Bottle Half Full

Restaurant. 

Cozy.

A table near a window.

Broken snow flurries outside.

Candlelight flickering.

Humming conversation, clinking silverware, gentle music.

“Daniel! Hello!”

“Hey.”

“I’m late, I’m so sorry! Thank you for waiting!”

“It’s been a while.”

“It has, you’re right.”

“You look—different.”

“Oh, so do you.”

“Older, you mean.”

“Wiser, maybe.”

“Is that what we’re calling gray hair? Wise looking?”

“Some of us just age gracefully.”

“And some of us are too gracious. Please—sit.”

“Thank you.”

Pause. A breath.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“But you did.”

“Turns out I did.”

“Why?”

“Oh—you know me. It’s hard to turn down a free drink.”

“Or maybe you missed me.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“Maybe I missed you, too.”

“Daniel...”

“Good evening. What can I get you both to drink?”

“A glass of Malbec, please.”

“Bring the bottle. And a whiskey. Neat. Your rail is fine.”

“Any food to start? Appetizers? Tonight’s special is seared scallops with butternut squash purée.”

“Sounds great.”

“Could I get some ice water as well, please?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Silence stretches…

“So… how are you? How’s life?”

“It’s good. Busy, but I like it that way.”

“Yeah? I saw on your stories you were vacationing in Breckenridge this weekend. I didn’t know you skied.”

“Yeah, I don’t. It was last minute. A little break from work with the boys.”

“That sounds so fun.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Another silence…

“How are you?”

“Oh, really wonderful. Life’s really, really lovely, I think.”

“You think?”

“It is lovely.”

“You still chasing sunsets?”

“Always. Always chasing... something.”

“Good to see some things never change.”

“What can I say? I am who I am.”

“Here’s your whiskey, sir… and the glass of Malbec… with the bottle. Your appetizer will be out soon.”

Silence again, except for the clink of glasses and first sips.

“You’re still wearing that necklace.”

“Oh... I always wear this one.”

“I remember it. I remember you wearing it. Later on.”

“Oh. Wow… good memory. I pretty much never take it off.”

“You might be the most consistent, inconsistent person I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you uproot your life and move every six months, but you wear the same jewelry for ten years straight.”

“I like easy routines and big adventures. What can I say?”

“It’s not a bad thing. You’re interesting. I’ve always enjoyed that about you.”

“Yeah, well, everyone enjoys that about me.”

“I would guess that most people enjoy most things about you.”

“I think that’s just you, Daniel.”

“...And yet you married him.”

Silence. Again. History suspended.

“I did.”

“Is he good to you?”

“Of course he is. Too good, sometimes.”

“That’s impossible. Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“…But?”

“There is no ‘but.’”

“You paused.”

“You heard what you wanted to hear.”

“Maybe. Doubt it.”

Considerate silence, candle flame dancing.

“He’s steady. Kind. Patient. Grounded. Everything a person like me needs.”

“You’re the last person I know who needs grounding.”

“Is this why you asked to meet, so we can fight about this? I love him. I married him. I’m happy with my life.”

“And yet?”

“There’s no ‘and yet.’ I know you want there to be, but there isn’t. There’s just—”

“Here are your scallops… Can I take your entree orders?”

“Oh…”

“We’re just drinking tonight. Can I get another whiskey?”

“Of course.”

Clinking silverware. A fresh pour of Malbec.

“...I didn’t ask you here to fight. Really. I just wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“We’re friends. Friends see each other once per decade.”

“We’ve never been just friends...”

Memory flickers.

“…Right. So why did we end?”

“Stop. You know why.”

“Remind me because lately... honestly... I can’t remember. I just work and think of you occasionally and feel like an idiot and work more. On repeat.”

“You wanted success. I wanted lifelong commitment and adventure.”

“I thought love could be both.”

“It can… but both people have to love the other more than themselves for that to work.”

“So… I should’ve stayed.”

“No, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You didn’t.”

“…Are you regretting everything?”

“Regret is tricky.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Is that what you need me to say?”

“I need you to be honest.”

“…Okay. I regret my silence. The way we drifted. The way I left. I regret having to watch your life through a phone screen because we’re not really friends anymore. I can feel you in rooms you’ve never been in. I miss you in conversations you’ll never know about. I've built this amazing life, but all I keep thinking about is how it'd be nice to go back to when I was broke. Because you were there. You were in my life.”

“God, Daniel.”

“What?”

“You always say things like that. Like you’re still writing poems for only me to read.”

“Maybe I am.”

“I thought you moved on. Genuinely.”

“I tried.”

“Tried?”

“No one is ever you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It doesn’t help.”

“I thought you wanted me to be honest.”

“Okay. My turn to be honest… I hated you for leaving like that. I love my life and everything I’ve made of it. I’m in love with my husband. He’s perfect for me… but I hated you leaving like that. It hurt. And it changed everything when I really didn’t want it to.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I know we could’ve had—”

“No. Don’t.”

“We could’ve.”

“But we didn’t.”

“But do you think we would’ve made it?”

“Maybe. In a different world.”

“In this one?”

“No. In this one, we were a beautiful almost.”

“I think we would have made it. If we really tried.”

“We did try, though. And neither of us loved the other more than ourselves.”

Quiet settles again, thicker this time.

“…So, what do we do now?”

“What we’ve always done.”

“Which is?”

“Feel everything and do nothing about it. We go our own ways, back to the lives we actually love.”

Phone buzzing.

“…That him?”

“Yeah, I should go.”

“No problem. Thank you for taking the time.”

“Of course. This was… Well. Let me know next time you happen to be in the same state as me.”

“Next decade?”

“Maybe we could get dinner.”

“I’d love that.”

No movement.

“…I wish—”

“I know.”

“Maybe in the next life.”

“I promise I’ll love you more than myself if I ever get another life to do it.”

Stillness…

"Goodbye.”

“For now.”

She stands.

He watches.

She leaves without looking back.

He orders another whiskey. 

Neat.

A bottle of Malbec waits on the table. 

Half-full.