Possibilities

They were having dinner at Olivio’s when Miguel asked Tessie to be his girlfriend. Having a boyfriend at the age of sixty-two struck her as silly, something meant for a much younger person and not a grandmother.

           “What do you say, Tessie?” he asked. The creases around his eyes deepened in the candlelight. He was a handsome man who spoke with a smooth, elegant Spanish accent, the veritable heartthrob of the Elderberry Senior Center, where they’d met a year ago.

           “I, uh, I’m not --" Tessie stuttered and simpered.

           “Take your time,” Miguel interjected. And to ease her obvious discomfort, he said, “Please let’s enjoy our dinner. Play it by ear, as they say.”

           They had dinner weekly and went on the occasional outing. Anything more was daunting. Yet, she couldn’t deny the attraction between them, evinced by a lingering hug or a brush of their hands in passing.

Dating a Spaniard would be different, alluring, and a tempting departure from the old-world core values by which she’d abided for most of her life. Marry Chinese. Raise good children. Maintain stature and respect. She’d done what she’d been told to do, just as her parents and grandparents had. Divorce was anathema to those antiquated customs. She wondered what judgments her ancestors would render about her life if they were alive today.

*

           Tessie and John had had an arranged marriage. She was twenty-one. He was twenty-five. She’d had their first child by twenty-two. They’d spent thirty-five years together building a family and life, until John had divorced her and married her childhood best friend from Hong Kong.

           It had been a double betrayal that had upended her world and left her despondent, until she’d stepped into the Elderberry Senior Center one day. All it had taken was a banner, flapping gently in the breeze beneath the eaves, inviting all to ‘Come In For Fun & Friendship’. The Elderberry had become her sanctuary, a safe place that had nothing to do with her epically failed marriage, her broken confidence, and the cattiness of her former friends.

*

           “So are you and Miguel an item now?” asked Bonnie, the self-admitted gossipmonger of the Elderberry. She was, thankfully, as kind as she was nosy.

           They stood at a long table in the basement, inspecting and sorting gently used donated goods to deliver to various shelters. The love lives of the members of the Center were frequent topics of discussion and debate, a rather small price to pay for dependable, meaningful friendships.

           “We’re good friends,” Tessie replied.

           “You two make an adorable couple,” Abigail shouted from three tables away.

           “If you don’t date Miguel, I will,” said Mary, who was seventy and a prolific dater, juggling three boyfriends from three different senior centers. “He’s sexy as all hell,” she added with a wink.

           The comments flowed freely, aged voices and cackles bouncing off the basement walls. “Take a chance, Tessie.” “What’ve you got to lose?” “Nothing to lose and lots to gain. That Miguel’s a dreamboat.”

           They all meant well, but despite the ethos of positivity and assurances, Tessie was bewildered and frustrated, stymied by a gnarly, inner knot of indecipherable emotions. She craved companionship and loyalty, but she doubted her ability to trust again. She was one of the younger members of the Center, but she felt like an ancient fuddy-duddy.

*

           They were dining at Olivio’s six months later. Miguel was especially natty in a black turtleneck and brown tweed jacket.

           Tessie sliced her chicken, bathing in a sauce of butter and capers, and said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said…about dating.”

           “Oh.” Miguel frowned. He placed his fork and knife on opposite sides of his plate and said, “I’m sorry, Tessie, but after all this time I just assumed you weren’t interested in anything more than friendship. My mistake. I apologize. And, well, I’ve just met someone else. Just last week, in fact. I should’ve told you sooner.” He placed a hand on his chest, a gesture of remorse.

           He gazed at her, his handsome face filled with sorrow. Tessie blushed. Her face grew warm, just as it had when she was ashamed or embarrassed as a girl. She drank some water and wished she were at home, tucked in bed, watching this dreadful scene in a movie rather than living it.

           Of course, Miguel was free to meet someone else, particularly when she’d taken so long to make up her mind. Her naivete in matters of dating only deepened her embarrassment.

           “Let’s remain friends,” Miguel said. “Good friends if you’re willing.”

           “Of course,” Tessie said, and drained her glass of water.

           They finished their meals and skipped dessert. Ever the gentleman, Miguel offered to walk her home, as he’d always done after these dinners. She declined.

*

           Her ex-husband John called a week later with news of his wife’s death. Tessie was aghast. Betty had been her closest friend during her childhood and adolescence in Hong Kong. They’d walked to school together, shared secrets, and then emigrated to America. Betty had made the progression from best to most deplorable friend when she’d stolen John. But she had still, at one time, been a friend with whom Tessie shared many happy memories.

