"Ooh...tarragon!" I blurted, somewhat loudly in comparison to the whispers we'd been speaking in.
"Shhh," Lisa admonished as she nervously glanced towards the backstairs leading from the smartly-appointed kitchen to the kids' room, "What are you doing?"
I was carefully creaking open the glass-fronted cabinet door, behind which stood an impressive array of what looked like high-end spice jars, one labeled TARRAGON.
"I never smelled tarragon before," I mumbled, callously dismissing her concern for my decidedly intrusive behavior. I ignored her and continued to reach for the spice jar.
"Michael...it's late, I'm tired and...you have to go!" she snapped, flipping her long black hair away from her face, exposing a dark and smoky expression of frustration, fatigue and rapidly building anger.
Still buzzed from the beer I'd had at the Harvard frat party we'd attended earlier in the evening, I giggled, totally dismissing her escalating impatience, "Just one sniff..."
"STOP!" Lisa scolded. To me it was as if I were one of the toddlers she was baby-sitting. "You always do this! You just whine and whine! I hate it when you do that!" she continued, now with her hair in her weary, watery eyes. She turned away quickly as she tried to hide her rush of tears.
I knew Lisa loved me but she yearned for me to be what she knew I couldn't. All summer long she'd been in denial. When I told her I was gay she assumed I was confused, experimenting or maybe even playing hard to get. At the party earlier she tried to flirt with other guys but I don't think her heart was truly into it. She was hung up on me.
Now, in the wee hours of the morning, she and I were virtually alone here in the quiet and comfortable home of her employers; a Cambridge psychologist and her artist husband out on an overnight engagement while Lisa watched over their two small children. I think she thought the set up would lend itself well to at least a quick make-out session but perhaps a bit more.
But with me never once acknowledging her flirtations, never once making any romantic moves, never once suggesting even deep conversation and now distractedly playing around with cooking spices, she knew it wasn't going to happen tonight.
And I think she finally came to terms with the facts of our relationship and realized it never would.
"Shhh," Lisa admonished as she nervously glanced towards the backstairs leading from the smartly-appointed kitchen to the kids' room, "What are you doing?"
I was carefully creaking open the glass-fronted cabinet door, behind which stood an impressive array of what looked like high-end spice jars, one labeled TARRAGON.
"I never smelled tarragon before," I mumbled, callously dismissing her concern for my decidedly intrusive behavior. I ignored her and continued to reach for the spice jar.
"Michael...it's late, I'm tired and...you have to go!" she snapped, flipping her long black hair away from her face, exposing a dark and smoky expression of frustration, fatigue and rapidly building anger.
Still buzzed from the beer I'd had at the Harvard frat party we'd attended earlier in the evening, I giggled, totally dismissing her escalating impatience, "Just one sniff..."
"STOP!" Lisa scolded. To me it was as if I were one of the toddlers she was baby-sitting. "You always do this! You just whine and whine! I hate it when you do that!" she continued, now with her hair in her weary, watery eyes. She turned away quickly as she tried to hide her rush of tears.
I knew Lisa loved me but she yearned for me to be what she knew I couldn't. All summer long she'd been in denial. When I told her I was gay she assumed I was confused, experimenting or maybe even playing hard to get. At the party earlier she tried to flirt with other guys but I don't think her heart was truly into it. She was hung up on me.
Now, in the wee hours of the morning, she and I were virtually alone here in the quiet and comfortable home of her employers; a Cambridge psychologist and her artist husband out on an overnight engagement while Lisa watched over their two small children. I think she thought the set up would lend itself well to at least a quick make-out session but perhaps a bit more.
But with me never once acknowledging her flirtations, never once making any romantic moves, never once suggesting even deep conversation and now distractedly playing around with cooking spices, she knew it wasn't going to happen tonight.
And I think she finally came to terms with the facts of our relationship and realized it never would.