A Thousand Threads

The woman peers, seemingly mesmerised, into the flickering light cast by the table candle. Lifting her glass to sip finely-aged Merlot delicately, her eyes rove the bar, resolutely looking past the doorway in case he enters and she’s caught watching the street like a fresh debutante on her first night out of her parents' house. Instead, her gaze returns to the candle, and she reaches out a finger to twirl the delicate holder, face pensive.

He chooses this moment to arrive - late - removing his coat frosted with misty raindrops. His shoes have suffered the shallow puddles that cluster on the uneven pavement outside, and he brushes them nervously against what serves as a doormat in this fine establishment.

She looks up as he approaches, her chest rising and falling, tight against her sleek red blouse. He wonders quickly if she chose it specifically for tonight, but then she smiles, gaze guarded.

“Hi,” she murmurs, her voice blending with the soft music playing across the dimly lit room.

“Hi.”

He settles across the table from her, glancing one last time at his phone before tucking it into his back pocket. It is never far from his person, not even on nights like tonight. The shape of it is comforting in a way the presence of other people is not.

A waitress appears, takes his order for a simple pint, and his date’s mouth tucks in at the corners. A quick glance around the room reveals his mistake; this is not some street corner pub or sticky-floored club. It is an establishment of fine wine, a gin bar, a whiskey dive. The crimson liquid in the wineglass before her seems to shimmer in shared disappointment. She lifts it and drinks as his guilty pint arrives, a coaster slapped on the table. He fiddles with the corner.

“Thank you for making the time,” she begins. “I know you’re busy-”

“- not too busy for this,” he interrupts, flashing a quick smile. “Thank you for meeting me. And for choosing the time and place.”

She quirks the corner of her mouth in response, then sips her wine again. The candlelight dances between them and he draws a finger down the side of his glass, condensation tracing his touch.

“I’ve always wanted to come here,” she ventures quietly, her eyes again roaming the room.

It is nearly empty, the night drawing to a close. They’ve met late, adjusting schedules and lifestyles to be available for each other. Only a few hidden booths contain other patrons of the establishment, a few cosied up in comfortable ways that make both of them uneasy. She removes her gaze from a couple nearby, her fingers meeting on the stem of the wineglass, her eyes on the tabletop.

He clears his throat. “Did you get here alright?”

She looks up. “Yes, by train. And you?”

He nods, glad to find something in common. “Also the train.”

The threads of a thousand subjects branch away from both of them, but she doesn’t select one and instead toys with the candle holder.

He tries anyway. “No drama on the train?”

She goes to shake her head, but pauses. His heart leaps. “A man sat in the quiet carriage and then proceeded to have a loud conversation on the phone.”

At last, a victory. He savours it - and a sip of his beer - nodding all the while. “Ah, people. I hate that.”

Another small smile, but her eyes are on her wine, not him. “Me too.”

He casts his mind for another conversational thread to get her talking. He’d known it was going to be difficult, but not quite like this. “You’ve always wanted to come here, you said?”

“Yes. I’ve heard a great deal about it.”

Curiosity prompts the next line of conversation, easy and natural. “Why haven’t you been here before?”

She shifts on her chair. “My husband didn’t like going out. He preferred to stay home on the weekends.”

He presses his lips together, his eyes falling to the foamy surface of his beer. “I see. You’re married?”

Her eyes seek his. “I was. And you?”

He holds her gaze steady for a few seconds. His heart squeezes painfully for a second, and he resists the urge to rub his chest to soothe it. “Ah… yeah. I was too.”

She doesn’t relinquish him, tilting her head to the side. “What happened?”

“I’m still not sure. We drifted apart, I think. Became different people, with different wants and needs.”

She nods, steepling her fingers. Her gaze turns distant. “That happens, sometimes. I think it’s human nature that we grow and change.”

“But so much so that we outgrow people?” His voice tightens. “People that we made a vow to?”

She says nothing for a second, and his face grows warm. “Sorry. That’s a bit heavy for… for a first date.”

She lifts a hand as though to physically catch the apology. “I was thinking about how to respond. Do you believe that a certain version of yourself can make a vow that future you should be held to? Or do we review those vows every few years, update and adjust them accordingly?”

