Connecting

Chicken Soup for the Soul: True Love

BY: Samantha Ducloux Waltz



The difference between try and triumph is a little umph.
~Author Unknown

Ray and I glide around the ballroom floor to the strains of \"The Tennessee Waltz.\" Ray is handsome in a black silk shirt open at the throat and khaki slacks. He smells of a musky aftershave, and his lead is gentle as he lifts his arm to turn me under. I look into his hazel eyes and my heart skips two beats.

I haven't felt this way in a while. Just this morning I was grousing to Annie, my Golden Retriever, that a second marriage isn't what it's cracked up to be. Too many complications with joint and personal accounts, blended families, and difficult exes. Plus, after ten years of marriage, we seem to be falling into patterns that are more comfortable than romantic.

Ray turns me under his arm again, and once more we lock eyes. My spine actually tingles, sparking memories of younger days and first kisses. As we move with the rhythm of the band, I feel the swell of Ray's bicep under my left hand, and sense the warmth of his body when he pulls me close for a pivot turn.

Driving home, we talk about what a great time we've had. We agree that the eye contact was the thing, even more than dancing, that made us feel truly connected. We vow to look lovingly at each other more often.

How hard can it be?

The next morning, I set the stage. I float two lush, red rhododendron blooms in a bowl and set it in the middle of the table, then turn on soft jazz. We make a veggie scramble and settle across from each other.

\"Nice,\" Ray says, but he doesn't even glance my way. He reaches for the morning paper just to the left of the flowers.

\"Eye contact?\"

\"Right.\" He pushes the paper away and looks at me, smiling his fabulous, crooked smile that still stirs me after a decade together. I return the smile and blow him a kiss.

Then we pick up our forks and dig in. The scramble is delicious. I've downed a third of mine when I remember to look at Ray again.

He's reading the sports section.

I sigh and take the front page.
As we rinse the breakfast dishes and load them in the dishwasher, I invite Ray to chat for a few minutes in the family room before we go to our respective home offices. Surely we'll fix our gaze on each other as we talk.

Ray dries the frying pan, puts it away, and settles into an overstuffed chair, no newspaper in sight.

I head for the couch across from him, thinking I'll tell him how nice the front yard looks since he deadheaded the last of the daffodils and cleared out last year's growth from the ferns. I've taken three steps when Naomi, our little black kitty, crosses my path. With a gravelly meow she reminds me that I've forgotten to give her breakfast. I return to the kitchen and fill her bowl with kibbles. While I'm at it, I fill our dog Annie's bowl with her kibbles, and add a vitamin, a glucosamine chew, and two tiny spoonfuls of a Chinese herb for her arthritis.

As I pass the phone table on my way to the couch, I notice the button on the answering machine blinking red. It will take just a minute to check messages. One is for Ray. I turn to hand him the phone.

He's not there.

A wave of guilt washes over me. I blew it. Did he leave while I fed our pets, or while I picked up the messages? He's probably in his office now, paying bills. I might as well go work on a story.
I'm at my computer, fingers flying, when Ray wanders in. \"Sorry I didn't wait,\" he says sheepishly. \"Do you want to talk now?\"

\"It was my fault. Rain check?\" I want that intimate chat, but right this minute I have an idea flooding the page. I know from experience that if I take a break I'll lose it.

And so the day goes. We both down hastily-made sandwiches in our offices. Mid-afternoon we shift gears and go out to the garden, working side by side, weeding and pruning.

When it's time to tie up a bundle of branches spread across a wheelbarrow, I see an opportunity for a romantic interlude.

I gather the branches in my arms and he pulls the twine taut. We're facing each other and I catch his eye. He winks. An electric spark jolts me.

\"Hi,\" I say, considering the idea of abandoning the garden for a more intimate setting.

But Ray turns back to his job, tying a careful knot. I don't even get a sweaty hug.

Maybe if we'd held each other's gaze while we counted to ten.

\"Missed my chance in the garden, didn't I?\" Ray asks as he seasons chicken breasts to grill and I wash spinach leaves for a salad. \"Want to watch a movie after dinner?\" At least he's been thinking about all our misses. Watching a movie is sitting side by side, like gardening, except for that moment tying the branches. Still, we'll be together.

\"I need ten minutes,\" I say when we've eaten and cleaned up. \"Got a quick read for someone in my critique group.\"

I disappear into my office and work furiously. One e-mail leads to another. I don't know how long Ray has been standing at my desk when I realize he's there. I check my watch. How can an hour fly by so fast?

\"Morgan Freeman, Hillary Swank. That movie you've been telling me about.\" He shrugs his shoulders. \"Never mind. We can watch it another time.\"

Finishing my work as fast as I can, I go in search of Ray. I find him in the bedroom propped against a mound of pillows reading A. Lincoln: A Biography. His evening ritual just before he turns out the light. I've botched it yet again. And I wish Ray had tried harder too. Who would expect connecting to take so much conscious effort?

In the bathroom, I lift my leg to the counter to stretch my hamstring, thinking maybe we'll try again tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year. As I turn on my electric toothbrush, I feel Ray's arms reach around my waist.

There he is, in the mirror.

In the mirror, we lock eyes.

He turns me to face him and I melt into his arms. Yes, this marriage is on a better track.