The Story of Us - Part II

When we last left our new couple:

I spent most of the next day daydreaming about him. I knew I’d hear from him again; there’d been too much of a connection, too many smiles, too much eye contact.

That Tuesday evening he called and we talked like there was no tomorrow. I didn’t notice it when we first met, but on the phone, his Delta accent rang out and was music to my ears. I can’t even explain what a Delta accent is, if it’s the cadence or a particular tone. I don’t think I realized how much I liked one until I heard his; it was like home. He asked if he could call again. He did, that Friday. At some point – I don’t remember when – we talked about this party at Amanda’s the following Friday. He asked if he could come pick me up and go together.

A few days later I heard through the grapevine that the party was canceled. I wondered what that meant. The Guy called and I mentioned I’d heard the party was canceled. He said that was what he understood, too, but he’d still like to get together with me, if I wanted to. (If I wanted to! This Guy. So polite.) We made plans for dinner and he said he’d call later in the week to confirm.

This was for Friday, December 21st. I was off work that day with an appointment in Jackson first thing that morning and a little bit of last minute Christmas shopping. I went to a few shops, got everything done, and was home by something like one o’clock that afternoon.

For the past four weeks, I’d spent most of my waking hours at home in the kitchen. I was well and truly tired of being in that room.


That afternoon I had so much nervous energy, I couldn’t sit still and read, my usual go-to activity when chores are done. Or when they’re not done. I went in that kitchen and made a batch of peanut butter fudge. I mopped the floors. And I hate housecleaning. Finally, I called my friend, Laura. “I’m so bored! I’ve made peanut butter fudge and mopped the freaking floors! Of the entire house! How many more hours is it before this date? I can’t start getting ready now, can I?” She and I debated the merits of coloring my hair that afternoon. She was all for it; it’d kill a good hour or more and I needed something to eat up some time. I was a bit apprehensive. You hear horror stories; what if I accidentally dyed it blonde. Or green. She poo-poohed all that and kept me on the phone for an hour. “Color your hair, take a long hot bath, take your time getting ready. And drink a glass or two of wine before he gets there. You’ll be fine.”

That’s pretty much what I did. I made an emergency phone call to her when I put on what I’d planned to wear. It just . . . wouldn’t do. She and I decided on an all-black ensemble. I drank a glass of cold white wine, more appropriate to summer although it finally felt like winter outside.

He arrived and on the way to Greenwood, about thirty minutes from where I live, where we were having dinner, we got on the subject of books, like our favorite ones and why and most recently read ones. I remember thinking that we would run out of time tonight before we talked about everything we wanted to, a pretty good indicator of a great date.

I think we spent a couple of hours at the restaurant.


It seemed like the room had muted lighting and a cozy feel, although I’ve eaten there several times since then and didn’t have that impression. Maybe it was the company that makes me recall a golden, rosy hue to the room.

I don’t remember what we talked about – music, I think? I remember ordering red wine with shrimp, knowing that wasn’t “right” among foodies or wine buffs and knowing that he’d know that but also knowing he wouldn’t care. I remember we stayed there for what felt like a short time, yet was long enough that I felt like the wait staff were giving us dirty looks.

We left and drove around downtown Greenwood, admiring the holiday window displays. Everything felt like magic.

On the drive home, we told each other a bit about our families. They sounded similar in a lot of ways. He has a sister he’s crazy about, I have a brother I’m close to. We’re both close to our parents. We’ve both realized in the last few years that there isn’t anything more important than family.

When we got to Winona, he went the opposite direction from my house, and made a loop downtown. Those streets are lined with crepe myrtle trees that are strung with white lights during Christmas.


On an ordinary evening running to check the mail at the post office downtown, the place feels enchanted. You can imagine how fairy-tale-like it felt on this evening at the tail end of a wonderful first date.

When we got home, we told each other how much we’d enjoyed the evening. Then he said, “Have a good Christmas.”

This was Friday, December 21st. Christmas was a WHOLE FOUR DAYS AWAY. Meaning he was basically telling me I would not hear from him for a while.

Yes, yes, yes, I know, the holidays, blah, blah, everybody’s busy, whatever. That wasn’t music to my ears, is what I’m saying.