17 August.

Newspaper stands. They were an uncommon sight in their modern world of internet and phones that knew everything.

But there it was. Glorious. Simple. A reminder of what once was. A taste of the older Fairfax.

They both saw it. And without saying a word approached it. 

He made a comment about the importance of preservation of stands like that one. She agreed. 

Had it been four months earlier she may have been surprised by his uncanny way of saying things exactly how she would have said them. But now it was the norm. She expected it. She liked it.

So many magazines. Fashion. Cooking. Sex. One right after another. 

They laughed and criticized. It was a harbor for provoked thoughts and opinions. Others passed quickly but they lingered. Slowly moving from one side of the stand to the other. 

He kept his hand close to hers. Not possessively. Just letting her know he was there.

She acted as if she didn't notice. She noticed. She liked it. 

She read an obnoxious title out loud. Anticipating a laugh she locked eyes with the cover of the magazine. But she felt his eyes on the side of her face.

He did that sometimes. Just stared. She liked it.

And then he hugged her. The embrace lasted a few seconds and then was over. Leaving any onlooker's life unaffected. Or so they thought.

The old women approached from the left. She moved slow and steady. Life had taken it's toll on her strides. 

She trudged. Focused. Paying no attention to anyone. Just her and the pavement. As she passed behind them they stepped forward to make room. She, however, stopped. 

She looked at them and smiled. 

"Well, somebody likes somebody!"

And that was it. She continued on her way. And they turned back to the stand.

He looked at her. They said nothing. But they didn't need to.

That woman, so full of wisdom and life. She'd said it all. In the simplest terms. Somebody really did like somebody. 

It was clear.

7 August.

It had an interesting vibe. A good vibe. A fitting vibe. At least for them. 

It wasn't surprising though, the whole city felt that way. They'd saved and planned and now they were here. The place was nice. He was nice. 

The food came in courses. The china was white. Clean. It made a statement. The food was colorful. Perfect. It made a statement. The waiter was polite. Attentive. He too, made a statement. Just like they did. 

She loved it here. The noises. The smells. Him. Her. All of it. 

She sipped from the narrow glass. Busied her hands with bread and butter. But his stare remained constant. Except for maybe a flicker now and then as he admired the restaurant. 

It was a gaze. Adoration. Protection. Pride. Love. 

The conversation was comfortable. Not too intense. Just flowing and comfortable.

"How would you decorate an apartment? If you could."

Such innocent inquiries. But such power behind them. 

They were talking about the future. With such hope. Such optimism. Such excitement.

Who was to say it couldn't happen? It would, they were sure. Even if the certainty never left that dinner table. They were certain that night. 

That was all that mattered. 

The bill came inside an old novel. The spine was worn and the cover tattered. The perfect touch. 

She licked her spoon. "Ready?"

They walked into the moist air. The breeze carried the smells of the bay. They loved it here. This city was perfect. It made a statement. Just like they did. 

"Thank you."

"Of course, love."

They made their way back. Pretending for the briefest moment that this was it. This was their life. A life they'd built.

The hotel reminded them of the truth. It wasn't their life.

Not yet anyway. 

Someday though. Someday they'd have that life. That life that made a statement. Just like they did.

1 August

"Just smile." It wasn't really a question. It wasn't really a command. It was almost a compromise. A deal.

She turned her face from the camera. She avoided his lens. She didn't know why. She just did. She always did. 

He thought she was beautiful. She didn't exactly agree. But he was compromising. Just smile. 

She tilted her head. Smiling, barely. The shutter snapped. She didn't look into the camera. She looked into his eyes. They were green today. He looked down at the screen. 

His face changed. Quickly. Nobody would've noticed but her. That shift. Virtually undetectable. 

A second passed and he laughed. 

"Aww." 

It became a joke. She blushed. But she'd seen it. That look on his face. Pure adoration. 

He loved her. He told her all the time. And she loved him back. Really. She did. 

But that look. His eyes slightly widened. Seeing that picture like he was seeing her for the first time. Something confirmed itself inside her. 

And then the moment vanished. No dwelling on each other. They didn't need to. Not like other people. They were different. And that's the way they liked it. 

