“We were sharing our thoughts,” Timothy said. “But in so doing, we became stupefied by the process of soul matching. Getting knocked out with the suddenness of Cupid’s arrow befuddles even the most solid of individuals.
“I do beg your forgiveness for my earlier rudeness. I know you tried to prepare me, Judy. I only half believed, and then . . . Well, you were absolutely right. There is no doubt. Penelope is the one I was waiting for.”
As if my brain hadn’t been, what had Timothy called it? — ah yes, befuddled. . . Hearing his words and the sincerity in his delivery of them, I was suddenly doubly befuddled, if there was such a thing, or call it flustered, swimming in a tide pool that sucked you downward, screaming in a white straight jacket of hopefulness.
Somehow I found myself planted on a chair beside Timothy, and in a minute, dinner was being served. First, we were served an arugula green salad with carrot shavings, pieces of orange, and goat cheese. I could barely bring my fork to my mouth I was shaking so visibly. Timothy stabbed up a bite and carried it to my mouth, then fed me several mouthfuls as if I were a two year old toddler.
When the salad dishes were carried away, we were given plates with servings of tortellini in a hazelnut sauce. It was incredibly delicious with morsels of sweet potato inside each tortellini. Yet, I found my appetite gone. The shock of what had preceded dinner was too new, too raw. My stomach clamped down as it deliberated the shocks administered to my nervous system.
Once again, Timothy hand fed me until I took the fork from his hand and shook my head. “I can do it myself, you know.”
“Yes,” he laughed. “You have fed yourself without my attendance. I am aware, but I am at your side now. Surely you are not so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of taking care of the one who has given my life new meaning.”
Once upon a time, women had fans in their hands to hide their confusion or the blush such words brought them. I didn’t have one of those fans and sorely missed it, although I’d never owned one. But taxing days require special benefits. Denied my soft, old nightgown and fuzzy cat slippers, I was left without any pseudo security blanket and could only harness wishes and longings as a buffer for my trauma.
Timothy bent forward and kissed me on the cheek, right in front of Ed and Judy. I was positive that act alone exceeded my limit for both excitement and wonder. I clutched the navy blue cloth napkin in my lap and twisted it into strange shapes, entirely oblivious to proper table manners.