A Little About Love and Marriage

Heather observed her father with a sort of strange respect.  She knew her parents’ story best.  Her mother is in love with their family friend, Henrik, a Dutchman.  Though she refers to him casually as a “good friend”, it was obvious to her father and her that their relationship went beyond that.  The travelling alone together, the constant mention of him, and the way they looked at each other when they met, as if they were the only two people in the room.

Tonight, Henrik had just arrived for another vacation in New York. The family, by tradition was his host.   Heather’s mother, Anne was sitting next to him as they were all gathering around the fireplace at her parent’s apartment for a social discourse over wine, cheese and opera music.

Heather listened with a disinterested gaze; all she seemed to be able to pick out was her mom saying,  “Henrik this and Henrik that.”

She turned to look at her dad; a meek, elegant man who carried on him a quiet dignity.  He was looking at his wife, smiling. But Heather could see his weeping heart beneath the cheerful exterior.  She admired her dad even more at that moment; she saw in him a man brave enough to let someone he truly loves be with somebody else, never once besetting a sense of blame or betrayal on Anne.

She glanced back at her mother, a woman with a beautiful face, hair up in a classic bun, who moved about with a grace of a ballerina.  She was somehow oblivious to her husband’s pain.

Five hours later and many glasses of wine, Heather got up, bid farewell and left.  It was late. 

She walked a little, and then stood on the sidewalk, hands in her coat pockets, staring at the empty streets and empty roads.  She thought about the emptiness of her parent’s marriage; she too felt empty inside…