They were interesting people in their own rights. Neither wanted to be ordinary. Both prided themselves on being unique. 

But together, there was something else. They were comfortable. Content. Neither needed to alter themselves. And it was obvious. 

She hated cliches. But they fit. Like a puzzle.

He snapped photograph after photograph and so did she. Each featuring just one of them. All alone. 

They'd each admire the pictures of the other. How nice it was to see evidence of what they each knew. The pictures just proved it. 

To him, she was perfect. 

To her, he could do no wrong.

It was good that way. That's the way it should be.

30 July.

Awkward. The night was just awkward.

The vibe was off from the minute she saw his reflection in the mirror. Something was different. 

Awkward.

"I did a lot of thinking." He had been at Starbucks waiting for her to get off work. Sketching. And apparently, thinking.  

He meant that he'd been thinking about the future. His future. School. Career. All that.

She thought he meant something else. Their future. Thinking was never a good thing when it came to that. She thought wrong but thought nonetheless. 

Awkward. 

They walked into the apartment. It smelled like cat and wine. They were greeted. They sat. They ate. 

There was an uneasiness. Barely detectable. Situations with multiple couples were always strange. Pairs of people who'd rather be with each other than anyone else. 

Awkward. 

The conversation flowed. So did the wine. Then it turned. A shift. A change. He was instantly uncomfortable. She felt it. His posture, his face. Subtle changes. But she knew. 

Goodbyes were said and the door shut behind them. 

"Are you okay?" He really wondered. 

"I'm fine." She really meant it. 

The drive home was quiet. A pregnant silence lingered. As they pulled in front of her house it came to a head.

Things were said. He didn't like hearing about her party-filled past. She didn't like telling about it. But her friends did. And that's where they were at. Nothing she could really do. Nothing but apologize. 

The conversation lulled. She had to pee. They got out of the car. 

There was a half hearted hug. 

"I love you."

"Love you too."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? It's fine."

And then a pause. She looked down. He looked at her. Pause.

Awkward. 

She felt like crying. It was unexpected and unreasonable. But as she explained herself again the tears came. They welled up and she talked through them. Determined not to falter. But she did. She faltered. 

He tried to hug her. She told herself she didn't want it. Finally she took a step toward him. They hugged. It was nice. 

She said she was fine. And she really was. 

They said goodnight. She'd see him tomorrow. They both knew that. He'd look forward to it until then. 

She slipped the key into the lock. "I'm gonna marry you." She didn't even turn to see his reaction. So matter of fact. So certain.

"I'm gonna marry you." And he meant it.

And that was that. She went inside. He went home. The argument came and went but they stayed the same. 

She liked it like that. He did too.

28 July.

"I don't know what to sing." He was nervous, unsure. He was never nervous. She'd never seen it.

They were sitting alone. Just the two of them. Stripped down to their under wear. That's the way they liked it. Wrapped up in the sheets. Tonight, there was also the music. 

"Sing anything you'd like. Whatever you want." She didn't care what he sang. She just wanted to listen. Immerse herself in him.  

He strummed the guitar. She watched his hands. He didn't notice. 

Chords resonated. Filled the apartment. But no singing. Not yet.

He strummed the guitar. She watched his hands. He still didn't notice. 

"Alright, I'm gonna sing for you." He said it strangely. Like he was trying to convince himself that he might really do it. Maybe.

His hands moved faster. The guitar grew louder. She sensed that it was coming. 

And then he sang. Loud and clear and strong. He sang to her, for her. 

She avoided his eyes at first. She watched his hands. He still didn't notice. 

He made the song his own. Turned into something new, different. 

And then it was over. He stopped. The apartment grew still and quiet. Neither of them spoke. 

A minute went by. It felt like an hour. She basked in the recent memory of his voice. He smiled. 

"Just give me a kiss." And she did. He'd sung for her. And she'd loved it. 

The bed was warm and the guitar was cold on his bare skin. He put it down and lay down beside her. He touched her arm. 

She watched his hands. This time, he noticed. 

