The Present Tense

The waiter approached the table with menus in hand, “Benvenuto a Mastiano’s.” A thin Spanish accent coated his words. He opened the menu and handed one to Barbara and the other to Frank. “Our wine selection begins on page one. Can I entice you into a bottle for the evening?” 

“Chardonnay,” said Barbara 

“Pinot Noi—” Frank cut himself off before he finished. “Apologies, my wife never enjoyed selecting the wine.” 

“Mine too!” Barbara replied a little too boisterously for the ambiance. “I meant, my husband doesn’t like to either.” She smoothed the ruffles at her the end of her dress. “I’m sorry, didn’t.”

The waiter edged closer to the table, “I can give you a moment.” 

Frank’s gaze was fixed off to the side of the table. He scanned at the other patrons, looking for anyone else who looked as uncomfortable as he felt. All of the couples, young and old, were chatting, touching hands, and sharing secret glances. 

“Are you nervous?” Barbara half-whispered. 

Frank’s head snapped back to the table. “No, no, not at all. This is really great. I’m glad we could do this.” Frank unwrapped his napkin placing the silverware on the table. Underneath the table, away from Barbara’s line of sight, he dabbed his palms with the napkin before placing it on his lap. He smoothed the sides of his reddish-gray beard. He looked up towards the rafters and down towards the carpet. 

Another moment passed, each wondering what to break the silence with. “It’s okay to use the present tense. Some shrinks will say you’re holding onto the past, but sometimes, the present tense feels right. I won’t judge you for it.” Frank shrugged, hoping that was the right thing to say.

Barbara smiled and shook her head. “You know, all the groups I’ve been to are so pushy about the time it takes. One lady came up to me after one of our meetings and told me, ‘At least you’ve had 3 years to get over it.’ I stood there in shock for 20 minutes before I went home. That’s the crazy thing. I tell myself that all the time. It’s been a year. It’s been two years. It’s been three years, Barbara. Why do you sound like he’s still here, Barbara?” 

“He is. Just like my wife is. Sometimes I’ll hear her voice when I make coffee in the morning. I’ve never made coffee without getting grounds in the pot. She’d joke, ‘I’ll take a miracle, but you’ll need a divine act of God to make a good pot!’ That was her way of poking fun at me and her diagnosis.” 

“Are we ready to order? Or do we still need some time?” The waiter flipped to a new page on his scratchpad. 

Barbara glanced back at Frank, embarrassed that they hadn’t even glanced at the menu yet. She leaned forward, “Do you want to try something reckless?” 

Frank’s lips pulsed opened and closed like a trout, “Why not?” 

Barbara squinted at the waiter’s golden name tag. “I can hardly read anything in this lighting at my age, but—” she held up her glasses to the brim of her nose, “Antonio, surprise us. Surprise us with the entire order! The wine, the entrees, the desserts. Don’t worry about the bill, that’s why God made credit cards.” Barbara giggled. 

Antonio nodded, “You are sure?” Checking for any reaction on Frank’s face. “Dello chef for every course?” 

“If that’s what makes her smile.” Frank closed his menu handing it back to Antonio. 

As the excitement settled, Barbara still shaking her head, Frank placed his napkin on the table. “Umm…Would you excuse me for a moment.” He stood up so abruptly he bumped into the edge of the table, rattling the water glasses and knocking over his chair. Every head in the restaurant snapped towards their corner. “I’m sorry, just a moment.” Barbara watched as Frank scrambled to upright his chair and darted to the restroom. 

Frank stood in the bathroom scrubbing his hands and face. “Christ, Frank.” He searched the bathroom for paper towels seeing none. “Now, they want to be eco-friendly?” Frank dried his hands under the blower and grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper to dry his face and eyes. He patted the sides of his beard before exiting the bathroom. 

“Antonio brought us a bottle of Merlot.” Barbara held the bottle up to him as Frank returned to his seat. 

“Really? May I see the label?” Frank asked. She handed the bottle over. “I’ll be damned. This was the wine my wife and I finally ordered after our great wine debacle during our first or second date. We went in circles and circles until we finally found one. We loved it so much, she actually demanded it for our wedding, and she wasn’t one to demand anything.” 

