The Dinner

He had waited all week to meet her, and now the time had come.  The dinner reservations were made, he was shaved, his hair shampooed and carefully messed. This was his first date in over a year and his approaching fiftieth birthday scared him; he was ready, finally. Her blond hair glowed in the evening light and lay softly on her bare, pearly shoulders, revealing her thirty-something years. His eyes were captured by the flash of white from her perfectly aligned teeth, framed by red lips, slightly open. “Hi there,” she said. “Glad to meet you.” They laughed and she touched his arm occasionally when they drove to the restaurant. Once parked, he circled the car and opened the door on her side, an old-fashioned gesture. He was proud to walk beside her into the specially chosen, cozy restaurant and then to follow her to the table by the starlit window. They drank wine, laughed together, and discovered they had the same favorite movie. She never lost her composure when he told her about the operation, that they got it all, that he was well now. Her green eyes even moistened, and she touched his arm again, lightly this time. They didn’t laugh on the ride home, and he raked his mind for conversation. He walked her to her doorstep and leaned slightly in her direction. She turned abruptly to open the front door as she said, “Thank you.”  She stepped inside, said, “Good night,” and closed the door.