You Must Remember This..

[Maid of Marvels]

Connie sighed. "Stuff happened... You know. We took Peter to Disney World and every summer we tried to go camping somewhere special or different. Yellowstone, Bryce Canyon, Carlsbad. Bob couldn't get away from work all that often and he wasn't really into... travelling. I had films, documentaries and museums though."

She smiled weakly and averted her eyes just as Curtis, who was undoubtedly going to say something patronizing, was cut off abruptly by "The Return of the Waitress" carrying soup, salad and drinks. "Enjoy," she simpered, ignoring Connie completely.

Examining the salad, Connie inspected the lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and olives before pushing the dish between them. "Eat," she urged, hoping that he would. She did the same with the soup and was almost grateful when Alice cleared those dishes and brought their entrees. After all, it was bad manners to talk with food in one's mouth.

Connie found her eyes wandering over him throughout the meal. He looked good, really good. To him, though, she probably looked just what she was -- an old woman.

"You know," she said finally as the plates were cleared once again and her order for peach pie ala mode taken, brought and set in the center of the table. "I've been going through all the woulda, coulda, shoulda's in my head. I never forgot you. Never stopped thinking about you. About us. Now that you've magically come back to life... " Connie rolled her eyes as Curtis flinched, probably expecting yet another mindless tirade.

"Maybe I've said too much. Maybe not enough. Gods, Curtis. Now what?" Her last question was almost a challenge, though she didn't meet his eyes.

 

[stalwartone]

Curtis

The quiet revelations of her married life had been a total surprise. Not just the revelation of a lack of international travel, but the sheer domesticity of it all. This wasn't the Connie that he'd known. Well, not entirely. The fire was still there, but she seemed almost embarrassed that it had been banked, that she'd allowed herself to become what she had always seemed to hate the most.

He still marvelled at the thought of her as a mother and housewife. Mother wasn't so much of a surprise, she had spoken of such thngs, but she'd always suggested a more bohemian lifestyle, one of world travel and home schooling, a year on the Riviera, a summer in Calcutta, winter climbing in the Andes. Life would be an adventure. Learning the mysteries of why the Tibetan prayer bells were turned only in a single direction firsthand, exploring the efforts of communal labor on a kibbutz through hands-on experience, understanding the inscrutibilities of the Japanese by living their lifestyle, finding the hidden paths in the Outback with their own eyes and feet.

He, of course, had little to feel superior about. Despite his time overseas, he'd spent no time in explorer mode. Once he'd returned home and faced his demons, he'd settled into an orderly life straight out of the primetime family shows. Nine to five job, two perfectly matched cars, a big house with enough issues to keep him in home improvement mode for several years, and plenty of rooms for his wife to keep busy redecorating. How many years had he spent with blinders on to block everything outside of the lives of his work and his family? Few political issues had moved him, the sporting events he had attended had involved his employer or their daughter, and his culinary escapades had been primarily limited to the barbecue and the church socials.

Of course, he was feeling so much of this simply because she was sitting right across from him again. Even the sharing of her salad was a memory revisited, an easy slipping back into old roles and understandings.

The meal was standard fair, even if they had managed to crank out some fancy names for the dishes. Still, the pork chops were actually juicy, the potatoes weren't disquised au gratin potatoes, but actual Waldorf potatoes, and the steamed vegetables still had a touch of crispness to them.

"Maybe I've said too much. Maybe not enough. Gods, Curtis. Now what?"

Curtis could only shake his head. "Immediately, I don't know. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to go right back to where we were. I'm not sure if that's immediately possible, but I'd certainly want that." He swallowed the sense of guilt about the wedding ring sitting on his dresser. Sally had been so much to him, but Connie had been there first. Maybe he'd have to find someone to give him an impartial bit of advice on that one. Still, guilt or none, he would be cheating himself if he didn't admit that the old fire was still there.

"Connie, let's face it. When we were good, we were good. I don't think anyone ever knew me as well as you did." He spread his hands in an admission of his own confusion. "Of course, it's been a while, and we've both had other life paths along that time. If you would like to try to see if we're still good for each other, I'd like it. If not, then, we need to work out where are from there."