Thomas applied a small dot of vermilion, a powdered red mineral lead, to the bride's forehead, welcoming her as his partner for life. This was the act that set loose the tears, the simple act of a groom touching his bride. Out of all the things that I missed about Joel, this was highest among them. I often tried to close my eyes and recall his touch-how his body felt pressed up against mine, where my head rested on his collarbone when we hugged, how his fingers felt interlocked with mine. And right there, where Thomas placed the dot in the middle of her forehead, is where Joel kissed me every day after returning home from work. His lips had been soft and warm, and that kiss seemed to release the stress of my day. “You're home,” I would say as if now everything in the world would be better because of it.
Anh had dug into my purse and handed me the Kleenex because, as usual, I didn't feel the tears on my face. I was so accustomed to crying, as if it were second nature. But these were happy tears. I could hear Deacon Friar's advice: try them with a joyful heart. I could feel Joel inside of me there and it was good.
When the ceremony ended and we followed the long line to the reception and full seven-course meal, Anh pinched my arm again, tugging and pulling me to reach the man whose back of the head she had fallen for. Just as we entered the reception hall, she purposely bumped into him, and he turned around. As Anh apologized profusely to the handsome man, his eyes met mine. “Don't tell me,” I said. “You play golf with Panchal, too.”
“Lion's Club,” he said.
“When are you not moving and shaking?” I asked, and Anh gasped because I knew this man and she (the mover and shaker among us) did not, or perhaps she had noted the lilt of friendliness in my voice.
“Anh,” I said. “This is Dr. Cortland Andrews.” And as she tossed her hair and tilted her head flirtatiously, I noticed he did not puff his chest in response. And I hesitated to add, “My sister's boyfriend.”
As luck would have it, Panchal had seated us at the same table as Cortland. Panchal was not only adept at helping foreigners fit in to America, he helped love misfits fit in, too. Or at least he was skilled at grouping us together.
We were in for a long evening together, and I drank in the glamour of the food and the wine and the conversation like a starved child. I noticed da Vinci had traded with another server to get our table, and he always served me first. I was probably drunk from his attention, too. Halfway into the evening, Cortland leaned behind Anh, who was seated between us, and said, “I think someone is smitten,” and I thought he must've meant me until he raised his eyebrow each time da Vinci smiled at me, but only half-smiled (lips closed) to the other guests. The last time Cortland raised his eyebrow, I shrugged an acknowledgement. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps da Vinci was smitten with me, the woman who had taken him in, who had washed his soccer shorts and socks alongside my sons' and made him pancakes on the weekends and run alongside him every morning. For better or for worse, I had become da Vinci's modern patron. I knew we had become friends, but besides that kiss on the wrist and my dismount peck, there had been nothing to indicate our friendship was going anywhere.
“Shall we dance?” Cortland asked, finally. I'd been wanting to dance all evening, but feeling much like a wallflower, had not asked anyone. (Dances are normally considered a Couples activities for Normals, and being a widow wallflower is sadder than being a normal wallflower.)
Joel would've liked this reception, maybe not all the ingredients in the food, but definitely the bar. The American aspect of the reception, Thomas's one request, was the full bar, and the bartender knew how to mix even the latest fad drink.
“Have you decided on a dog yet?” Cortland said as we spun around the dance floor.
“A dog? Oh, a dog. No, I've been pretty busy. Besides, I wouldn't even know where to begin. Big dog, little dog, yappy dog, guard dog, and so on and so on. It's a big commitment.”
“Ten to twenty years. My dad was a vet, so I'd be happy to help with your search.”
Joel and I thought we had time to get a dog for the boys. Ten or twenty years seems like nothing to a young couple. Now I almost wanted a dog just to prove that I thought I would live another twenty, thirty, forty years or more. “I think I'll take you up on that.” A date for doggy shopping? I have no idea why the thought of that excited me, but it felt like one thing I wouldn't have to do by myself.
“I found out more about what you do for a living,” Cortland added. Rachel says you're kind of like a Mother Theresa. I think her exact words were, “Who else would want to teach English to a bunch of immigrants?'”
“That oozes with pride. She makes me sound like a volunteer who's taken in stray cats. She wouldn't be the first person who doesn't see immigrants as flesh and blood feeling humans. They aren't a charity case.”
“I never said they were. Panchal is one of my dear friends. He had nothing but great things to say about you.”
“Is there anyone you don't know?”
“My father used to say there are two types of people. Those who know many people a little bit and those who know a few people very well. I guess I fall into the first, but would prefer the second.”
“More intimate connections.”
He pulled me in closer to him. “Exactly. It's the few people that mean the most that should matter. I get the feeling you're the second type.”
“Bingo. Only I do know a lot of immigrants.”
“And one immigrant very well.”
“Da Vinci?”
“Are you two dating?”
“Dating da Vinci? That would be an odd match.” Cortland couldn't have been more direct and I couldn't truthfully answer yes or no, because we were somewhere in the middle.
“Really? Well, you know what they say about opposites attracting. And I see the way he looks at you.”
I wanted to change the subject. “Did my sister mention I'm getting a PhD in linguistics?”
“Wow. She left that part out. Probably so as not to make me feel dumb. I might start watching every word I say because you might dissect it later.”
“Root. Origin. Meaning. Subtext.”
“No wonder you knew the meaning of Leibe's name. Then there's the whole body language thing, too. Do you know much about that?”
I could talk on it all evening, but I couldn't share that I had been watching couples everywhere I went for the signals of love through body language. I couldn't tell him that he had shown signs of flirting with me when I first met him and that he exhibited “excuse touching,” the next stage in the tactile messages of attraction. He had touched my arm when we talked and had grabbed my hand to lead me on to the dance floor. He might get the wrong idea. Some people were just more touchy-feely than others. It probably came with his profession, and only someone deficient in touch as I had been the last two years would read so much into it. Cortland obviously paid attention to whatever was happening between da Vinci and me. “Actually my dissertation is on the language of love. Even Rachel doesn't know that.”
“I'd love to read it,” he said.
“Fascinated with language, are you?”
“You know how we men of science are. We like to prove everything,” he said. “Love is the great enigma of the universe. The chemistry, biology, pheromones, hormones and the mystery in falling in love. How can that not be fascinating?”
I began to feel flustered with all the talk of pheromones and chemistry mixed with the smell of his cologne and the vodka coursing through my blood, and nearing that time of night where Joel normally told me he would take me for his wife all over again, and then take me literally.
Fortunately, the song was over and as I headed to get my purse and my inebriated best friend, I noticed da Vinci out of the corner of my eye and when I turned to him, he crossed his arms, his body language clearly angry and jerked the kitchen door open and slipped inside.