ALERT: the sex in this story occurs after the closing conversation. I suppose it could have been classified as non erotic, but I think two adults coming together and making the decision to share themselves helps define eroticism. Obviously, everyone is over the age of eighteen. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Jb7
Greg Smithers sat in the supermarket parking lot in his Chrysler minivan. As he sat there, he was going over his, now, 'long' shopping list. Since his wife had died unexpectedly last year, his long list usually included only ten or twelve items instead of the thirty to forty when he had done the shopping for the two of them.
"Strange," he thought, "how much I enjoyed doing the shopping then. It was an adventure, a challenge to see how much I could buy and still stay within the budget." And, he realized, it had been a break from the stress of caring for his invalided wife. Not that she had needed a lot of care. She had been able to take care of her toileting needs right up until she had gone into the hospital the week before she had passed away. But there had been the bathing, dressing, cooking and feeding, and medications.
Now grocery shopping was simply a chore. Something that had to be done to keep body and soul together. Even though he was an accomplished, and a talented, cook for an amateur, cooking for one was usually simply too much trouble. "Well, even if it's no more than sandwiches," he said to himself as he got out of his van,,"I gotta go in and get the makings."
As he meandered through the produce section, he noticed an attractive, early-60's looking woman trying to make up her mind about choosing a vegetable. As he looked at her, he recognized several signs of stress. She looked fatigued, and drawn. From her general condition and posture, he could tell she had worked once at keeping her body in shape, but between the fatigue and lack of exercise, it looked like she was starting to add some unhealthy weight.
Although he was generous with his time and possessions with friends, and with money and time to causes he believed in, Greg normally had a difficult time reaching out to strangers. Thinking he might know the cause of her stress, he decided to try, this once. As he maneuvered his grocery cart past hers, he glanced in her cart.
"Excuse me," he asked, "what is that?" He nodded toward the vegetable she had finally decided to buy.
"Fennel," she replied.
"Fennel? Italian licorice? So that's what it looks like."
A small smile lit up her face. "I guess you could call it that. It has a sort of licorice flavor, anise, more. Not as strong as licorice."
"How do you cook it?"
"I don't. I slice and chop it for salads. I suppose you could braise it, or cut it up in a stew. I've heard of people doing that." From which ensued a conversation about the merits of several ways of preparing vegetables vs not preparing them.
After several minutes, Greg looked her in the face and asked, "Could I buy you a cup of coffee?"
"I really should be getting on," she said, starting to push away.
"It's just a cup of coffee. One cup." He put out his hand to stop her cart. He cocked his head to one side and gazed at her for a few seconds. "Sarah, right?" He held out his hand. "Hello, Sarah. My name is," pausing and obviously thinking up a name, "Jeffrey. Good to meet you."
She looked at him, understanding it would be an anonymous conversation. Any sharing hidden by the false names. She saw a man, a few years older than herself, in fair shape for his age. Brown hair, shot through with grey, bright blue eyes behind bifocals, About six feet, his shoulders starting to sag with age, but, she sensed, still able to pull back and make a powerful impression if necessary.
"Nice to meet you, too," pausing "Jeff. I guess I can spare time for a cup of coffee. Sort of like the couple in You Got Mail."
"I can think of worse outcomes, but yeah, I guess, a bit." He smiled and led the way to the in-store coffee bar.
During the forty five minutes they talked over coffee, Greg learned her husband was terminally ill with the aggressive form of prostate cancer, and was not expected to live out the year. She had two children living out of the area, far enough away so that getting home to help on a routine basis was out of the question. Nursing help was ordered, and the aides came for an hour or so a day, but they weren't all that much help. Like Greg's wife, Sarah's husband was able to handle his own dressing, when he felt up to it, and toilet needs. And, when push came to shove, he could fix himself a sandwich or heat up some canned soup if he was hungry. As it had been for Greg, the weekly shopping trip was her respite time, her escape from the responsibility for another adult, however briefly.
As she talked about her life, Greg found he was anticipating and finishing many of her thoughts. He related his experience with his wife. How she had collapsed one day and been taken to the hospital, and died of heart failure a few days later.
When they realized how long they had been talking, Greg asked her "Do you always come the same time every week? We could have coffee again."
"Yes, that would be good. This has been good. It has been so helpful, talking with someone who understands. Not that I don't love Harry, but frankly, you men can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Excuse my french."
Greg laughed. "No apology necessary. I know what you mean. But then, so can you ladies."