He wraps a hand around the cold glass before him. “That’s a very mechanical way to think about marriage.”

She raises slim shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I believe these things are best discussed with a cool head.”

He half-smiles. “What about passion?”

“What of it?”

“Marriage should be built on it. A passion for each other, a fire, a lust that can’t be tamed. Surely marriage is an agreement between two people that they need no other sustenance but each other.”

She laughs a little at that, but it isn’t unkind. “Passion is fleeting. Vows grow outdated. The entire institution of marriage is based on the idea that people settle, grow comfortable, and never seek outside validation or stimulation. It is tidy. Neat. Polite. Real life isn’t any of those.”

“I see.” He takes a hefty drink, buys himself a moment. Resists the urge to check his phone. “So you are happier, then… outside the ‘confines’ of marriage?”

“Sometimes,” she admits. Her eyes flick to his face and then away. “I like visiting restaurants and exploring museums that my husband had no interest in. I appreciate the freedom of choice that single life represents.”

He waits a moment. “But?” he prompts, slightly hopeful.

She sighs. “But I miss the companionship. The reliability. The passion,” she concedes, casting a small smile his way. His heart leaps in response. “How about you? Enjoying your bachelor life?”

He gives a non-committal shrug. “My bathroom is free of makeup. I can have beer in the fridge without worrying if it’s low calorie.” She laughs openly, and he smiles, continues, “Sports on the telly every night, fish and chips for dinner on a Wednesday.”

“Sounds like the life,” she teases, accepting a fresh glass of wine from the waitress. Her eyes sparkle over the rim.

He smiles briefly. “Sometimes, yes. But,” he glances into the beer before him, as though the foam will form the words for him. “I miss her.”

His date doesn’t respond, but when he looks up, she’s waiting expectantly, brows creased upwards.

“Sometimes, I miss her more than I can bear,” he admits. “Her spot on the side of the bed, the way she stole the covers just before dawn. Every morning, she’d get a cup out for my coffee and set the kettle boiling. Little things,” he finishes, clears his throat. Then adds, “Plus, normal beer makes me bloat. I didn’t mind the low calorie beer.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Did you ever tell her that?”

His shoulders slump, and he presses his lips together. “No. For some reason, having control of the fridge and the telly seemed more important than letting her know she was right.”

He expects a quick, snappy response, but when he chances an upwards glance, she’s nodding.

“The restaurants are lovely. The art galleries are superb, as are the museums but… it doesn’t feel right going alone.” She meets his gaze, fingers twirling her wine glass. “I miss him too.”

He takes a deep breath, pushes the beer aside. The waitress materialises by the table.

“Another drink?”

“Yeah, uh…” he pulls the drink menu to him, glances at his date. “What would you recommend?”

Her expression shifts a little, lights her eyes as she smiles slightly. “Their gin list is five pages long.”

He nods, lips pursed. “I’ve always wanted to try gin.”

He orders one at random. The waitress nods, turns to his date. “And you?”

She takes the drink menu, considers, closes it. “What low calorie beers do you have?”

He grins, full and hearty, as the waitress leaves the table with their orders. She returns it in kind.

The breath leaves his body for a moment, and his heart shucks the ache as it begins to beat rapidly. “So… updated vows, huh? How often would you make them?”

She considers. “Once a year? I feel like a person can change a lot in a year.”

His phone buzzes. Without looking, he reaches into his pocket and switches it off. “I agree.”

“What vows would you make?” she asks.

He rubs his jaw. “I’d vow to get her tea mug out in the morning sometimes. To buy an extra large blanket so it didn’t matter if she stole some of it. And…” His eyes meet hers. “I’d go with her to all the places she’d ever wanted to go. I’d vow to always tell her when she was right, no matter what.”

Her eyes gleam in the candlelight, and she swallows. A small smile comes to her lips. “I’d vow to let him watch sports whenever he wanted. I’d vow to clean up the bathroom cabinet from time to time. And… I’ll try to stop stealing the blankets.”

He reaches across the table, her hand meeting his for the first time in a year. He wraps his fingers around hers as though he can hold her in this moment.

“I know this is only our first date,” he says, smiling, but his eyes are damp with tears. “But is it possible you’d consider marrying me... again?”