Barbara laughed. This time, it wasn’t nervous or forced, just an honest laugh. “Ya know what? We’re making this too difficult on ourselves.” She reached back across the table pouring herself a generous glass. “What if we drink this bottle and take our fancy food to go?” 

“Are you sure?” Frank asked. 

“Why not? I’m sixty-seven, and you’re… no spring chicken either. We’re old. We’re widowers. We’ve been through too much to not enjoy the time we have left. Whaddaya say?” 

Frank signaled Antonio over to the table. “We had a slight change of plans. Whatever the chef’s made for us will be delicious. We’ll need it in a couple of doggy bags and the check.”

Antonio nodded and leaned in towards Frank and whispered, “You have toilet paper stuck in your beard, sir.” Frank straighten up and leaned away from the table, brushing both sides of his beard with the end of his napkin. Antonio scanned over his beard and gave him a quick thumbs up. “Perfect, I think she likes you.” Antonio hurried back to the kitchen.

“What was that interaction all about?” Barbara asked, eyes squinting. 

Frank sighed. “Well, if I’m being honest, I had toilet paper stuck in my beard. I didn’t want to blubber in front of a woman like you.” Frank cut himself off, “I mean, a strong woman like you. When Rosa was diagnosed, I started saying, ‘If that’s what makes her smile’ every time she wanted to do something. No matter how crazy or ridiculous it was. I haven’t said that phrase in seven years.” Frank poured his glass of Merlot and set the bottle down stroking a tear away from his cheek. “Can we toast to them?” 

Barbara raised her glass and they clinked. “To them.” As she set her glass back down she reached across the table touching his hand, “You could’ve had a whole roll of toilet paper and I wouldn’t have noticed. One, because all I can see is a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered man sitting at my table. Two, because it’s so dark in this place, if it were a road, I wouldn’t be able to legally drive on it.” 

Frank snorted. “Ha! Well, thank you for that. Thank you for making this easier.” He placed his other hand on top of hers. 

With the ice and awkward first encounters broken and brushed away, they began to talk about their lives, their children, Frank’s grandchildren, the adventures they had gone on, and all the curious stories in between. They shared secrets. They shared their fears. They shared more and more laughs as the Merlot poured. 

Antonio approached with their food. “Our chef chose the roasted lamb chops with mushroom and brown butter risotto and asparagus spears; the potato encrusted salmon with butternut squash ravioli; and to finish, a tiramisu with raspberry mousse, and our cannoli trio. I brought the check as well, but there is no rush. Please enjoy.” Antonio placed the bag on the table and bowed. 

“Well, you’re never too old for firsts. This may be the first time I’ve spent two hundred dollars on a single meal.” Barbara laughed reaching for the check. 

“Absolutely not,” Frank snatched it off the table. “I’m both old and old-fashioned, and you will do no such thing.” He reached into his suit jacket for his wallet opening the bill. Frank paused, examining the bill again. 

“Oh god, what’s the damage?” Barbara put her hands over her eyes. 

“Umm…” Frank reread the items on the bill. “They— it’s— none.” He looked up at Barbara with tears in his eyes. He handed her the bill and pointed to a handwritten note at the bottom of the bill. Barbara took out her glasses again and stretched out her arm towards the LED candlelight. 

Barbara read the scribbled note. The restaurant manager, granddaughter of Alfredo Mastiano had lost her husband several years ago to cancer. She overheard enough as she was walking by to ensure the entire course was on the house. All she asked was that they enjoy their night. 

Barbara and Frank exited the restaurant, Frank still shaking his head. Antonio bowed to them as they left. “Enjoy your evening.” 

They strolled along the city park walkway basking in the mild summer evening. Frank pointed out a spot to sit by the pond. On the bench, they opened their boxes as the aroma of rosemary and sautéed onions filled the air. Each placing half of theirs in the other’s box. They ate quietly curiously unbothered by the sound of chewing and clinking utensils. 

“When Roger and I were newlyweds, he had said to me, ‘I never want you to be alone, even if I’m gone. Promise me you’ll share your laughter with someone else?’ At the time, I couldn’t even fathom what he meant by that.” 

“Roger is a wise man” Frank replied.

They sat on the bench, watching the geese and swans glide across the glassy pond. Neither felt the need to say anything more than they already had. It was nice to share again, even if it was only silence.