Presence

"Do you ever think about what we could be?"

She asks the question as she unsnaps her clutch. Reaching in, she pulls out a single menthol cigarette and an electronic one-touch lighter. I watch as she concentrates on setting fire to tobacco, clicking three times before the spark catches.

"My mom had a phase where she went through those lighters. Smoked the same menthols, too."

She rolls her eyes and closes her clutch. Subconsciously, I notice she crosses her legs, closing off herself, as well.

I can't help but chuckle.

"What's so funny, guy?" Her words are sharp daggers of smoke, and she's trying to cut me.

"You don't like being compared to my mother."

"I don't think any woman wants those dots connected by the man in her bed."

"To be fair, I'm in a chair."

"Don't be a smartass."

"Sorry, it's the default setting."

"Answer my question."

Instead, I watch her dump ashes into a nearly empty can of Tab. I hear the sizzle, and I can't help a grin that sneaks back across my face. "I didn't think they still made that shit," I gesture to her improvised ashtray.

"It is hard to find."

"I remember the first time I had that stuff."

"Is this where you tell me again how I remind you of your mom?"

I laugh out loud. "No, this time it's the grandmother. She bought some in an effort to get me to switch from sugary colas. My grandfather always had real Coke in the bottles. He bought it that way up until he died. Claimed it tasted better that way. I never had much of an opinion on that subject, but the bottles did actually stay colder longer than the cans."

"Cute story. Why are you ignoring my question?"

"I'm not ignoring it, I just haven't yet answered it."

I look around her room. It's tastefully decorated, in an almost whimsical combination of vintage and modern. Her artwork is a mix of thrift-store finds and some of the furniture is Ikea; there's a framed movie poster for a classic Hepburn film next to a signed Broadway playbill for a show I've never seen. A waterfall dresser, complete with mirror and bench, takes me back to the Kennedy administration while I sit in a sleek Swedish chair that barely holds me. At least her bed is sturdy.

One thing I like about this bungalow: the ship-lap walls and hardwood floors are all pre-war original, and they make for very, very nice echoes when things get exciting.

I sigh. Her eyes narrow at me through another exhaled cloud, and I'm reminded of a cartoon dragon regarding an intruding knight in shining. Before she can decide to burn me to ash, I speak.

"The only moments we really have are the ones we live now. Yesterdays fade and tomorrow is never a guarantee."

It's her turn to laugh, and it's a bitter, dry sound. "Cliché much, douchebag?"

"I think we should accept whatever comes our way, and enjoy the present."

"So you don't consider the future. Our future."

"If we pick the present every day, we live in the moment, and we avoid expectation. Disappointment. Sadness."

There's a more pronounced hiss as she drops the butt of her menthol into the soda can. She takes a deep breath, smooths her hair behind her ears, and stands.

My eyes roam and we're both standing, but I don't leave the chair.

Seeing my reaction, she smirks.

"I would say let's live in the moment again, but my kid will be back from her dad's house in an hour. I feel like that short of a future may lead to disappointment."

I can't help but laugh as she gets dressed and tosses my clothes at me.