13 March

They didn't want to go. It was just another party. Work people were just work people. But for some reason they felt obligated. So they went.

She was up for anything that night. Just looking to enjoy some champagne and friendly faces. That was all. That was really all. 

The apartment was crowded. The air was soaked with perspiration and beer. They went in. 

She opened her champagne. It was time to loosen up.

"I'm not looking for new friends." She thought. But why not make the best of it. 

There was a bean bag. She sat on it. She and the champagne and the bean bag. She watched. 

The voices blended together. The faces of those who wanted to leave and those who couldn't leave if they wanted to. Alcohol does that sometimes. 

She and the champagne and the bean bag. 

Everyone wore green. She wore green. A pale green. He wore dark green. 

He had caught her eye. A familiar face. A resemblance. 

He walked by. She stared. The champagne had begun to make her mind fuzzy. Fuzzy enough to keep her staring even when their eyes met. Accidentally. 

"You look like that guy. The guy from that show. Did you know that?" She rambled. She didn't notice. If he did, she couldn't tell. 

He slid down the wall to sit level with her. She and the champagne and the bean bag. And now him. 

"Yeah, I get that sometimes." She should've known. Of course he did. 

He held a bottle. Probably Bud Lite but she didn't pay special attention to that. She was focused on the hands. And the eyes. How could someone forget those eyes?

They talked for 20 minutes. She thought he was interesting. He was interesting. 

His friends were leaving so he did too. But not before he asked for her phone number. The champagne recited the number to him and he took it. 

Before he left the apartment he sent the text. "Chet."

Little did she know. Little did they know.

27 July.

I was asleep. The door opened and light streamed in. He spoke quickly, urgently.

"Wanna go for a drive? Just for a few hours, we'll leave at eleven." The door shut.

I was awake. He was my dad. We hadn't done anything like this in awhile. I would go. It would be enjoyable, fine. Not the same though. Nothing was quite the same since I had been caught in the lie. 

Trust takes years to build. Seconds to shatter. It's strange that way. 

We got in the car. We both held our iPods nervously. I hoped to play mine, but I knew better. He probably had something in mind. 

"I have something I think you'll like." 

I slip my music back into the pocket. "Okay Dad, cool."

It was silent. Even the small talk was silent. 

"How's work?"

"Good. I'll be serving by September."

"That's exciting."

Silent.

Silent.

Not an empty silence though. Not a normal silence. Not a dysfunctional silence. Just a silence that fits us, always has. Maybe just a little more since the lie. 

CLAREMONT next three exits. Here we are. A record store awaits. I've been here before. Familiarity is nice. 

We spend an hour there flipping through hundreds of people's musical expression. The vinyls smell like vinyls. The sound of the plastic reminds me of my childhood. There's a comfort about being here. 

"Let's get lunch. Maybe there." He points. Taco Factory sits across the street. So innocent looking. Just a little establishment. Not designed to harbor people's worries.

There's a bell on the door. It rings as we walk in. We order. A number three and a number four. 

"What do you want to drink babe?" Babe. A warm feeling. A smile inside. He hasn't called me that in years. I almost forgot about that.

We sit and eat. More small talk, although a calmness has descended. 

"I have some sad news and I'm not too sure how to go about telling mom." The calm disintegrates.

My breath catches in my chest. What could it be? He gives me no time to wonder.

"Aunt Sue has breast cancer." 

So that's why we came here. That's why we're in Claremont having lunch. He had to break the news. 

For a split second I'm not there. My mind flashes back to diagnosis after diagnosis. Battles won. Battles lost. I hate cancer. I despise it. And here it is again. Back to test my family one more time. 

We talk about it briefly. Emotionless, analytical. Nothing has sunk in. We won't allow it to. Your mind is dangerous. Don't think, just do. That's the only way to fight the mental battle against the disease. 

We leave. He walks ahead of me, quickly. We drive home, this time completely in silence. Both lost in the music and the same thought. 

Five women. Four bodies had turned upon themselves.  That only left one body unscathed. My mom's. 

We don't say it but the fear is there. Tangible. Heavy. We don't speak. We still don't speak. 

Silent.

Silent.