When at last he tested a strand of capellini and found it to be al dente, just a little chewy, Giancarlo switched off the gas on both burners and took the pot to the sink. There he dumped the capellini into a strainer, sending up a plume of steam, before he quickly set it back on top of the pot. Doing so would preserve some of the starchy water lest he need a bit for his sauce.Then he pushed the capellini from the strainer into the frying pan, grated some cheese over it, and tossed it all together with the olive oil and garlic and tuna. Rather than make more cleanup work for himself by dirtying a plate, Giancarlo set the frying pan at his place on the table, poured himself a glass of wine, and sat down to eat.

As he helped himself to the capellini, Giancarlo looked over at the refrigerator door, where the postcard from Patricia still hung, slightly askew. He had seen her just that afternoon, when the two crossed paths on campus. Patricia taught French and had been bubbling with anticipation at the thought of the coming new semester. She was like that every fall, Giancarlo reflected. He, on the other hand, had betrayed no such enthusiasm.

“What is it with you?” Patricia had huffed. “You don’t seem happy when school begins, and you don’t seem happy when it ends. Really, Giancarlo, I don’t know how I’m ever going to come to understand you.”

“You might try letting me cook dinner for you tonight,” he had thought to say.

The words had been right there on the very tip of his tongue—and he was certain she would have said yes—but for some reason he could not understand, he had not been quite able to speak them. Instead he had made some vague excuse for his less-than-buoyant mood by blaming it all on fatigue.

“Oh yes,” Patricia had teased him in reply. “I forgot, you spent all those long hours teaching Italian this summer when you could have been relaxing.”

“Well, it was a factor,” Giancarlo had offered in defense.

At that, Patricia had given him a look as if she were about to make another teasing remark, but then her expression changed and she gave a little sigh.

“You know, Giancarlo,” she had told him, “life is too short to start hunkering down for the winter when fall hasn’t even started yet. Do you know what I mean?”

Giancarlo had nodded.

“No,” she had said a little sadly, shaking her head. “I’m not really sure that you do, Giancarlo, at least not yet.”

With that she had given him a wistful smile and gone on her way.