Part 5

They ate and talked about mundane things. After they finished eating, they ordered coffee and talked some more. She now owned the art gallery and had divorced her husband a few years back, but the kids were doing well. He told her he had spent the life traveling the world as a conference interpreter and kept only a small apartment in the city. His life was small and solitary, but it was good and calm. Then the coffee turned to drinks.

“How many languages do you speak, then?”

“German, French, Spanish, Arabic, and Chinese.” He counted to five on his hand.

“Wow.” She gave him a look of admiration.

“Thank you. I also speak a little Farsi and Japanese. My mind just seems wired for it, that’s all,” he said humbly.

“And you’ve stayed alone all these years.”

“Of course not.” He laughed. “There were relationships. Good ones and bad ones. My job didn’t help, of course. But they all just fizzled out. That happens, but they lost their spark too quickly, faster than I thought they should.”

“But still, in the end it sounds like a choice.”

“Possibly. My parents are great people when they are apart, but they make each other miserable. To this day, I can feel the tension hanging in the air like smog when I visit.”

“Huh,” she said, puzzled.

“Huh?”

“Yes, huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Yes, huh, as in, ‘have you spent your life on the road, so you don’t have to go home, and you didn’t marry to avoid having a child because you worry the kid may live in similar situation’ huh?”

“Huh,” he said as her revelation sank in. “I must say, that’s quite a gut punch.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell.” She smiled to break the tension. “I have two children, so I spent the last decade analyzing feelings of people who don’t understand their feelings.”

“So, I’m an infant?” He smiled.

“No. Just someone who stays away from their feelings. Also known as a man.” She smiled. “I bet all you have in you is rage and sadness.”

“How did you know?” He laughed.

Clara shrugged her shoulders with a smile.

“I was married to a man once.”

“Oh, yes. Let’s prod into your pain now. What happened there?”

“The male anger and sadness happened. After my second was born, the life got really busy and really, really hard. There was no space for us in the marriage. We got smaller and smaller. We turned from a house to bungalow, from a bungalow to an apartment, then a room, and then a porta-potty. Slowly at first, and then it picked up speed, like being sucked into a black hole. It became children, work, and silence in that order. And one day he texted me that he just realized that we haven’t made love in a year. It made him sad and angry, of course. I apologized, and I said I was sad, too. He said it was too late, and that he was leaving. And after a few shouting matches, he did.”

“So, he kept track of not making love, and then he divorced you over text?”

“Huh?” she said, puzzled.

“Huh?”

“Yes, huh, as in, ‘I didn’t think about it that way until now,’ huh.” She leaned back. “The son of a bitch. And now, you made it worse than it was.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” He sat next to her and put his arm around her. “Now I understand men,” she said wiping her tears. “Because I’m sad and really, really pissed.”

“And I completely understand. It’s hard to hold on to your soul in the cold, empty universe.”

“Shut up, you emotionally constipated twit.”

He laughed. She wiped her tears. They sat in comfortable silence.

“Do you ever think about that night?” she asked and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Often. I think about that night, and that storm, and your arms around me, and your warmth, and I think it’s the closest to a home I have ever had.”