A Sip of You(81)

I’d barely unpacked all the groceries when Minerva showed up, wearing a frilly apron to protect her black slacks and red blouse. She bustled into the kitchen and got right to work. I helped with the simple things like sifting the flour and measuring the dry ingredients, but Minerva handled the whipping and mixing, and the stirring and folding. As she worked, she hummed happily, the tune undoubtedly from some aria she once sang on stage in front of thousands of adoring fans. I knew the look of contentment on her face. I’d seen it on Beckett’s a hundred times. On William’s too.

“So how is your William?” Minerva asked, as though reading my thoughts. “You are cooking for him, ja? That is a good sign. He’s handsome, that one.” She smiled almost dreamily. I loved that even my nearly eighty-year-old neighbor wasn’t immune to William’s charm and good looks.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her the torte was going to be the only thing I cooked. It was the thought that counted, right?

When the torte was in the AGA, I made Minerva a cup of coffee and we leaned on the kitchen counter. “So are the two of you in love?” she asked.

I felt a flush creep up my cheeks. “Am I that obvious?” I asked.

“Only because I know you. You would not cook for just anyone. It must be love.”

I wanted to believe that. “How did you know you loved Mr. Himmler?”

“Ha. Some days I’m not certain I do love Hans. The man can be infuriating.”

I thought of Hans in his brown cardigan, sitting in the chair by the fire, quietly reading the paper. He didn’t look infuriating.

Minerva continued. “Is love something you know, Catherine, or something you decide? Your heart”—she touched her chest—“has made its decision. Now your head stands too much in the way. You young people think love is something you feel all the time. What is it you say? I fell out of love. No.” She shook her head. “When it is true love, you make a decision to love no matter what comes. Do you know how long Hans and I have been married?”

I shook my head.

“Last week we celebrated fifty years.”

I blinked. “I didn’t even know. Congratulations. I should have brought you a gift.”

She waved my suggestion away. “Thank you, but we have everything we could ever want. The point is, do you think I have been in love with Hans every day for the last fifty years?”

“Yes?”

“No! There have been many days, sometimes entire years, when I was not in love with Hans. I didn’t even like him! “

I couldn’t imagine fifty years with William. It was a lifetime. “What kept you married during those years, then?”

“I made a decision to love, Catherine, ja? I made it here.” She touched her temple. “And here.” She touched her heart. “You cannot trust feelings. Relationships are like those carnival rides.” She made a wave motion with her hand.

“Roller coasters?”

“Ja. Some people get scared when they speed too fast or go upside down. They never see how the ride ends. They jump on another ride, only to abandon it also when they grow bored or restless.” She leaned close. “Decide to stay until the end of the ride. Yes, it will not always be pleasant, but frightening twists are worth the exhilaration at the end.”

I saw far too much of myself in Minerva’s analogy. Whenever my relationship with William frightened me, I jumped off. He, however, was steady. He never seemed to doubt his feelings for me. Tonight was my chance to tell him I didn’t doubt mine for him. I had decided to love, no matter what.

***

I didn’t hear from William for the rest of the day, and I finally texted around five to make sure he was still coming.

Be there at seven.

His message seemed a bit abrupt, but I figured he was probably in the middle of a meeting. A half an hour before he arrived, I set a beautiful table with a white tablecloth, candles, and the flowers I’d picked up at the corner store. I had pizza from this little place I loved warming in the AGA. I knew pizza wasn’t quite on par with salmon mousse or Warm Oysters with Champagne Sabayon, but it was edible. Not to mention warm and gooey with a crispy thin crust. It smelled delicious.

I’d also picked up a six-pack of beer and two bottles of red wine. I made a salad—okay, I opened one of those bags of salad mix and poured it in a bowl—and I had my pièce de résistance, the chocolate torte, on a pedestal in the kitchen. Or perhaps I was the pièce de résistance. I’d changed into the sexiest lingerie I could find, which happened to be a set William had brought back with him from California. I had on crotchless black lace panties, garters and black silk-stockings, and a leather bustier. I’d pulled on a short black skirt, high black leather heels, and a little cardigan. The bustier pushed my girls up and out, and I didn’t think I needed anything more to attract William’s attention.