           “Breast cancer,” John said, his grimness palpable over the phone. “She was never good about going to the doctor. By the time they found it, it was too late. She didn’t want anyone to know.” His voice trailed off, muffled by a soft whimper.

           Tessie had never seen nor heard John cry. “I’ll come to you,” she offered, compelled by sympathy, and because she didn’t know what else to say or do.

           “Thank you, Tessie.”

           She hung up and grabbed her coat and purse, and she drove to John and Betty’s home. Unbeknownst to them, she’d driven by once to privately judge the monstrous Tudor Revival John had purchased after marrying Betty.

           The home was immaculate and tastefully decorated, with slivers of mauve and pink reflecting Betty’s feminine touches. John had aged since she’d last seen him four years ago. They sat on a plush green sofa, and his substantial belly hung over the waistband of his jeans. He’d lost some hair and gained weight, no doubt owing to Betty’s scrumptious meals. She’d been an excellent cook.

           “The funeral arrangements are set,” John said. “Everyone just needs to show up, pay their respects, and we’ll bury her.” He lowered his head and rubbed his tired eyes.

           Tessie couldn’t resist wondering whether or not he’d be so grief-stricken had she been the one to die, providing they were still married. The pessimist in her told her he wouldn’t be so disconsolate, and she became jealous and angry. She’d poured all that time and effort into their marriage, only to have been dumped for a woman who’d supposedly been her friend.

           She excused herself and walked outside into the backyard, lush with green grass and perennials in full bloom. She took several deep breaths and calmed herself with her old mantra – sometimes good came out of bad. She had a nice life now. She had freedom, which she cherished, and although she was a bit confused, she was happy.

           The afternoon became evening, and she prepared them a quick meal from his kitchen, spaghetti with jarred sauce and a simple fruit salad of strawberries and blueberries.

           “I’m sorry, Tessie,” John said, near the end of the meal. “For everything I did to you.” The apology, the most genuine he’d ever given, was long overdue.

           “It hurt,” she stated emphatically, her voice snappy and sharp. “But I came out the better for it. I never would’ve learned so much about myself if we were still married. I think that’s worth something.”

           She stood up and cleared the table, leaving him alone in his dining room.

*

           For the following six months, she and John visited several times a week, toggling between their homes. They shared meals, played cards, and went to the movies or watched TV. She’d begun to like him again, to her astonishment, but she’d never taken him to the Elderberry. For now, that was something good she decided to keep solely for herself.

           John had changed. He’d become pensive and had shed the impulsivity of his youth. Had age mellowed him? Or had Betty? Tessie didn’t know or care anymore.

           She never saw Miguel again. The word at the Elderberry was that he had a new girlfriend, someone he’d met during a guided tour through Sicily. She’d like to think they were still friends, and she was happy for him.

*

           A year later, on a chilly winter evening, John went to Tessie’s for dinner. He pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, just as he’d habitually done when they were married. Unlike their previous routine, however, Tessie placed before him a cutting board, knife, peeler, and several carrots to peel and slice for their stir-fry.

           John picked up a carrot and began peeling. “You’re a good woman, Tessie,” he said.

           “I know.” She pointed at the partially peeled carrot in his hand, prompting him to stay on task.

           They sat down to dinner, stir-fry chicken and vegetables, and later had the vanilla ice cream John brought for dessert. They planned to catch a movie and ate quickly. Tessie cleared the table, and John loaded the dishwasher.

           As they slipped on their coats, John asked, “Do you ever think we could try again, Tessie?”

           “Try what?” she asked, smirking. She was stalling while pondering a revival of their old relationship, knowing that any vestiges of their marriage, good and bad, had to remain securely in their past. They had to start over, and starting over at their ages struck her as daring and either one of the wisest or worst decisions they could make.

           “It doesn’t have to be marriage,” he said, zipping up his jacket and taking a step toward her. “Just spending time together, like we’re doing now.”

           In that instant, Tessie recalled the young John, who’d told her “We just need to learn to be together”, when they’d learned they were to marry each other. He’d been so focused, well-intentioned, and eager to please his parents. He was sixty-seven years old now, a veteran of his mistakes, but he was also a man who’d begun to like her and enjoy her company, because he wanted to, not because he was expected to.

           Tessie had certainly liked John when she’d married him. In time, she’d loved him, but then he’d love someone else. And hers had become a sort of unrequited love.

           “Maybe we could try,” she told him, grinning. “Let’s just see how it goes. Play it by ear, as they say.”

           Perhaps, a newfound old love was better than none at all.

The End.