Departing the Silence

It starts with the wine.

A lovely, crisp Pinot Gris is poured for them both, and she sips, appreciative. The stem of his wineglass is held loosely, the bottom still resting on the table. He stares through the contents and watches the reflection of the light above dance across the surface.

Next are the salads, laid down carefully by the waiter. This waiter has served them the same fare every year they have come, but does not understand this year’s silence. Still, he performs his tasks admirably, as always. Hers is a fresh garden salad, the different lettuces crunchy, the cherry tomatoes in particular a delight to taste, with only a light virgin olive oil dressing to accentuate. He enjoys a Caesar, no less fresh than hers, with croutons to dip into the ranch dressing provided.

When the main dishes arrive, not too long after their salad plates are empty, she is served first with a succulent salmon fillet. The fish is seasoned with lemon juices and herbs, and tastes as though just caught from the sea. She relishes it immensely, savoring each small bite, inhaling the aroma, the wine a perfect counterpart. He is equally satisfied with his chicken fettuccine alfredo, the pasta cooked al dente at his preference, each morsel of chicken full of flavor, the sauce and wine mixing fluidly on his tongue.

They finish the main course, the wine is generously topped up, and dessert is served. A single piece of cheesecake, with a quite delicious raspberry topping. They are both still for a minute, listening to the quiet conversations and warm laughter around them. Perhaps each is remembering, as the waiter does, all of the previous meals eaten here, of their own enjoyment at not just the food but also of each other.

But the food is all they have left. Eventually, she sighs and takes a forkful of the cheesecake. He takes the next. They share the dessert in a calm fashion, waiting patiently for the other to be done before serving themselves the next piece.
 
The meal is over. The last of the wine is consumed. She looks him in the eyes for the first time all evening, and then breaks the stillness. “I’ll have the papers delivered sometime next week.”
 
He nods. It was what he’d expected to hear, and he finds that it does not hurt as sharply as he had feared. In fact, it will be a relief to finally be done with the silence. The waiter returns with the check and they both get up to leave, a single, empty plate and two forks, with two empty wine glasses, all that remains.