiling, pretending to think. I glimpsed the beginning of a smile on his lips. Lips that I longed to kiss. I couldn’t lower my eyes until I was sure my genuine desire for him wouldn’t show. I let out my breath and gazed into his eyes. “It’s a hard question.” He sat so smugly now, arms folded across that broad chest. Sure of his victory in converting me to his favorite iction. It wasn’t enough that I’d cited Dr. Who at the start of this nonsense. He knew I was a hardcore murder mystery fan. I would not bow to this type of literary blackmail. With solemnity I started, “I’d go back to the irst time I met you.” His eyes widened at the direction I was taking. “Only this time,” I lowered my voice to a sexy purr. “I’d walk right up to you. Pull you away from that stick of a blonde woman you were with, and yell, ‘He’s mine until the end of time,’ and kiss you as if my life depended on it.” He unfolded his arms from across his chest and lattened his hands on the table. “What?” “Never mind.” He shoved his chair back. “For that, you can do the dishes

without me.” I leaned back, watching him walk away. “Jack, come on. Don’t be a sore loser. That could be a legitimate answer, even romantic?” Even true, I thought, glancing over the dirty dishes from our meal. I pursed my lips at the turn of events. He couldn’t be that upset. He should have laughed. It it right in with our playing at being crazy for each other. I gathered the plates, glasses, and utensils. Banging around, I made as much noise as I could. Raising my voice in indignation, I called out, “The punishment doesn’t it the crime.” In reply, I heard the Netlix opening chime. Setting my load down hard on the counter, I stared at the white enamel sink. I had no dishwasher. They had converted the old Victorian into ive apartments. The rental ad drew me in with the magical words quaint and cozy. Code for no modern amenities like a garbage disposal or dishwasher. I’d fallen in love with the place and signed the lease. Then just as quickly fell in love with another tenant, Jack. He always helped with the dishes when he joined me for dinner. I yanked the hot water tap on. “Maybe I’d go back to that day. Not sign the lease. Find me a nice high rise,” I muttered under my breath while squirting the liquid detergent under the water’s stream. I made one last efort, wailing, “This isn’t fair.” Silence. Plunging my hands into the lufy white bubbles, I grabbed a glass, swished it around, and rinsed. I felt him join me. His arm brushing up next to mine. “You’re taking too long.” It was a relief to have him by my side, yet at the same moment thrilling. Being with him was becoming an emotional tug of war. “I just started.” He took the glass, picked up a dish towel, and began wiping it dry. “See,” I wiggled my ingers in front of his face, “not even wrinkly yet.” He grabbed my soapy hand and raised it with a lourish to his lips. A smattering of bubbles clung to the side of his mouth. “I’ll love you until all of you is wrinkled.” I reached up to brush the bubbles away. My inger grazed his lip. If only that could be true. I looked away before he could see my longing. It amazed me

I could reply, “You say that now.” He moved to put the dry glass in the cupboard. “And I’ll say it then.” No grand gesture, no teasing tone to his voice, no hint of things to come with a sly wink. Just sincerity. I handed him a plate. He would be a man of his word. The force of my love for him wrapped around my heart. I’d been teasing him earlier. But I knew if I could go back to that day, I would have done exactly as I’d answered if it meant now both of us would be in love, instead of just one of us. Overwhelmed by how hard pretending was becoming, I blurted, “Why the question?” I scrubbed the plate in my hand, now well beyond clean. Wiping dry the plate I handed to him, he said, “I read an article about Ray Bradbury.” Relief looded over me. We’d moved out of the danger zone back to friendship. I’d rather have that than show my hand and he not love me back. “He said he got his story ideas by asking, ‘What if ?’” I dropped a handful of latware into Jack’s side of the sink. “So?” He rinsed each piece, focusing on the water splashing over forks and spoons. I waited. He set the inal knife in the drying rack. “I’d go back to the irst time I met you too.” He turned, caught me by the shoulders, and moved me to face him. “I would run to you. Pull you away from that boring bald guy you were with-” “You mean my dad?” I knew where this was going. I tried to pull away and began laughing. Instead of letting me go, he wrapped his arms around me. Now, inches from my face, he said, “I’d yell, ‘She’s mine until the end of time.’” He lowered his lips to mine. Startled, I moved to step back. He pulled me in closer and deepened the kiss, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, becoming a full participant. We parted just enough for him to whisper against my lips, “And kiss you as if my life depended on it. Because it does.”

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DEBRIS

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

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