teach any other woman in my life how to make that sauce.
I find a big ceramic bowl, line the bottom of it with paper towel, arrange the bread, now cut into neat little rectangles, in the bowl. Cover it with a hand towel, the way Mom used to. Grab the bottle of Josh, the bowl of bread, and head across the lawn between my cabin and hers.
She’s on her porch, and she’s brought out a small table, likely something that sat beside a couch. There’s a large black stockpot with a glass lid on the table, a pair of plates stacked, a pair of forks. One of those big fork-spoon pasta-serving things. A small plastic jar of parmesan cheese, the ubiquitous kind with the green label.
“Eating on the porch, huh?” I say.
She nods. “It’s a beautiful evening.”
No need to point out that, it’s also a neat way to avoid the idea of not inviting me inside. I understand.
I set the bowl of bread on the table, lift the bottle of wine, and extend it to her. “I, uh, brought this. Figured you can’t have spaghetti without wine, right? I dunno a damn thing about wine, so I hope this is all right.”
She takes the bottle and examines the label; her expression is…not stunned, but more suspicious. “You know how I like my coffee, and now you know my favorite brand of wine.”
I shrug. “Coincidence. The selection at the market in town here is pretty, uh, limited, to say the least. What they do have seems to be pretty good, but, uh, like I said, I don’t know shit about wine, so I just picked that ’cause the label looked cool.”
She stares at the bottle in something like consternation. “I’ll get an opener and some glasses. Thank you, Nathan. It was very thoughtful of you.”
I just wave. “I bought it thinking I’d try something new. But I’ll never end up opening it for just me.”
“What do you drink, when it is just you?”
“Whiskey, usually. Or scotch. Beer, occasionally.”
Seems like she’s about to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, she just slips inside, leaving the door half-open, returning with a corkscrew and a pair of wine goblets. She hesitates.
“Um, here.” She hands me the bottle and the corkscrew. “You do this, I’ll dish up.”
I just nod, and open the bottle. I don’t have much practice opening wine, so it takes a while and the cork is a mess by the time I’m done. I pour us each a half glass, by which time Nadia has plated us each a pile of spaghetti. I move aside the towel covering the bread, and we each take a few pieces.
There’s another awkward silence. We both feel like we should say something. Grace, maybe? I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
I lift my wineglass in a toast. “To new friends and cabins by the lake.”
She echoes my toast; we clink, and dig in.
There’s very little talking. She eats like a machine, steadily, with gusto. I find myself wondering when the last time she had a meal like this was—a long time, judging by the sharpness of her cheekbones, the hollows in her cheeks, the bags under her eyes.
She finishes her first plate, goes for more, and then pauses. “I, um. I guess I’m hungry.”
I just laugh. “Hey, a woman who can eat like she enjoys it is a good thing, in my book. Don’t be lookin’ to me for judgment on that score.”
She sighs, seeming relieved. “I guess I just don’t want to seem—”
“Seem however you are. If you’re hungry, eat. That’s it.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
I just wave, because there’s nothing for her to be thankful for. I take seconds myself; offer her more bread, more wine. By the time we both put our forks down and sit back, the pasta is nearly gone, and most of the bread. We’re savoring the last few sips of wine, along with the sunset.
I don’t know what to say. How to start a conversation. It’s been so long, and I’m out of practice.
The food gone, the last sips of wine finally gone, I can feel Nadia getting restless.
I stand up. “Thank you for dinner,” I say.
She stands up too. “Thank you for the wine and the bread.”
Silence.
“I should, um…” she starts.
“Nadia, listen.” I have no clue what I’m about to say. Something dumb, probably. “Don’t be polite. Just say what you mean.”
“I don’t want to be rude.”
“I’d rather rude honesty than anything else.”
A nod. “In that