Chocolate mousse

My favorite curmudgeon invited me to dinner tonight.  Our usual Friday night date, Houlihans.  We departed from our customary orders for the entree but stuck with our normal libations:  A six-ounce Merlot for me, Stella Artois for him  He drinks two Stellas and finishes my wine.    Usually, he orders scallops and I get salmon. Tonight we lived dangerously:  He got a petite fillet, and I  opted for Thai chicken.

We spent a pleasant few minutes reviewing some proofs that had been sent for his review by the best photographer in the bi-state area, admiring the various poses and the smiling faces in the grouping.  Choice noted and reply e-mail transmitted, we settled in for a good long chat, about Joanna whose birthday is Sunday and how much we miss her; about children, and parents, life and death.  We spent a few minutes in silence, the peace of affection between us.  He understands much, does my favorite curmudgeon; and I understand so little, that just being with him comforts me.

We threw all caution to the wind and ordered chocolate mousse for dessert — with whipped cream and raspberries; one order, two spoons.  We ate it with uninhibited gusto.  I let him have two of the three raspberries on top.  We left not a drop of the delicious treat.  Our eyes lit as we regarded the empty dish with glee.

Neither of us can stay out late.  We exchanged a kiss in the parking lot, promised to see each other again, soon; and I waited until he made his slow but noble way to the car.  When he was seated, and I saw the brake lights shining, I continued down the lane to my own vehicle.  I sat for just a moment, not moving, not even turning the ignition.  I remembered another person whom I loved, who also had lung cancer, who also continued laughing and loving as long as she could.  My last dessert with my mother was a shared orange freeze from Steak n Shake.  I let her have the cherry on top.

After a few minutes, I started the car and journeyed home.  Now I sit, watching the light dim around me, thinking about curmudgeons, and feeling very blessed.

Twilight at the Holmes house.

Twilight at the Holmes house.

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