by J. J. Murray
This ... this is passionate.
“It is sweet,” she says.
“How, uh, how hungry are you?” I ask, and as soon as I ask, I know I turn beet red.
“I’ll eat whatever food you feed me, Joe,” she says.
My heart is thudding. “Um, let’s get back to the van where it’s warmer.”
The van warms up long before the heater finally kicks in because we feed each other grapes. One at a time. Slowly. Passionately.
“I am fit to burst,” she says after we’ve gone through at least two bunches. She holds up one last grape. “This is your last grape tonight, Joe.” Then she puts it between her lips ...
I remove my seat belt so I don’t have to strain as much and look into her soft brown eyes. I tilt my head slightly and get close enough for my lips to touch the grape—
And she sucks the grape and my lips right next to her lips for the briefest of moments.
“Hey,” I say, pulling back. “That was my grape.”
“You want another chance?” she asks.
I check the clock on the radio. Nine fifteen? We’ve been out for almost two hours? I watch her eyes travel to her watch.
“I want another chance,” I say, “when we have more time.”
She smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And we’ll need more than eight pounds.”
She fans the air in front of her face with her hand. “Why, Mr. Murphy, you’re so fresh.”
Fresh. That’s what all this is. Fresh and new and alive and—
She holds up another grape. “Just one more?”
“Shawna,” I say, “then we’ll be here all night.”
She nods and places the grape on my lips. “We better go.”
I hold the grape between my lips so she can “kiss” a grape away from me, but she turns away and puts on her seat belt.
I pull the grape into my mouth.
Not nearly as sweet.
26
Shawna
Well, I almost got kissed anyway.
I need to slow down. We need to slow down. It’s obvious that we more than like each other, and it’s also obvious that Joe’s holding back a little. I understand. Here I am, another woman in what has to be his wife’s van, trying to entice him to a kiss using grapes.
At least I know what Rema meant, and we will be eating more grapes.
One at a time.
We get to The Castle about nine thirty, and Joe walks me to the door. “I had a really—”
But then his hands are holding my face, his nose touching mine, and I can’t finish my sentence. “I had a really ... too,” he says.
Here it comes. A kiss eight years in the making. A seedless grapeless kiss.
But instead of a kiss, he slides his hands down my face to my neck, to my shoulders, down my arms, to my waist ...
Another hug, this one longer, deeper. I kiss his neck without thinking, and he kisses me on the cheek. “Don’t eat all the grapes,” he whispers.
“I won’t,” I whisper back. “Do you want my phone number, Mr. Murphy?”
“Sure.”
I whisper it to him once, and he whispers it back. I get goose bumps. Whispering sure is a memorable thing to do.
He steps back, I turn and unlock the door, he steps farther back, I step inside.
End of date.
Whew!
I feel twenty years younger.
I have just been on a date with a man, my breath has to smell like grapes, and I got a kiss on the cheek. And now I’m going to get online with him.
I feel so close to him right now!
Or should I call him? He shouldn’t be too hard to find in the phone book. But what if one of his kids answers? I’ll just act like a bad driver (which I’m not) who has had an accident. I find a listing for “Murphy, C and J.” Joe hasn’t gotten around to removing the C. Hmm. That’s pretty telling right there. Maybe I shouldn’t—
I dial the number ...
And it’s busy. Maybe a real bad driver is calling him. Either that or Rose or one of his sons is on the phone. Hmm. I’ll just have to write him, then.
Dear Joe:
I had so much fun tonight. It was good to get out of the apartment and get some calories and fresh air. And grapes.
Oh, this letter is about as intimate as filing my nails. I need to start over.
Dear Joe:
You have a nice booty.
Oh, I can’t tell him that! Man, I am so hyper right now, and I only had one scoop of ice cream. I delete the booty line.
Dear Joe:
I wish we had more time together tonight. I wish you were with me right now.
I do. I should have a man to snuggle up with after a date. I should have a man to massage my feet after a hard day. I should have a man rubbing my back, my neck, my lower back—
I look at the screen. I guess this will have to do for now, but I’m not satisfied with this alone. I need to touch him. I need him to touch me. I mean, this e-mailing is keeping in touch, but it’s not the kind of touching I want to do. And I want more than a peck on the cheek.
If your work schedule allows it, please visit me at McDonald’s this week. I’ll be working 8:30-3:30 Monday through Saturday.
Am I begging here? Do I sound too desperate? I am desperate! But wait—I don’t even know if he feels the same way as I do yet. I have to know that he’s as desperate for me as I am for him. He did kiss me on the lips. Sort of. After I tricked him. And I told him to write me, and he will. I’ll just have to wait for his e-mail. Yeah. I’ll just have to wait on the Lord a little longer.
27
Joe
I told her I’d write her, but I can’t put into words how I feel. I write a series of really bad beginnings:
My dearest Shawna:
How I enjoyed this evening with you so close to me ...
