Tango

                                       The opposite of love is not hatred, it's indifference.

                                                                                     

                                                                                                Elie Wiesel




Could she say she loved him?

Yes, she did. She always had and she always would.

That's just how it goes sometimes.

The restaurant he chose was in a cheerless and traffic filled part of town but was known for miles around to have very decent steaks. She was not a meat eater. There were a few salads on the menu but she chose to have a regular cup of hot tea instead. No worries of spurting cherry tomatoes or dangling lettuce leaves from her mouth while trying to answer his poorly timed questions or choking on a radish slice when he made his silly priggish comments. No, sipping tea didn't get in the way of any of that.

He ate his steak. She sipped her tea.

Between his bites of bloody red meat and mushy potato they had their conversation. Twice meat juice would dribble down his chin making him appear like a hungry rabid animal and twice she would try not to choke on her tea or spit it clear across the table.

But, she loved him. Despite herself.

That's just how it goes sometimes.

He took no care to be concerned that nothing on the menu appealed to her. He wanted his steak. The price was good after all. 

Besides, he thought--she was getting a tad too thick in the middle for his liking. She could have used a salad or two. Despite the fact she had birthed two of his children, raised them beautifully and was closing in on fifty---getting remiss about one's body was no excuse. He watched as she sipped her tea. Cold and unmoved by the conversation. Her indifference poorly hidden under pretended interest.

But he loved her. 

He always had and probably always would.

That's just how it goes sometimes.