The Man Across the Table
Aunt Martha called today and said she had someone she wanted me to meet. “A nice young man.” Again. Inside, I was whimpering, “Pleeeese, dear aunt, stop trying to find a husband for me,” but I heard myself say, “That sounds lovely, Aunt Martha. What time?” As usual, I was determined to tell her afterwards, “But this is the last time.”
I understand why she does it. She’s the only real family I have left and she rather dotes on me. It’s nice to know someone thinks I’m special, even if she has an exasperating way of showing it.
“When I’m gone, who will take care of you?”
I remind her that I’ve been taking care of myself for a while. Almost 20 years, in fact. I had worked hard, earned a Fine Arts degree, and established a very successful interior design business. I own my own home, can afford pretty much what I want, and can travel where and when I please without anyone telling me I can't.
“So why do I need a man?”
She looks at me with great pity in her eyes and slowly shakes her head. “Poor dear, you don’t even realize how unhappy you are.” Then she pats my cheek, sighs, and walks away.
That’s Aunt Martha, a sweet, charming soul for whom I will even endure yet another blind date because maybe, just maybe, I really don’t know how unhappy I am.
So, I steel myself for the evening. Aunt Martha, being the premier cook that she is, always feeds me very well, so there is that to look forward to, since my idea of cooking is remembering how to set the timer for my TV dinner. But fine dining isn’t enough to make me look forward to being paired with a man I’ve never met and, two hours later (sometimes sooner), wishing I never had. For example, the last time I had dinner at Aunt Martha’s, she’d invited a young man named Wade who was tall, good-looking, and prosperous (I could tell by the designer logo displayed prominently on the t-shirt shirt under his sports coat). The nice young man before Wade – I forget his name – was a science teacher, who seemed initially quite unsure of himself. After a while he relaxed enough to relate in detail a classroom experiment involving frogs that made me push my plate away. The man before that, Jerry, came with his own six-pack, and I don’t mean abs.
No, great food isn’t enough. The fact is, I love Aunt Martha – even though I’m convinced she doesn’t have a clue as to the kind of man I’d be interested in. I look forward to spending time with her, if not with the stream of young men she “finds” for me. She’s a great hostess and makes everyone feel at home.
I understand why she does it. She’s the only real family I have left and she rather dotes on me. It’s nice to know someone thinks I’m special, even if she has an exasperating way of showing it.
“When I’m gone, who will take care of you?”
I remind her that I’ve been taking care of myself for a while. Almost 20 years, in fact. I had worked hard, earned a Fine Arts degree, and established a very successful interior design business. I own my own home, can afford pretty much what I want, and can travel where and when I please without anyone telling me I can't.
“So why do I need a man?”
She looks at me with great pity in her eyes and slowly shakes her head. “Poor dear, you don’t even realize how unhappy you are.” Then she pats my cheek, sighs, and walks away.
That’s Aunt Martha, a sweet, charming soul for whom I will even endure yet another blind date because maybe, just maybe, I really don’t know how unhappy I am.
So, I steel myself for the evening. Aunt Martha, being the premier cook that she is, always feeds me very well, so there is that to look forward to, since my idea of cooking is remembering how to set the timer for my TV dinner. But fine dining isn’t enough to make me look forward to being paired with a man I’ve never met and, two hours later (sometimes sooner), wishing I never had. For example, the last time I had dinner at Aunt Martha’s, she’d invited a young man named Wade who was tall, good-looking, and prosperous (I could tell by the designer logo displayed prominently on the t-shirt shirt under his sports coat). The nice young man before Wade – I forget his name – was a science teacher, who seemed initially quite unsure of himself. After a while he relaxed enough to relate in detail a classroom experiment involving frogs that made me push my plate away. The man before that, Jerry, came with his own six-pack, and I don’t mean abs.
No, great food isn’t enough. The fact is, I love Aunt Martha – even though I’m convinced she doesn’t have a clue as to the kind of man I’d be interested in. I look forward to spending time with her, if not with the stream of young men she “finds” for me. She’s a great hostess and makes everyone feel at home.
But I have to admit that her determination to find a husband for me does take some of the fun out of the evening. Frankly, I find her obsession somewhat mystifying. After all, she’s led a full and satisfying life without ever marrying at all. When I once reminded her of that, she replied, “Honey, just because one cow jumps over the fence doesn’t mean the whole herd should do the same.”
I had to think about that for a while.
Dinner is to be at seven o’clock, cocktails at 6:30, and since Aunt Martha does everything according to meticulous arrangement, I give myself plenty of time. My last consultation of the day finishes by 4:30, after which I go home and take a leisurely bubble bath, then sit for a half hour in my rocker with my ginger cat, Taffy, on my lap, both of us purring contentedly. If I didn’t enjoy Aunt Martha’s company and cuisine so much, I would happily stay in the rocker for the rest of the evening. But at six I am pulling on pantyhose and wondering halfheartedly what to wear. I settle on a nondescript burgundy dress that is chic yet at the same time could possibly blend into the maroon of Aunt Martha's dining room.