Dearest Shawna:
I wish you were with me right now so I wouldn’t have to write another boring e-mail ...
Shawna, my dear:
I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, and I’m finding it hard to put into words all that I’m feeling for you ...
But what if, after seeing me “in action,” she doesn’t feel the same way I feel?
It’s so hard to figure out tone and attitude from an e-mail, though from what I’ve written, I know that I’m gushing too much. Was I this way with Cheryl? Am I a gusher? I don’t come from gushing people, so what’s happening to me? I eat a few grapes, and I start to gush. I blame the grapes.
I have to hear her voice. That’s the only way I’ll be able to tell if we’re ... If we’re what? An item? That’s so old-fashioned. A couple? Significant others? Main squeezes?
I delete the latest gushing e-mail and write:
Dear Shawna.
I miss you already. As soon as Joey gets off the phone, I will call you. How late will you stay up?
Joe
The first part is kind of gushy, but the second part shows I’m kind of pushy. I want her to know that I’m a man of action, despite my seeming inability to kiss a woman on the lips when she obviously wanted me to.
On the cheek? What was I thinking?
This e-mail isn’t very romantic at all. Should I change the ending to “your friend, Joe”?
Just send the darn thing, stupid.
28
Shawna
I’m saved! He misses me! Yes!
Dear Joe:
I’ll stay up as long as it takes.
Shawna
For thirty minutes ... then forty ... fifty—c’mon, Joey, give us a break here, huh?—I wait, pacing my feet in front of me, the phone in my hand. The kids are all asleep, I should be asleep, the world outside is asleep as flurries drift down ... and now my hand is asleep from holding on to this phone for so long.
The phone rings, and I catch it on the first half ring, taking a deep breath, lowering my voice, and saying, “Hello?”
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
I
hear him exhale. It’s like we’ve been running some endurance race and we’ve finally made it to the finish line.
“I had the worst time writing you, Shawna,” he says.
“Me, too, I mean, I had the worst time writing to you, too.”
“When can I see you again?”
Music to my ears! “Is tomorrow too soon?” I have no time to be subtle now.
“Where?”
“Come to McDonald’s.”
He laughs. “I plan to. Daily. Hourly. I might spend my whole day there. There are lots of fender-benders in the Crossroads parking lot.”
More music. “I usually take a break around one thirty. Do you, um, do you like coffee?”
“Yes,” he whispers, “the darker the better.”
Oh ... my. “Um, I, uh ... Well.” I’m warming up. Are the kitchen windows fogging? Whoo. “Um, do you like apple pies?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Okay. It’s a date.” A daily date for hot, dark coffee and some steaming apple pie.
“Shawna, can I be honest with you?”
Strange question, but ... “Haven’t you always been honest with me?”
“Yes, but this is different.”
“I’m all ears.” And dancing feet!
“Whenever everything is falling apart here, I think about you and pray for you, and it makes me feel better.”
Oh, the man can pluck my soul.
“I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’ve been praying that you would keep writing to me, praying that you wouldn’t forget about me, afraid I was trying too hard, writing too much, asking too many questions. I was hoping that I wasn’t becoming a burden to you.”
He’s practically strumming my soul now. “You’ve never been a burden to me, Joe. You have gotten me through so many hard days, you just don’t know.”
“I have?”
“Yes.” And nights, too, but I don’t want to tell him that yet.
“Shawna, I’m beginning to believe that all this is a part of God’s plan for me, for us. Do you ... feel that way, too?”
I giggle. It’s not the most appropriate time to do so, but I actually giggle. And then I can’t stop giggling. I’m laughing in my kitchen with tears in my eyes because I’m so happy.
“Are you all right?”
“Of course I am, Joe. I haven’t been this happy in a long time, and true happiness comes from God, so ... yes. This feels right. It feels ... heavenly. It’s like a heavenly conspiracy or something.”
“We’re being manipulated,” he says.
“By forces beyond our control,” I add.
“Right.”
I wipe my eyes. “Then you know we have to involve our kids.”
“I know, I know.” He sighs. “But I can’t think of a way to break it to them gently. My kids think we’re just friends. Can you think of a way to let them know we’re, um, more than friends?”
I sigh. “No. I can’t. They’re going to be hurt, maybe even shocked.”
“Yeah.”
“But Toni and Junior don’t mind.”
“Toni is so cute.”
I smile. “Thank you. I hope she stays that way. Crystal is going to be the toughest sell. She’s been my chaperone for so long. What about your kids?”
Joe sighs. “Joey might be okay with it, and probably Jimmy. But Rose ... There’s no telling how Rose will react.”
I shouldn’t have to do all this thinking at ... one in the morning?
“Do you think we’re rushing?” he asks.
“Joe, I don’t think we’re moving fast enough.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Joe?”
“I’m just ... Aren’t I supposed to be in mourning? This time last year I was carrying my wife to the bathroom, and now ...”
