My favorite love story

“Grandma,” Laurie said, scrambling onto her grandmother’s lap in the rocking chair,” tell me how you and grandpa met. Please.”

“I’d love to, darling. Let’s see,” she closed her eyes, rocking gently and holding Laurie.

“Well, I was working in an office back then, and one day one of my co-workers said that there was some gorgeous guy down in this place called Sweet Imports. You should see him, she said. Drop dead gorgeous, said another.”

“What did you do Grandma?”

“Well, the next day, I went there. It was a kind of café.”

“What’s a café, Grandma?”

“It’s a place where you can buy foods like sandwiches and salads, muffins and cakes and things like that. And coffee, of course. Café means coffee in French.”

“Do you speak French, Grandma?”

“Yes, darling,” she laughed.

“What happened next, Grandma?”

“Well, as soon as I opened the door, it was as if no one else were there but Grandpa and me. He looked at me and we smiled at each other as if we’d been waiting for that moment all our lives.”

“Did you say hello?”

“No sweetheart; actually, I just bought a muffin.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I left and my heart was pounding.”

“Why, did you run from the coffee?”

“No, sweetheart, I didn’t run from the café.” She looked into little Laurie’s face. “Think about this: When you get really excited or happy about something, does your heart seem to beat a little faster?

Laurie scrunched her face and thought. Then it lit up with understanding. “Yes, Grandma! I get it. It’s like when we’re going on a trip or coming to your house, or like when we got the new puppy!” Then she frowned. “But I jump up and down a lot too, Grandma.”

Grandma laughed, as did you from the other room. “Well, I was jumping up and down on the inside, honey,” she smiled, hugging Laurie close to her. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, smiling at the memory she was sharing.

Although you were in the next room, the warm timbre of her voice caressed your skin, enveloping you in the memory, touching your heart. You closed your eyes, and remembered…

You had looked up and though you didn’t know, her knees quivered. You saw a familiar face though you had never seen her before and felt your heart leap. She looked into your eyes, big and brown, framed by long thick lashes, and smiled. You looked into her eyes and returned the smile, shy and sincere. Your face, open and innocent.

You didn’t speak. She walked to the back of the line and watched you work. Another took her order. She paid and left. You watched her from beneath those lovely, longed for lashes until only the echo of her heels remained.

Later that same day, she returned. The bell above the door tingled. You felt her before the door opened. Your skin felt like electricity ran through your veins, alive with her gaze upon it. You looked up, your eyes met; she smiled, not as innocent as you, a little nervous, a little wary, already in love. You smiled and your heart was in your eyes.

“May I help you?” you asked with a lovely accent she could not place.

“Um, a strawberry, yogurt shake, please.”

“Right away,” you replied.

She watched your every movement. You felt her gaze burning your skin. You flushed.

Your hand trembled ever so slightly when you handed her the shake.

“Two-fifty. You can pay the cashier.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

You shared another smile. She left.

For a week, no day was complete unless she came in twice a day: muffin in the morning, shake at noon. Finally, you decided five minutes was not enough. You wanted to know this woman. The woman behind the smile.

“I would like to see you,” you said Thursday afternoon.

“I see you every day,” she replied, surprised, scared, excited. Scared.

“No, you misunderstand. I am working. I would like to sit. Talk. You know? Know you better.” You were nervous now. Had you misinterpreted her eyes, her smile? Your English wasn’t very good, but you had thought some things needed no translation.

“We’ll see,” she said, smiling and almost running from the store.

The next day, she came in and smiled but ran out without saying a word. The weekend was long. You played videogames with your brother and watched the clock, counting the minutes until you could go to work on Monday. You even cleaned the bathroom – shared by four men who didn’t like to clean - to make the time go more quickly. Sunday afternoon you went to a flea market and bought a pocketbook handmade in Turkey, your home. Sunday night you drank an entire bottle of vodka and chain smoked two packs of cigarettes to calm your nerves. Your friends laughed at your drunken tears but also tried to boost your courage.

Monday morning finally arrived and when she came in you said, “Don’t go. I have something for you.” You came from behind the counter and handed her the pocketbook.

“Oh my! Thank you so much!” She hugged you and you almost fainted. Your knees quivered. “What time do you finish work?” she asked.

“4:30.”

“Well, if you don’t mind waiting until 5:00, would you like to have dinner tonight?”

Silence. Did you understand correctly? Did she just invite you to dinner?

“Yes” you spluttered, afraid she’d take it back. Afraid.

She smiled. “Good. I’ll meet you by the fountain at 5:00 o’clock.”

“5:00 o’clock,” you repeated.

She took you to a health food restaurant. The food was horrible. No meat and you didn’t recognize anything on your plate. Then, you didn’t have enough money to pay so she had to pay. You gave her every penny in your pocket except what you needed for the subway. You thought, what an idiot, she’ll never go out with me again. Then, she took your hand as you walked to the train station and your heart soared at the same moment that you began to tremble and then worry about your sweaty hands.

That was Monday. Every day that week she came in, smiled, bought her muffin or shake and left. But the smiles were a little brighter. The eyes spoke a little more clearly. No translation necessary. All of a sudden it was Friday.

“Would you like to spend the day with me tomorrow?” you asked. “We could walk around the city and then I will take you to nice restaurant for dinner?”

“That would be lovely. What time would you like to meet?”

“Noon? By the fountain?”

“Sounds great.”

It’s Saturday and you are banging your head on the subway door. You have been sitting in the middle of nowhere for an hour. No moving. They make announcements but you don’t understand. You just think, she will leave. She will think I’m not coming and she will leave. She will hate me. First, I couldn’t buy dinner, now this. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And you bang your head to the rhythm of your thoughts.

One-fifteen. You are running through the station. You take the steps two at a time. You are sweating, praying, panting. You can’t breathe, but you run. Hoping. You run through the lobby and push through the revolving doors and stop. You see her by the fountain, reading a book. She looks up, smiles and waves. In that moment you think, that is the woman I am going to marry. And you do.

“Grandma, where are you going?”

“To give Grandpa a kiss.”

Laurie giggled. “Why Grandma?

“Every time I tell that story, I remember how much I love him.”

“And I you,” you say coming through the doorway and pulling her into your arms.

“Ooooo! Grandpa, grandma! Mommy! Grandma and grandpa are smooching again!”