“I don’t like a story without a good ending,” he said. It was Sunday afternoon and they had stopped at a small cafe on the way to the theater.
“I don’t either,” Marcia said and took a sip of her tea.
He thought about the woman he’d just seen from the window while Marcia was in the restroom. She was young and thin, with a graceful walk and blue eyes. She had smiled back at him, and he’d felt a tingling run through him.
“What about ours?” she asked.
He blinked back into the present. “Our what?”
“Our story.” Impatience sharpened her voice.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It hasn’t ended yet.” Sometimes he wished it would, maybe even today…. He could hurry after the woman and catch up to her at a light. He’d look over and say something clever like, “Nice day, isn’t it?” If she smiled and didn’t turn away, he’d ask her if she were going anywhere special.
And she’d say, “No, just to Saks to meet a friend. We’re going shopping together.”
And he’d say, “Do you have time for coffee? There’s a Starbucks around the corner.”
She’d smile again and say she did have a little time, and they’d go to Starbucks together. She liked that he was old fashioned and wanted to be on the outside when they walked up the sidewalk. He’d tell her his name, and she would say hers was Grace. She’d order a cappuccino and he would too.
He would learn she lived not far from him on the Upper West Side. By herself. She’d broken up with her boyfriend when she moved from Des Moines three months ago.
“I’m sorry,” he would say. “The city can be a very lonely place.” He would tell her he’d lived here for six years. There had been some relationships but there wasn’t one now.
“It’s hard to meet people….unless you say something at a red light.” They would both laugh.
“Actually, that’s the first time I’ve ever done that. Something about your smile – you seemed warm and friendly. Nice.” She would thank him and a few minutes later, text regrets to her friend.
They would have another cappuccino and keep talking. Eventually, the light would begin to fade and they would leave. They would walk together all the way to 72nd Street. They would say their goodbyes there, but make plans to see each other the next night.
They would see each other that next night and all next nights after that for almost eight months…until the love wore down and they forgot what it was like outside of their togetherness. They would start to wonder how the story would end, and he would start looking out the window at the young women passing by.
“We’d better get going,” Marcia said. “It’s 1:35, and it’s a ten-minute walk to the theater.”
He signaled the waiter and paid the check. When they stood up, he helped her on with her coat since it was a little cool outside. Fall had not yet turned bitter.
Anything was better than being alone.