Spoons Stacked

Nelson Shake

They slowed as they came closer to her car in the lot. Seagulls screamed out somewhere in the darkness of the harbor. The ocean beyond the docks like a body of tar beneath the overcast night sky. A wisp of a breeze came in from the water. It stank.

“So. I’m guessing we’re probably done here,” he said.

She huffed through her nostrils. A squirrel sifted through trash across the lot from them. “I mean, I thought things had been going well. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you,” he said.

“They had,” she said.

“Look, I’m sorry about back there. Whatever it was—” “Don’t be.”

A street light was out in the corner of the lot where they stood. It made a little pocket of black for them to stand in. In the darkness, she bloomed. “I’m glad, though. It felt honest,” she said.

He frowned in confusion. She didn’t see it.

“This has been good for me, actually. You helped me see something.” “I don’t follow,” he replied.

“There’s no point in withholding. I’ll just own it now.” “I wasn’t saying you should be asham—”

“I know that. I’m not. Or not anymore.” “Not anymore?”

“I have been. And so I’ve put off and put off sharing those kind of things.”

Her veins pulsed with her heart. The damp off the coast gave her a chill as if her body were slick and new. In the dark she saw herself clearly. Like a set of spoons stacked into each other. Like a nesting doll. Like a wet, rancid onion. The need to explain it away was gone.

“So, thank you,” she said. “For what?”

“For being honest.” “About what?” “About what I said.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied. “You did. More or less.”

“Okay.”

“I caught you by surprise, I realize that. And it showed. Showed me what I needed to know.”

“Oh really?” “Yes.”

She reached out in the dark and squeezed his arm.

“I’m going to go now,” she said and moved to her car door. “Can I see you again?” he asked.

“No,” she replied—and smiled, though he couldn’t see it, with joy.