shopping for husbands were not what he wanted. In that case, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
“Twenty-five years,” she said primly, as they sat down. He didn't miss a beat or his questions for a minute.
“Well, then I can see why you don't want to remarry. Gets boring, doesn't it, after all those years? I was married for eleven, that did it for me.” Sasha looked at him with horror, and didn't answer for a long moment.
“I was not bored in my marriage,” she said firmly. “I was very much in love with my husband.”
“That's too bad,” he said, digging into the first course. It was the only breather from him Sasha had gotten. “You probably remember it better than it was. Most widowed people suffer from that kind of delusion. They all think they were married to saints, after they're gone. While they were here, they weren't that crazy about them.”
“I assure you,” Sasha said, looking haughtily at him, wanting to throw something at him, “I was crazy about my husband. That is a fact, not a delusion.” Her tone was glacial.
“All right, fine,” he said, looking nonplussed, “I'll take your word for it. So how many men have you been out with since he died?” Alana happened to look over then, saw the look on her face, and realized it was not going well. Sasha was white with outrage.
“I have not been out with anyone, nor do I intend to go out with anyone. Ever. My husband died eight months ago, and this is the first social invitation I've accepted.” Her dinner partner stared at her in amazement.
“Oh my God, you're a virgin.” He seemed to first view it as an oddity, and then as he looked at her with interest, as a challenge. But he had met his match in Sasha.
“No, I'm not a virgin, as you put it. Nor do I intend to be deflowered. I am a forty-eight-year-old widow, who was very much in love with her husband.” And with that, she turned her back on him, and spoke to her dinner partner on her other side, who was a man she and Arthur had known well. He was married, and she and Arthur had been fond of him and his wife.
“Are you all right?” Her old friend looked at her with concern as she turned to him with her eyes blazing. He spoke in an undertone, and her eyes were filled with tears as she nodded. The man on her left had been not only insulting but depressing. This was what she had to look forward to now as a widow. She was beginning to wonder if in the future she should just tell people she met that she was married. She had no desire to be someone's “virgin.” It robbed her of all the dignity and respect she'd taken for granted while married to Arthur. Not only had she lost the man she loved, but she realized now that overnight she had become embarrassingly vulnerable, and had lost the social protection of a loving husband, and the safe, comfortable shield of marriage.
“I'm fine,” she said softly to her seatmate.
“I'm so sorry, Sasha,” he said sympathetically, patting her hand, which made the tears in her eyes spill onto her cheeks, and she had to dig in her evening bag for her hankie. She could no longer afford to be without one. And as she blew her nose into it, she felt pathetic and embarrassed.
For the rest of the meal, she picked at what was on her plate, and disappeared with as much aplomb as she could muster while the others were moving into the living room for coffee. She didn't even have the strength to tell Alana, and promised herself she'd call her the next morning.
She didn't have to. Alana called her at the office. It was a Saturday, but as usual now, Sasha was at the gallery, working. No more weekend trips to the Hamptons, which she'd loved with Arthur and couldn't face alone.
“What happened?” Alana sounded plaintive. “He's a really nice guy when you get to know him. And he liked you. He thought you were terrific!” Sasha found that piece of news even more depressing.
“That's nice of him. I didn't want a date, Alana. I just wanted to come to dinner.”
“You can't stay alone forever. Sasha, sooner or later, you have to get out there. You're a young woman. And look, realistically, there just aren't that many