It had been a fun night. Lover and I had gone out to dinner at a crowded Italian restaurant, where he made fun of my ability to eat "kid food" even when I was away from my child.
"You're basically eating macaroni and cheese," he said shaking his head at me. "Worse yet, you eat like a bird."
He sat across from me devouring his surf and turf. I stabbed one of his butter-covered, steamed broccoli heads and brought it to my lips. "There. Happy?" I asked chewing.
"You can have more if you want some," he offered pushing his plate toward me.
"I'm quite happy with my penne in vodka cream sauce," I responded.
We had a quiet nook in a far corner of a noisy restaurant to ourselves, and I was loving every minute of the fact that I had grabbed the chair by the wall, so I could see the rest of the room, but Lover could only see me.
When the check came, I reached for my coat, which was hanging of the back of my chair, to get my wallet.
"I've got it," he said.
"No, really, Lover, how much do I owe you?"
"I said, I've got it."
I stared into his eyes for a few seconds. They were way more determined than mine. However, everything between us had always been split right down the middle. I liked to think it was an economic reflection of our equal interest in each other.
"Well then, thank you for dinner," I said gratefully.
As we got up to leave, he took my coat from me and helped me put it on. I buttoned the front and put on my hat and mittens. The weather in Montreal was bitter cold in January, and we had a 20-minute walk back to the condo I had rented for the weekend.
"I've got a bottle of wine back at my place, if you don't have to run off too soon," I offered. He had work tomorrow, and a home to go home to, so I was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to spend the night.
"I'd love that," he replied. "Let's pick up some dessert on the way there."
The distance on the Plateau between the restaurant and St. Louis Square was short of bakeries at 10 p.m., so we ran into the corner store for a pint of ice cream.
The condo I rented was a one-bedroom apartment overlooking the square. It was on the top floor and I shared a private elevator with the owner, who lived in the condo next door.
"You do always pick places to stay that aren't boring," Lover said laughing when the tiny elevator door opened on the top floor. We walked into the bright hallway in front of my apartment door. I opened the door with my key and held it for him. He cocked an eyebrow up in dismay as he reached over my head and held the door in place. I sighed and walked in first turning on the lights. We took off our winter outerwear and left our snow-covered shoes neatly by the door.
The apartment was about 1,200 square feet. It was old, but well maintained. It had a small dining area with a glass table and four metal chairs next to a tiny bay window. The cramped kitchen looked out over the living room, which had a full sofa, a giant lounge chair and a tiny TV. There was also a full bathroom and then a bedroom with a queen-sized bed in it.
"Have you actually cooked in the kitchen since you've been here?" he asked standing in the living room regarding me in the kitchen through the large service window in the wall as I retrieved the bottle of wine.
"No," I answered. "But the bottle is at least chilled." I handed him the bottle and the opener and brought out two wine glasses from the cupboard. "Ice cream, now or later?"
"Definitely later," he said pouring the wine into the glasses and handing me one.
I clinked his glass with mine without a verbal toast, sat down in the oversized chair and put my feet up on the dark wood coffee table. I was wearing weather-appropriate clothes, which meant that under my typical gray cashmere blend sweater and my jeans, I had on silk long underwear to keep me from freezing my ass off while we trudged through the wind and snow. Lover, in his usual work attire of a black button-down shirt and dark-colored jeans, piled up the couch pillows at one end and sat down leaning against them. He was so long that his feet were resting on the arm of the couch.
"You're thinking about something big," he said staring at me.
"I loathe when you notice things like that," I responded.
"Then you're going to have to get better at hiding your emotions. Your face is pretty easy to decipher."