He’s having doubts. That’s why I only got a peck on the cheek. I know I would have had my doubts this soon after Rodney’s death. I can’t blame him. “It has happened kind of fast—for you, I mean. For me, it can’t happen fast enough.”
“Shawna, I think—and hope—that I’ve found someone to love, and I hope that someone is you.”
Oh, that wonderful L-word!
“I just wish ... I wish there was more time in between, you know? More time for some wounds to heal. But that isn’t fair to you.”
“I can wait.” I smile. “I will wait. I mean, I have waited, right? Just ...”
“Just what?”
“Just don’t keep me waiting too long, okay?” I have to be realistic about this.
I’m a couple years shy of forty, and for whatever reason, that seems to be the cut-off line for romance in this country and this city. Thirty-nine-year-olds can get some action, but “forty” is another “F-word” to the men around here.
“I don’t want to wait.”
Whoo. He sounds so sure. Maybe I can coax him a little. “Joe, you have made me feel so special, so needed, so alive. As long as you stop by for coffee and an apple pie every day until you’re sure, I can wait.” Though I really don’t want to. I am a heart deep in love.
My God. I love him.
I love him.
“I love you, Joe.”
“I love you, too, Shawna.”
Unlike the movies where music swells and the sun suddenly comes up or sets into a brilliant display of God’s handiwork, nothing happens. Nothing.
Nothing visible anyway.
Inside, though. Yeah. There are some fireworks going off and marching bands playing and waterfalls of happiness crashing on all sorts of rocks.
Hollywood will never be able to film all that.
29
Joe
For the next several weeks, I drink coffee and eat apple pies with Shawna. Her crew has already figured “us” out, and Shawna tells me they’re happy for us.
“Mainly because I’m being less of a taskmaster with them,” she says. “It’s hard to be mean when you’re so happy. Besides, I’m the only Bible many of them will ever read, so I’m a much better witness when I’m happy.”
The only Bible many of them will ever read. What an awesome statement.
Shawna and I talk about anything and everything, but mostly we discuss our kids. It’s all been so strange and wonderful. When Cheryl was alive, I used to talk mostly about my house, what Cheryl had me building, my job, where I planned to travel on vacation. Now here I am talking about the three people who have become my life.
Shawna is an incredible listener. It is so nice to talk to an adult. I don’t have to explain myself nearly as much, don’t have to fuss at all, and definitely don’t have to raise my voice. We’re two still, small voices talking to each other in a booth at McDonald’s. Sure, it’s not what most people would say is romantic, but it’s romantic enough for me.
“What’s it like being an insurance adjuster?” she asks today, the first time she has ever asked me about my job.
“It’s okay. Most folks are glad to see me because I cut them checks on the spot. I meet people by accident, you know.”
She laughs softly. “Things just don’t happen by accident, Joe. Look at us.”
I take another sip, another bite of pie, and collect my thoughts. Unlike when I’m talking to my kids, I can actually take a few moments to think when I’m around Shawna. As rushed as all this has been, we take our time when we talk. There’s no hurry at all.
“Joe?”
Okay, sometimes there’s some hurry. “Sorry. I was lost in some thoughts.”
“Any good ones?”
I smile. “They were all about you, so they were all good.”
“You’re trying to get another free apple pie today, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. Or ...”
“Or what?”
“Maybe I’ll get another hug today.”
She widens her eyes. “Slow down, now. You don’t want us moving too fast, now.”
We have yet to kiss. Crazy. We love each other, we’ve hugged, and we haven’t kissed. “You know I want to do so much more.”
She licks her lower lip, softening her eyes. “You want to make my day, huh?”
“Yes.”
“And my nights, too?”
Whew. She’s good at this game. I am such a novice. “Yes. You know I do.”
“Just checking.” She looks away, a smile creasing her pretty face.
“Why do you do that?”
She looks back. “Do what?”
30
Shawna
I have been flirting my booty off with this man. I haven’t flirted like this ever, and it seems to be working.
I cannot let this man’s heart rest for a single moment.
I want him to leave here each day wishing he could drive me home, take me into my room, and ... Sorry, Lord. You know what I mean. I have to keep him wanting me twenty-four hours a day.
“I mean, we’re sitting here talking, right?”
“Right,” I whisper. It is a soft, sultry whisper, one I’ve almost perfected.
“And you’re looking at me the entire time licking your lips while I’m trying not to slurp my coffee or make a pig of myself with these pies, and as soon as I get going, you stop me with a smile or a look or that whisper of yours and I can’t think.”
My plan is working. “Yeah?”
“Shawna, I can’t get two sentences together in my head when I’m around you that don’t involve ...” His face reddens.
“That don’t involve what?”
He shakes his head. “There you go again.”
“What?”
“You’re flirting with me again.”
I bat my eyes at him. “You’ve noticed.”
“I can’t help but notice. From the second I walk in here until I leave, it’s like you’re trying to seduce me.”