At 6:29 I am standing on her porch, a goldfoil-wrapped bottle of prosecco capped by a red ribbon in my hand, wishing I felt as festive. I can hear voices inside and detect the delicate perfume of vichyssoise, so, taking a deep breath, I pull the little chain on her quaint doorbell. The door opens almost immediately and the fortifying breath I was taking gets stuck in my throat. Before me stands, not simply the handsomest man I have ever seen, but the most utterly all-over attractive. He smiles and his very blue eyes sparkle. I feel a funny little flutter around my heart and a thought flashes uninvited through my brain: Aunt Martha, this time you got it right!
“Hi,” he says, “You must be Gretchen,” and then he opens the door wide. Beside him stands an equally stunning woman. My heart goes from flutter to flatline. “I’m David Tanner and this is my–“
“Gretchen, sweetie!” Aunt Martha’s trilling voice interrupts. “I see you’ve met the Tanners. Come on in, honey, and meet the rest of our happy little party.”
I meet Joe and Eileen, Jack and Alice, and Richard Somebody. But I find my eyes wandering despite my best efforts back to David Tanner and his wife, whose name I finally realize is Jenny. They sit across from me at dinner, and ask me about my work, my background, my likes and dislikes; they are even interested in my cat.
“We have two cats,” says David Tanner’s beautiful wife. “and they run the house!” She smiles conspiratorially at David and he laughs.
“You’ve got that right,” he says, his blue eyes luminous. When he looks over at me and winks, my stomach does a little dance. I shift uncomfortably. He’s a married man, I tell myself. Stop noticing how attractive he is. And how nice his wife is. And most of all, stop imagining that he’s flirting with you.
Richard, who is sitting next to me, says something that makes David and Jenny laugh. I don’t hear it because my ears are ringing. But when I begin to focus on the conversation and not on the married man with the blue eyes and magical smile, I find myself laughing and sharing in the conversation, and then I feel better about myself. At that point I am able to look David’s wife in the eyes without feeling guilty. But then during dessert she nudges David and says, “Don’t you think Gretchen looks like that movie star Matt’s so gaga over?” She adds for my benefit, “Matt’s our eleven-year-old son.”
Meanwhile, David is studying my face. I have a moment to be grateful the table is candlelit so he can’t see that my face matches my dress before he says, “Except Gretchen’s twice as pretty.”
I know at that instant that I have to leave and leave fast. I don’t want to know any more about this gorgeous man nor do I want to like him and his wife as much as I do. I rise abruptly.
Aunt Martha calls from the head of the table, “Honey, where are you going?”
“I’ve got an early day tomorrow, so I’ll have to say goodnight." The men rise. Richard pulls back my chair, I thank him and say something about how lovely it was meeting everyone, then I turn to leave. Aunt Martha catches me at the door.
“Gretchen, aren’t you going to stay a little longer? We were going to play Charades!”
“Nope,” I say, pulling on my jacket. “I’ve had enough pretending for one night. Thanks for a wonderful meal, as usual. I enjoyed meeting your friends, but I’m really tired and...”
She lowers her voice and says eagerly, “Well, what do you think of him?”
I glance back into the living room where the rest of the party has drifted. Richard is chatting with David’s wife by the fireplace.
“He’s very nice,” I say absently. “But, please, Aunt Martha, no more nice young men!”
She looks disappointed. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer? Maybe if you get to know him better –“
“No,” I say adamantly. “I know him well enough. Goodnight.”
I have my hand on the doorknob when she says, “Oh, and I did think David was perfect for you.”
I stop, turn toward her, mouth agape. “David? But then, who's Richard―?”
She continued as if I hadn't spoken, "David’s nice looking, intelligent, down-to-earth, just what I thought you wanted. I can tell he likes you. Oh well...”
My eyes go back to the living room.
“But I thought David and Jenny were – I mean...“
“Were what?”
Then it dawns on me. The Tanners. Richard Tanner was David's brother; it hadn't registered after one look into those ocean blue eyes. Jenny had sat across from Richard at dinner, as Aunt Martha always arranged her table guests ― partners facing each other. And David had sat across from me. I begin to chuckle.
Aunt Martha’s eyebrows come together. “Honey, are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, feeling supremely idiotic and exhilarated at the same time. I let the jacket fall from my shoulders. “Maybe I can stay just a little while longer. But Aunt Martha...”
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m telling you; this is the last time.”
