Through Romance-Colored Glasses

Carole Bellacera

I recognized David as soon as I walked into the coffee shop.

His eyes were still velvet-brown and twinkling—just as they’d been 27 years ago when he’d poured M&M’s in my palm, gave me his lop-sided smile and said, “Be careful of the red ones. They’ll make you crave my body.”

How had he known? I’d fallen helplessly in love with the dark-haired high school senior—the class bookworm. After he went off to college, we’d tried to sustain our relationship, but distance defeated us. It was inevitable we’d each meet someone else.

During my freshman year of college, Marty had come into my life and we’d married after graduation. But you never forget your first love, and when, out of the blue, I received an email from David, how could I not be curious?

He stood as I approached, his grin achingly familiar. “Hey, Karen. You look great.”

So did he. He’d aged well—no mid-life “spare tire” like Marty had developed. And he had a full head of hair, still glossy-black with just a bit of gray whereas poor Marty was already showing signs of a receding hairline.

I took a seat opposite David and gave him an abashed smile. “I’m surprised you recognized me. Thirty pounds heavier and wrinkles from too many late nights waiting up for the kids.”

His warm eyes scanned me. “I don’t see any wrinkles. Just laugh lines.”

My cheeks burned.  A hot flash? Or was it David? His scrutiny had always done this to me. Could he know how his sudden reappearance in my life had unsettled me? It had been a week since I’d received his email saying he’d be in town for business, and would I like to meet for coffee? Even as I agreed, I’d felt an uneasy guilt, knowing how Marty would react if he knew. David was the only man he’d been jealous of, and that was because I’d had the bad sense to tell him I’d always have special feelings for my first love. Needless to say, Marty didn’t know about David’s email. Or our meeting today. And yes, I still felt guilty, but this was something I had to do.

David reached across the table and touched my hand, sending a tiny electric shock reverberating through me. Such an innocent touch, but it reminded me of more intimate caresses we’d shared.

What would life be like today if we hadn’t broken up?

Even the thought made me feel like I was betraying Marty. It’s not that I didn’t love my husband. I did. With all my heart. But after 24 years of marriage, the romance had grown a bit stale. Kisses were perfunctory. Lovemaking had become routine. Jokes that used to make me laugh uproariously now only brought about a pained smile and a rolling of the eyes. Funny how things you thought were so cute in the beginning start to annoy the heck out of you later. Like Marty and his contrived—and horrible—Cockney accent when he was joking around.

I turned my attention back to David. It was amazing how easy it was to talk to him after all these years. He told me how he’d married just out of college—how it had ended six years later. I told him how I’d bought a failing independent book store and turned it around by hosting a quarterly romance-themed event.

“Congratulations!” He gave me a smile I remembered that lit up his eyes, sending a glowing warmth through me. God, how I’d loved him all those years ago. “I always knew you’d be a success,” he added, giving my hand an affectionate squeeze.

I tried to remember the last time Marty had complimented me on anything. Oh, yeah. Last week, when he’d told me I made the best darn lasagna in the world. Big whoop.

I blushed and looked down. “You always did believe in me.”

David shook his head and said wryly, “Romance, huh? How does it feel to make a living from selling trashy books?”

My smile faltered. And a new memory came to me— the summer before David had left for Duke. I was sitting on the porch, reading a romance when he drove up. Approaching me, he snatched the book from my hands and tossed it into the nearby shrubbery. “How can you waste your time reading junk like that?”

That’s when I had my first doubt about a future with him.

I looked back at him, noting the smile on his lips—not so attractive now. Just condescending. I took a deep breath and smiled. “It feels good…in fact, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”

And I was—because of Marty. He’d helped me turn Romance-Colored Glasses into a success. He’d been the one who’d urged me to buy the book store, who’d co-signed the loan, who’d sat up with me the night before it opened as I suffered a panic attack. And Marty had been the one who’d celebrated with me when the opening event was a huge success. Sweet, balding, spare tire-waisted Marty.

The man I loved.

I knew it was time to say a final goodbye to my first love, and go on with my life. 

Later, when I walked into the house, I heard a loud roaring sound and smelled the rich aroma of roasting coffee beans—Marty’s latest hobby. He bought green coffee beans off the internet, and roasted them himself. Our house smelled like a Starbuck’s every day.

I walked into the kitchen, and there he was, watching the coffee beans dance and darken in the roaster. On the refrigerator erasure board, he’d printed in block letters: This Week’s Coffee: Brazil Peabody.

I gazed at my husband, taking in his graying hair and his paunch, and a wave of love swept over me. I smiled and slipped my arms around his thickening waist.

He turned and grinned at me. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself. ” I murmured. “Smells good.” I rested against him, feeling his warmth, breathing in his scent. Later, I would tell him about meeting David for coffee. Now, I just wanted to appreciate him—something I’d forgotten to do lately.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Marty asked.

I opened my eyes and released him. “What would you like?”

He grinned. “Lasagna ‘ould be nice, luv,” he said in his fake Cockney accent.

I’d never loved him more.