After lunch, when I was partway through my yoga session, I transitioned from child’s pose to cat’s pose then breathed deeply as I stretched my back out, I muttered, “Why am I even bothering working on my bendiness?” I moved into cow pose, sticking my butt out as I lifted my head. “You know, I can think of a couple of things you could do to me in this pose. Three if you really use your imagination.”

Another solitary dinner went by. I plated up my pan-fried salmon and garlic rice, loading up on steamed greens, then I took a lonely seat at the counter. I cut a small piece of salmon and popped it into my mouth, and my face turned soft with pleasure. I dug into the rice and spoke around my mouthful. “I’m not a bad cook. I mean, not all of my meals are wins, but this one I’d give a solid eight.” A bite of the plain, flavorless greens had my adjusting my score. “Alright, a seven.”

There was on weird side-effect of my one-sided conversations.

A peculiar sense of connection. Of contentment.

As I sat back on the sofa with a half glass of wine, watching yet another reality show, I suddenly lost focus and looked around, wondering where the camera was in this room. I spoke the words whisper soft. “I wonder if you had a good day.”

He probably wasn’t even listening.

But I hoped he was.

* * *

When I opened the front door and Marco turned to face me, I held the two mugs of coffee up in surrender, looking mildly sheepish. “I thought if I brought you coffee, you might let me sit out on the porch while we drank it.”

Marco looked down the length of his nose at me and I withered, rushing out, “I also wanted to apologize for how I’ve been treating you. You’re only doing your job and it was unfair of me to talk to you the way I did that first week.” I lost focus a moment when I revealed, “My father would be so disappointed. He didn’t raise me like that.” I blinked back to reality with a creased brow and a genuine apology. “I’m sorry, Marco.”

After of moment of excruciating silence, Marco reached out and carefully took a mug from me. “You can sit, but if you run, I’m not going to gentle when I catch you.”

A slow smile spread across my lips. Barefoot, I moved to the porch and happily sat on the first step, bathing in sunlight. I closed my eyes and lifted my face towards the gentle warmth, revealing, “I’m not much of a runner. My bouncy bits bounce too much and I have zero coordination. You’re safe from today’s game of tag.”