“Orange.”
“You’re a wild one. On the surface you’re all proper and subdued… but inside, I know there’s a wild girl in there,” he teased.
His statement made her a little uncomfortable.You have no idea.
“What makes you cry?” he asked her; an unexpected question. He wanted to get into her core. She hesitated for a moment.
“People dying… and babies being born.”
“The circle of life,” Michael observed.
“And men who break my heart,” she quickly added. “What makesyoucry?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. The last time I cried was when my father died. My mother told me to shape up; be a man. I haven’t cried since.”
“Well, I’ll make you watchTerms of Endearmentand we’ll see what happens,” she joked.
“I won’t cry, I swear. I’m a robot,” he joked.
She wished he was a robot, but he was definitely not a robot; he was pure flesh and blood.
They talked for almost an hour, sitting in the gazebo, at a respectable distance. This gave Angela a chance to learn more about Dot who had been a bit of a mystery, up until then.
His parents moved from England to Canada in 1952 and his father worked in construction. A hard worker all his life, he died from prostate cancer when Michael was ten. Dot took odd jobs to keep food on the table. They never had much money, never owned a home but there was always food on the table.
“Wow. I would have never guessed. I thought she’d been rich all her life.”
“Yes, the way she carries on with her pearls. I guess she’s making up for lost time,” he joked. “She never had anything; never a new dress, new curtains. But we always had toys for Christmas and birthdays.” He looked away. “And on top of that, she put aside money for our education.”
“Even my first job; I was barely thirteen. She got me a job as a gopher at this small company where she did janitorial work. She practically begged. Told them I was a real hard worker. That’s where I learned all about computers.”
“Wow, so you owe her a lot.”
“Everything”
They talked about the loss of his father. She told him she had lost her mother to breast cancer when she was fourteen. Their stories were very similar; a boy without a father, a girl without a mother, both lost to cancer. Here they were; a Personal Support Worker and a successful entrepreneur, with so much in common. He talked about his marriage. He told her she ended it. She missed her family back in Québec. They had grown apart. She hated his mother.
“Really?! I can’t believe it,” Angela joked. He looked up and smiled at her. It was the most simplest of smiles but it had a warmth she could not have described. No one had ever smiled at her the way he did. They talked about his love of architecture and their shared appreciation of art.
“Are you hungry for a snack?” he asked her, getting up.
She was and thirsty as well; it was about four o’clock and she hadn’t brought anything to the garden.
“I’m actually a little thirsty.”
“Wait here. I’ll be back in about five minutes.” He sprinted off and left her alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts were not all flowers and sunshine; they were judging and anxious. Shefully appreciated the reality of this quaint little meeting in the garden. She knew it was quite improper for an engaged woman to be sitting in a romantic garden, chatting for over an hour with a very attractive available man. She decided that despite the beauty of the garden, she would make her exit as quickly as possible. She would leave as soon as Michael came back with the drinks and snacks.Yes, she thought,what we absolutely don’t need now is a romantic picnic.
Six
Michael came backwith a blanket and a tray of food; green grapes, cheese and crackers and lemonade.
“Sorry, it took me a little longer than five minutes,” he said as he lay the blanket on the lawn by the gazebo.
“I should really get going,” she told him.
