The same was true, she thought in silent
agony, of her marriage. At odd times it had felt as though it was
all still there. But not now. Plain and painfully simple, he had
forgotten.
After a minute or two, as if remembering that she was there,
Matthew looked up from his dinner.
She sat staring at him with shimmering eyes, her utensils still
resting untouched beside her plate. Before he could say anything,
she spoke.
"Happy anniversary, Matthew," she said. A weighty tear dropped
down her face.
His body slackened. He set down his utensils. All at once he saw
the brightness of her lips, the accents around her eyes, the
fine, glimmering pattern in the silk dress. He became acutely
aware of her perfume lingering among the aromas of the meal. Her
tears were painting dark trails down her cheeks. He gazed down
into his plate, their anniversary dinner, and let loose a guilty
sigh.
"Greta, I'm sorry. I'm, so, so sorry. With all the work and
everything..." He lifted his hands a bit. "I just, well, I just
forgot."
She reached her gloved hand across the table and touched his
wrist. "It's all right, Matthew," she said with a resigned smile.
She wiped her cheek with her napkin and lifted her fork.
"It is delicious," Matthew said enthusiastically.
She speared a few vegetables, chewed slowly, put down her fork,
and took a long drink of wine, all the while watching her
husband's hurried consumption.
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