Come for Dinner

Come for dinner, she said. 

I had an appointment with my therapist 

but after that I could come by.

I thought about it all day.

What would she make for supper?

When I knocked on the blue wooden door she answered in mid sentence,

yellow phone in the crook of her neck,

the cord stretched all the way back to the cluttered kitchen,

a long curlicue of bright yellow.

 

She covered the mouthpiece.

There's an open can of tuna in the fridge.

She continued her phone visit 

and I went home.

*******

I'll take you both out for dinner, any place you want.

You choose, he said.

We picked him up at the train station

and drove to the little Japanese restaurant downtown.

He ordered a dry martini with two olives.

After two sips he confessed that he had eaten supper on the train.

 

As I examined the menu, 

my husband urged me not to order dinner, 

nudging my knee for emphasis.

 

Instead we shared a light appetizer,

Japanese cucumber salad

and rice balls

with green tea.

We drove him back to his hotel. 

I told my husband, 

I never realized how lucky I was that my parents didn't stay married.