Dinner is to be at seven o’clock, cocktails at 6:30, and since Aunt Martha does everything according to meticulous arrangement, I give myself plenty of time. My last consultation of the day finishes by 4:30, after which I go home and take a leisurely bubble bath, then sit for a half hour in my rocker with my ginger cat, Taffy, on my lap, both of us purring contentedly. If I didn’t enjoy Aunt Martha’s company and cuisine so much, I would happily stay in the rocker for the rest of the evening. But at six I am pulling on pantyhose and wondering halfheartedly what to wear. I settle on a nondescript burgundy dress that is chic yet at the same time could possibly blend into the maroon of Aunt Martha's dining room.
At 6:29 I am standing on her porch, a goldfoil-wrapped bottle of prosecco capped by a red ribbon in my hand, wishing I felt as festive. I can hear voices inside and detect the delicate perfume of vichyssoise, so, taking a deep breath, I pull the little chain on her quaint doorbell. The door opens almost immediately and the fortifying breath I was taking gets stuck in my throat. Before me stands, not simply the handsomest man I have ever seen, but the most utterly all-over attractive. He smiles and his very blue eyes sparkle. I feel a funny little flutter around my heart and a thought flashes uninvited through my brain: Aunt Martha, this time you got it right!
“Hi,” he says, “You must be Gretchen,” and then he opens the door wide. Beside him stands an equally stunning woman. My heart goes from flutter to flatline. “I’m David Tanner and this is my–“
“Gretchen, sweetie!” Aunt Martha’s trilling voice interrupts. “I see you’ve met the Tanners. Come on in, honey, and meet the rest of our happy little party.”
I meet Joe and Eileen, Jack and Alice, and Richard Somebody. But I find my eyes wandering despite my best efforts back to David Tanner and his wife, whose name I finally realize is Jenny. They sit across from me at dinner, and ask me about my work, my background, my likes and dislikes; they are even interested in my cat.
“We have two cats,” says David Tanner’s beautiful wife. “and they run the house!” She smiles conspiratorially at David and he laughs.
“You’ve got that right,” he says, his blue eyes luminous. When he looks over at me and winks, my stomach does a little dance. I shift uncomfortably. He’s a married man, I tell myself. Stop noticing how attractive he is. And how nice his wife is. And most of all, stop imagining that he’s flirting with you.
Richard, who is sitting next to me, says something that makes David and Jenny laugh. I don’t hear it because my ears are ringing. But when I begin to focus on the conversation and not on the married man with the blue eyes and magical smile, I find myself laughing and sharing in the conversation, and then I feel better about myself. At that point I am able to look David’s wife in the eyes without feeling guilty. But then during dessert she nudges David and says, “Don’t you think Gretchen looks like that movie star Matt’s so gaga over?” She adds for my benefit, “Matt’s our eleven-year-old son.”
Meanwhile, David is studying my face. I have a moment to be grateful the table is candlelit so he can’t see that my face matches my dress before he says, “Except Gretchen’s twice as pretty.”
I know at that instant that I have to leave and leave fast. I don’t want to know any more about this gorgeous man nor do I want to like him and his wife as much as I do. I rise abruptly.
Aunt Martha calls from the head of the table, “Honey, where are you going?”
“I’ve got an early day tomorrow, so I’ll have to say goodnight." The men rise. Richard pulls back my chair, I thank him and say something about how lovely it was meeting everyone, then I turn to leave. Aunt Martha catches me at the door.
“Gretchen, aren’t you going to stay a little longer? We were going to play Charades!”
“Nope,” I say, pulling on my jacket. “I’ve had enough pretending for one night. Thanks for a wonderful meal, as usual. I enjoyed meeting your friends, but I’m really tired and...”
She lowers her voice and says eagerly, “Well, what do you think of him?”
I glance back into the living room where the rest of the party has drifted. Richard is chatting with David’s wife by the fireplace.
“He’s very nice,” I say absently. “But, please, Aunt Martha, no more nice young men!”
She looks disappointed. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer? Maybe if you get to know him better –“
“No,” I say adamantly. “I know him well enough. Goodnight.”
I have my hand on the doorknob when she says, “Oh, and I did think David was perfect for you.”
I stop, turn toward her, mouth agape. “David? But then, who's Richard―?”
She continued as if I hadn't spoken, "David’s nice looking, intelligent, down-to-earth, just what I thought you wanted. I can tell he likes you. Oh well...”
My eyes go back to the living room.
“But I thought David and Jenny were – I mean...“
“Were what?”
Then it dawns on me. The Tanners. Richard Tanner was David's brother; it hadn't registered after one look into those ocean blue eyes. Jenny had sat across from Richard at dinner, as Aunt Martha always arranged her table guests ― partners facing each other. And David had sat across from me. I begin to chuckle.
Aunt Martha’s eyebrows come together. “Honey, are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, feeling supremely idiotic and exhilarated at the same time. I let the jacket fall from my shoulders. “Maybe I can stay just a little while longer. But Aunt Martha...”
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m telling you; this is the last time.”
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