It's what we are both are thinking and is the first thing that comes out of my mouth. Too much has happened. It's been too many years. We are too different. He doesn't know I was married and, for all I know, he could be.
"Come on. We met for lunch. Let me take you. We should at least catch up." He grabs my elbow.
We end up at Lucy's Cantina Royale and we are having beer and enchiladas before we realize.
"Somehow, eating Mexican actually feels right" I wonder if he feels the same way. Even this little admission feels like I am putting myself out there. I'm feeling like I'm talking to a stranger.
"Yeah." He's washing down some refried beans and put his mug down before continuing. He lifts his head up and faces me with a crooked and sly smile. "You really didn't believe that crap about not eating Mexican again, honey. You're with me." The smile grows. "I'm sure you think of Mexico when oh think of me...and visa versa. And I know I'm not wrong ." He picks his fork up again and fishes around his plate before finding the enchilada and cutting a piece off. "Of course, this is pretty much the messiest stuff you can eat..if you're going to ask me."
'For fuck's sake,' I'm thinking. He's even cockier than before. Does he expect I'm going to melt when I'm with him? I'm a middle aged woman with an ex husband and two kids. I'm not the same person that nursed him back to health while we fought for our lives.
"So... What have you been up to?" I counter. "What have you been doing with yourself?"
"Oh, a little bit of this and a little bit of that." He goes back to his meal.
"Um, well, I have two kids and I'm getting a divorce." Why is my throat so dry and why don't I have an appetite? "I'm in private practice and I live in the, um, you know, 'burbs, in Nyack." My beer is a good distraction. "You?"
"Well, what do you want to know?" He smiles and his teeth are preternaturally white, particularly for a smoker. He takes off his shades and it's a shock.
"Do you like them? Had 'em done a few years ago. It's easier not to worry about people passing out or throwing up when I take my my specs off. "
If you look closely you can see that his eyelids have been refashioned with skin grafts and, of course, he must have prosthetic eyes. They're a dark brown. At first glance, though, they are incredibly real looking. If I hadn't known, I don't think I would have noticed right away.
"Oh my god, Jeff. They look so great. They did an amazing job."
"I guess," he shrugs and actually appears to look me in the eyes. He reaches down to pet his dog, who is sitting quietly at his feet and scratches the scruff of her neck. "Lucy's such a good girl." And I realize that this is not the same man I knew. This is a blind stranger with a familiar killer smile but newly graying temples and skin that is a little worn. I do not know why I am even here.