First Date

With a sigh Miranda centered the chairs on each side of the kitchen table for the last time. It was half past seven and she knew he was not coming. The coffee maker had shut off and the pasta lay cold and stiff in the colander, the homemade Alfredo sauce slowly turning to concrete in an uncovered pot next to it. She pulled the cork from a bottle of Nebbiolo and poured a full glass, raising her wine in a silent toast to an empty room.

She turned off the kitchen lights, made her way to the living room and slumped into pillows piled in the deep sill of the bay window overlooking the street. Through the feathery branches of the honey locusts she watched people strolling by, their shadows stretching far in front of them as dusk surreptitiously followed behind. Bits of conversation floated up and through the open windows, things people talked about on the way home, a reminder that the day was drawing to a close.

She had never really believed he would show up, she had found it suspicious and strange that Charles had even suggested a date. Her mouse brown hair cut in an uninspired bob, her large glasses that constantly threatened to slip off the end of her nose, and her awkward ramblings on poetry and astrology now made his offer even more implausible. She had overheard what the other women in the office whispered whenever he walked past. She choked back a sob.

Evening filled the room with a green glow and the first streetlamps flickered on, pools of jaundiced light spreading on the sidewalk beneath them. As she rose to clear the mess in the kitchen and find the bottle of wine there came a soft, almost embarrassed, tap on the door.