An Uncomfortable Pasta Dinner

“Does this smell OK to you?” She asked him. She didn’t really want his opinion, but asking him seemed like the right thing to do.

“Yeah, it smells really good, actually. I’m starving.”

The awkwardness hung between them like a dense fog. It had been years since she had seen him last. He reappeared on her doorstep as mysteriously as he had disappeared. She didn’t dare ask for an explanation. She was afraid of what he would say.

When tragedy strikes, life’s daily grind pushes on. The bed gets made. The car gets washed. The dry-cleaning gets picked up. The mundane tasks of our everyday existence beg to be continued. Tragedy is no excuse. You have to keep going.

As she set down the bowl of pasta, she wondered how it would start. They’d have to discuss where he’s been. There is entirely too much history between them to just pretend it didn’t happen. Rip off the bandage, she thought to herself. Just do it.

“So,” she said. She surveyed his blue eyes for any sign of the truth. “Did you join the circus?”

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