Part 3

“Well, junior here is kicking up a storm. I think it’s time for us to go. It was so great to run into you!”

“You’ve been the loveliest surprise. I’m happy you are doing so well.” He smiled.

“Don’t flirt with pregnant women.” She smiled back and kissed his cheek.

And just like that, they were gone, Clara with her young family and Ethan with his globetrotting career, and both rushing through their lives.

2004

Ethan sat at the O’Hare airport bar, and the snowstorm flight delay announcements sounded over the PA. He checked his watch. It was 11:30 a.m., but he wasn’t sure what day it was. He’d been on the road for thirty-six hours.

He ordered a whisky and watched a woman in an elegant coat pass him, dragging a rolling suitcase. When she turned, he recognized Clara immediately. Their eyes met and twinkled. They exchanged restrained, mature smiles. He stood up as she approached, and they embraced. They ordered coffee and shared updates about their lives. He had never married and now traveled the world as a translator for a multinational company. He lived a satisfying, solitary life. She had two children and a husband and managed a small art gallery. She was happy but often overwhelmed. When the coffee arrived, they watched the snow drift quietly outside.

“I like the snow. It silences the world,” he said.

“Yes, it does. It slows everything down. It feels like you can breathe again.”

“Having trouble breathing?” He grabbed at her words as if she revealed something too personal.

“These days? Always. You give everything and there is always more needed.” She smiled but her eyes lowered with an unspoken heartbreak.

“I understand. Life can get under your skin. It seeps in like frost and burns until there is nothing left of you.”

“Shut up, you verbally incontinent twit.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence.

“I’m sorry for being blue. I’m usually alone when I feel sorry for myself. Do you still paint?” he asked, desperate to take the hurtful remark and return to the embrace of minutes ago, the sultry wedding night, and the wet streets of 1985.

“That’s so sweet of you to ask. Mostly crayon drawings on the kids’ Bristol boards and doodling on napkins.” She pulled a pen from the pocket of her coat and clicked it and smiled, grateful for the rescue.

“Well, I’m looking forward to the next napkin original,” he smiled back, and put his hand on hers. She didn’t withdraw. “I still remember the paint in your hair, walking in the wet streets, and talking about changing the world.”

“Those were the best times.” She smiled, and squeezed his hand. Their eyes met, and they blushed, and their hearts fluttered with the possibility.

“Our paths keep crossing. Maybe it’s a sign,” he pressed.

“Maybe not.” She resisted.

“Maybe we are the two people walking into the centre of a star hand-in-hand.” He gently pressed on further. Her eyes welled with tears. She let go of his hand.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. You have a family,” he said.

“It’s ok, Ethan. It really is.”

“I just sometimes wish life were something else.”

“You are a good man, Ethan. And I’m sorry, but that’s my flight.” She pointed to the PA, stood up, collected her coat and purse. He stood up.

“It was a wonderful moment,” she said. They hugged awkwardly. She turned around, and walked out of his life again. He looked down at the table, and saw a doodle on a napkin. Two, unborn, smiling twins in an embrace sleeping in a peapod.