He introduced her to his cat. The cat who was named after the Queen of France, she’s 11 years old, dark, gray, black fur, she had impossibly green yellow marble eyes. She purred and she sat on his lap.
She brought her work to do so she laid on the cat’s bed and started reading. He just returned from a very long day at work, and he was exhausted. He watched TV on the same cat bed, the $4000 cat bed.
She touched his unruly hair on occasion. He touched her face and kissed her forehead. Then he got up to pour himself a glass of rose. He liked wine. he was in the wine business. He had a nasal accent, the Southern Californian draw. But he then spoke French, with ease, he was half French and half English. His mother from Nice, father from Liverpool. She did not like French men ordinarily. She thought that they were boring, feminine and fussy. But she was a through and through Californian, who liked men tall and blond, stylish and laid back. And he was also that.
Now the cat was taking over his entire lap, and she rested her head on his shoulder and read.
The rain had stopped and they talked about their plans before the holidays. As she looked up he looked down, she noticed that he had those impossibly blue eyes, his hair blond and unruly, and he was tall for being half French. He was 6’1” and broad shouldered, like a rugby player, but his style of fashion was too European to be mainstream American. He’d look good in a Dolce Gabbana ad. They talk about the holidays. He was leaving for France and she was leaving for Portland. There was a week in between. She wanted to go away. He lived in Los Gatos. She went to high school there. “Do you want to get a hotel and stay down there?” He asked. He liked planning such things. She’s never met a man who liked to plan activities. She wanted to go to party or two. He wanted to do things with her, and he had plans that he wanted to share with her. Hiking, pizza, pool, going away, playing house, staying at his place, and eating out. “I don’t cook, you know.” He said, “That’s okay, we will go out.” In that single defining moment, he planned a whole week before their departures, like they’d be dating for a long time. She asked if he would be available to talk while he’s away. He said, “You can reach me. My cell phone, whatsapp, email. Do that.” She was astonished yet again, a man who was available, to her, at all hours. She liked that. Availability, the willingness to share his life, with her. A man who lived in so many places, and felt at home wherever he went.
She wanted to do things but she did not have any experience with men who was enjoying planning. Thus a dilemma. A man who was ready to share his life. A man whom she was attracted to. A walking wounded woman. A neglected, independent woman who had been ignored, and never been loved.
He did marketing for living. He was used to flashy things in life. She was more on the conservative side of life. She did not have any idea how to be wooed. So she was skeptical at best.
He grabbed her hands as she flipped through the pages of her textbook. He had huge hands. She took his hand and held it tight. There was a glimpse of complete adoration that she almost missed, to reassure her, he kissed her forehead. She purred like the cat. Then the cat did the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment