Please Pass the Pasta

by Donna Poole

He looked at her with tenderness in his smile. She felt suddenly shy and blushed. And I? I was there from the beginning.

If you’re thinking the infatuated couple was sixteen, you better add five decades to that. Perhaps you’re surprised two sixty-six-year-olds can fall in love with each other just the way teenagers can? Well, I wasn’t surprised. Having been Cupid’s scribe for centuries I can tell you I’ve seen it all!

I have permission from Cupid to tell their story, but I’ll have to change names to protect their privacy. So, lets call them Adam and Eve. That’s original, don’t you think? Besides, those names are easy for me to remember, and I admit my memory isn’t as sharp as it was when I became Cupid’s scribe in 700 BC.

Probably one reason Cupid is letting me share details is he’s still angry with this couple. They fell in love totally without his help, and he was miffed. He left me to follow their journey and flew off in a huff.

“Mark my words, Thoth,” he said to me, “that relationship is doomed; I’m sure of it. You watch them, take good notes, and report everything back to me.”

And so, I texted Cupid daily reports. Unless you’ve had to write on stone with a chisel you have no idea what a time-saver texting is. Back when I had to record everything on rock and fly it back to Cupid my mythological back was killing me every day. But that’s a story for another time.

Adam and Eve met in church of all places. They attended a church group for older singles called “White Heads but Not Yet Dead.” Cute, huh? Cupid rolled his eyes when he heard that one.

Adam had lost his wife several years earlier and was beginning to think he might not want to spend the rest of his life alone when Eve walked into the singles’ group he’d been attending for two years.

The leader asked Eve the usual “let’s get to know you” questions.

“Did your partner die?” he asked.

Eve shook her head.

“Divorced? Don’t let that embarrass you. Half of us in here lost a spouse that way.”

There were nods of agreement.

Still Eve said nothing. The leader waited.

“I never married,” she finally said. “I took care of both my parents until God called them home, and by then I was fifty. That was sixteen years ago. I came tonight because, well, I guess I’m tired of being lonely.”

The shy, quiet way Eve spoke went straight to Adam’s heart. I actually turned around looking for Cupid shooting one of his invisible arrows, but then I remembered he was home with influenza B; it’s going around you know, and even mythical creatures are not immune.

I immediately knew Cupid was going to be upset. He thinks he must be involved in every love story. He wasn’t going to be happy with me either; he’d told me to keep my eye on this group. But what was I supposed to do? I can’t stop the beginning of a love story. I did my job as scribe. I followed Adam and Eve to the coffee shop after the meeting and took notes.

At first, Eve was hesitant to go out for coffee.

“Thank you, but no,” she said when Adam asked her. “I don’t date.” She cleared her throat. “You’ll probably think I’m weird, but I’ve never dated.”

“Not even once?”

She shook her head no. “Not once, and I’m too old to start now. I just came to the meeting for company, definitely not to find a date.”

Adam ran his hand through his white hair and Eve tried not to notice the curls. Her brother, waiting in heaven for her, had curls just like that.

“Well suppose we don’t call it a date,” Adam said. “Why don’t we just go get coffee as two people who might decide to be friends once they get to know each other? You don’t have a problem with making a new friend, do you?”

She laughed, and poor Adam felt his heart flip. Oh, I knew the signs. How was I going to word this message to Cupid?

By the time Cupid recovered from the flu, Adam and Eve had gone on several non-dates.

They talked about everything, and Eve lost some of her shyness.

As soon as he was well enough, I took Cupid to the coffee shop to let him see for himself what was happening. That’s when he took one look at them, turned purple with fury, and told me to stay on the case.

I wasn’t about to leave anyway, I’d gotten involved. My ancient heart felt tender the first time Adam held Eve’s hand. They always prayed before they had their coffees and bagels, and one night her hand was on the table. To most people it probably looked like an old hand, tiny and fragile with a network of blue lines. But Adam looked at that hand like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. He covered it with his large hand calloused from farming.

“May I?” he asked.

Her smile was her answer, and so he held her hand all through prayer. Sweet.

They never went anywhere together but the same coffee shop. After two months while they sat in their regular booth, Adam asked, “Can we call this dating yet?”

Eve laughed. “Adam, I’ve known it was a date from the first time we sat here exactly two months ago!”

He looked surprised. “You knew this was our two-month anniversary?”

She laughed again. “I wouldn’t exactly call it an anniversary.”

“I suppose you’re right; but be prepared. In another month I’m going to ask you a question.”

Eve couldn’t say she didn’t know what was coming. It was an unusual proposal, and it happened right in their booth at the coffee shop while I hovered nearby.

“Eve,” he began, “is there anything about me you still need to know? Any questions you want to ask?”

“I do, and your answer is a make-or-break deal, so think carefully.”

She paused, the question hanging between them. Adam started to sweat, pulled out his red kerchief, and wiped his forehead.

“Well, get on with it, honey,” he begged. “Time’s a wasting, and at our age we don’t have much to squander!”

Poor guy. I almost panicked with him. What could Eve possibly want to know they hadn’t already discussed?

Eve took both his hands and looked him in the eyes. “How do you feel about pasta?”

His white, bushy eyebrows shot up. “Pasta?”

“Yes, pasta. You know. Spaghetti.”

“That’s your make-or-break question? I love spaghetti! My mother made it every Sunday when I was a boy, but to be honest, I haven’t had any in years. I sure would like to have some again; maybe we can go to an Italian restaurant on our next date.”

Again, there was a long silence. Eve chewed her bottom lip. Adam kept sweating. I was glad I was invisible, because my legs suddenly felt weak, and my wings were too heavy.  I slid into the booth next to Eve before I collapsed in an invisible heap on the tiled floor.

What if Eve hated spaghetti or had a pasta phobia or something.

“You see,” Eve said just a millisecond before Adam and I passed out, “my mom made spaghetti every Sunday too. We didn’t always have enough to eat when I was a child, but on Sunday, no one went hungry. When I was still a little girl, I told my mother I’d never marry a boy who didn’t love pasta. And I’m a woman of my word.”

“Did you say marry?” Adam asked, letting go of Eve’s hands and reaching into his coat pocket for the diamond ring that was there.

Before he could get the ring out, Eve reached into her bag and pulled out a ring box.

“My father wore this black onyx ring on his right ring finger as long as I can remember. Adam, will you marry me?”

He chuckled. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one to ask that question?”

Eve said, “I also told my mother if I ever found a man I loved, I was going to propose first. She was horrified, but I’m a woman of my word.”

“In that case will you give me your word you’ll marry me?”

“I asked you first. What’s your answer?”

“How about if we both answer on the count of three?”

When they said “yes” and exchanged rings people in the coffee shop laughed and clapped. A waitress brought them chocolate covered donuts.

“Here’s a little something extra to celebrate,” she said. “But aren’t you two nervous? I remember the first time you came in here and it was obvious you didn’t know each other, and it’s only been a few months, right?”

They answered in unison, “Three months ago tonight.”

Adam and Eve married a month later, and an Italian caterer served spaghetti at their reception.

I flew by occasionally to check on the couple when Cupid was otherwise occupied. They enjoyed many years of happiness and ate spaghetti every Sunday. I didn’t tell Cupid about their happily ever after; if there’s one thing he hates it’s being wrong.

The End
***

These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

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I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.