The Table We Kept
Five years after a cancelled dinner, two former partners return to the same table and reconsider their future.
They had reserved the table five years earlier and then cancelled on the night. She had been the one who left. He had been the one who stayed in the city. Neither of them had deleted the other’s number.
She saw him first. He was already seated, jacket over the back of the chair, looking at the menu as if he might still order for two. She stopped in the doorway. He looked up. For a second neither of them moved. Then he stood.
“The same table,” she said.
“Five years later,” he answered.
They sat. The table was the same. The conversation was careful at first. Work. The city. The friend who had once introduced them and then moved away. She told him she had come back six months ago. He told her he had almost texted when he saw her name on a mutual friend’s list and had not. She nodded. She had done the same.
Halfway through the meal he said, “I still have the key you left.”
“I still have the one you gave me.”
They finished the wine. Outside the street was wet. He offered to walk her to the tram. She said her flat was closer. They walked in the same direction without deciding who was following. At the corner he stopped.
“I can go,” he said.
“Don’t.”
Her flat was small and warm. They stood inside the door for a long moment. She touched the side of his face. He closed his eyes. When she kissed him it was slow, the way it had been at the beginning, before either of them had known how to leave. He kissed her back with both hands on her waist. She stepped out of her shoes. He shrugged off the jacket.
They undressed each other without speaking. She lay back on the bed and he followed. He kissed down her stomach and between her legs until she was pulling at his hair and saying his name. When he moved up she guided him in. The first thrust made both of them go still. He stayed there, forehead against hers, until she nodded. Then he moved. Slow at first, then deeper when she wrapped her legs around him. She came with her face turned into his neck. He came a minute later, still inside her, one hand braced beside her head.
Afterwards they lay on their sides. Her hand rested on his chest. His thumb moved over her shoulder.
“I cancelled because I was afraid I would stay,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’m not afraid of that anymore.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Then stay tonight. We’ll decide the rest in the morning.”
She nodded against the pillow. Outside the rain kept falling. The table they had reserved five years ago was empty again. Neither of them cared.