Pas de Deux: Entrée

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They approached each other on a slippery concrete walk. Their eyes met. Though she was usually unflappable, she missed a step. He was sometimes oblivious, but noticed, reaching for her elbow, sliding his hand to the meat of her tricep, steadying her wobbling frame. She blushed, a warm pink starting low and blooming high. In that moment of contact, it seemed to her that he would never let her down. Even as her legs splayed and her arms stood akimbo in the earthquake of feminism that cracked glass ceilings and rocked couples to a new generation’s music, she trusted him.

 

Disaster Averted

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“What if I said yes?” Kat propped her elbows on the breakfast counter.

 Grant slipped a spatula under the edge of Kat’s omelet. “To onions? Too late.”

“No, to marriage.” She pushed dark bedhead curls from her furrowed brow.

 “Oh, that. Co-ordinate benefits. Joint checking. Widow’s pension if you get lucky and I don’t. Your mother would be pleased.” He stopped in mid lift. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“The couple in Paris. That stupid game. I know you now.”

A burnt smell. “Don’t distract me.” Grant flipped the eggs, pivoted. “Then, kiss me, Kate.” A hug.

Proposal # Six

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For Kat’s birthday, Grant made a board game. He scoured thrift shops, looking for tokens. The game squares read: darkest secret, childhood fear, favorite sexual position. They played together. Sometimes with close friends. She liked the heart token. He liked the stallion. The Identity Forest, a square decorated with tall oaks surrounded by question marks, asked: “Do you know yourself?” The answer was in the True Confessions stack. One card said, “I’ll marry Grant.” If a friend read it, they had a laugh. But he proposed each time she landed on that square, in case Kat drew the desired answer.