I turned under the table, intending to give chase, but laughed when Clive curled onto his back, purring loud enough to rattle the windows.
“Truce?” I asked him, rumpling the fur on his belly. The half-lidded eyes and the upside-down kitty grin was answer enough for me. Dusting myself off, I crawled out from under the coffee table to join Simon in the kitchen.
After our trip across the bay, I’d worked for a few hours while he napped, sleeping off his jet lag. I took my Clive break when he ran out to pick up some dinner. Now I got a whiff of Vietnamese, and quickened my steps toward the kitchen. A bowl of pho on a chilly evening was the best thing ever.
I got out bowls while Simon unwrapped containers. I grabbed chopsticks and he poured wine. We settled in at the kitchen table and in between slurps and sips, he went through his mail. It piled up when he was gone, so it was always a chore when he got back. We chatted about the day, different takes on what it would be like living part-time in Sausalito, when I noticed he’d stopped slurping.
“What’s that?” I asked as he stared at an opened letter.
“Huh? Oh, it’s a letter from the alumni association.”
“Stanford?”
“No, my high school, actually. It’s an invitation to my ten-year reunion.”
I stayed quiet, watching his face work through a few things. When he picked up his chopsticks and started on his noodles again, I asked, “So, you think you’ll go?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t think I’d want to go, but now that it’s here—maybe?”
He changed the subject, but I saw his eyes wander over to the letter more than once. And while I was cleaning up after dinner, I saw him reading it again.
“You should go,” I said, hours later. We were in bed, the news was on, Clive in between us. Simon knew instantly what I was talking about.
“I don’t know if I can. It’s between Thanksgiving and Christmas; I’m sure I’ll be traveling. I must have missed the notice somewhere,” he said, eyes on the screen. He was tense.
“You’d have known about it if you were on Facebook. I bet you anything your classmates have been looking for you on there.”
“I doubt most of them would remember me,” he scoffed.
I bit down a response. Though I didn’t know him back then, every high school had a Simon Parker. Couple that with his parents passing away so unexpectedly, and yeah, they all remembered him.
With a sigh, he turned toward me, hand reaching out across the pillows. I curled on my side as well, my fingers tangling with his. He tucked his other arm under his head. In the light from the television, he looked young. And a little sad.
“I never planned to go back. I mean, I really had no reason to.”
I squeezed his hand.
“I don’t know, maybe I should? Might be kind of fun to see some of those guys again, right?”
I smiled and said nothing.
“I’ll look at my calendar tomorrow. Maybe I can swing it.”
“Want me to check mine?” I asked.
“You think you can? I mean, I know how busy you are.”
“I think I can get away for a weekend. Besides, I’ve never been to Philadelphia. Can we go for cheesesteaks?”
He groaned. “Oh my God, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had a cheesesteak? That may have just made up my mind.”
I slid across the bed and straddled him, moving his hands to my hips. I leaned down and brushed his hair back from his face and kissed him square on the lips.
“Tell me about your favorite place for cheesesteaks,” I said as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me down on top of him.
For the next twenty-seven minutes I lay on top of Simon, listening to him talk about a mom-and-pop sandwich shop. And the importance of both sweet and hot peppers. In doing so, he told me more about his family and the place he’d grown up than he had in the entire year we’d been together. I realized that I’d never even seen a picture of his parents, had no idea what they’d looked like.
I’d ask him about that soon. Not tonight, but soon. Tonight was all about cheesesteaks, and everything that came with them. And I’m not talking just about the sweet and hot peppers.
? ? ?
“Caroline, there’s a call from someone over at the Design Center. They want to know if Jillian would be teaching her class again next month? Can you take it?”
“Caroline, Mrs. Crabtree is calling again, Jillian’s client. She needs to know exactly what shade Jillian painted the trim in her sitting room ten years ago, and if we have any kind of guarantee that it shouldn’t be yellowing? She also mentioned to me that she smokes two packs a day in that room and never opens a window; you want to handle this?”
“Caroline, there’s a guy from the heating and cooling company in the lobby, says we’re due for our fall maintenance check. Did Jillian mention this to you?”
“Caroline, I think I accidentally deleted the last few billing invoices on the Peterson account, but I know Jillian always keeps paper copies of those. Any idea where?”
“Caroline, can you—”
“Caroline, will I need—”