She was sitting in his living room trying to warm up. He’d been away so the furnace was playing catch-up. The weather was not cooperating. A blast of arctic air was proving too much for even this ultra modern home. The huge wall of windows couldn’t keep out the cold, it seemed. She loved the windows though, despite this small flaw. They let in magnificent views of that wild world outside. And this weather wasn’t a constant thing, after all. The temperature had dropped the last couple of days due to a blustery north wind. She simply had not dressed properly for her walk so was feeling the cold more than was normal.
From her perch on the sofa, she could see most of the house. She realised each room was open to the other affording little privacy. There was so much glass! Maybe this is what living in a fishbowl is like. There was a solid door into the bathroom, she noted. That was good. She decided she would need a curtain or two. And some more paintings. The few white walls were crying for colour. But, of course, she was only a guest.
Her feet were warming in his slippers. He brought tea and she drank it quickly. She was melting, at last. When he sat beside her she felt his heat but detected a shiver from him. She probably still had an icy air about her. It would be gone soon.
Sitting together on his sofa, they listened to music playing through his TV and watched the lights from ships on the water. They chatted easily about all kinds of things except, of course, those usual taboo subjects like former lovers and mistakes. Finally warm, she decided to keep his jacket wrapped around her but gave him his slippers back.
When the conversation waned and the shared yawns became too frequent, she stood up and reluctantly took off his coat. He asked if she was going and she said yes. He asked, “Will you come again?” “I’d like to,” she answered.
It took only seconds for her to feel the melancholy sting of lonesomeness she knew so well. She missed her kids terribly. She missed him. She warned herself to stop, to not “go there”.
Once is bed, she shook her head at how complex she had made her life, always wanting more is an unhealthy state of affairs. She had had so much but could not see or appreciate what was right in front of her even when it was great. Yet, when there is a longing that won’t be denied, what is one to do?
End of excerpt from On the Seventh Day
I wish you all the best in the 2017, but then I wish you all the best every day. I think I will continue to do that.