******
On Thursday night, I took Marco to the BCN gym with me. They have a free trial, so he took that offer to see if he likes the gym before joining. I do the aerobic classes to keep myself in shape, so I headed to the instructor rooms while Marco opted for the cardio machines. We had agreed to meet again after an hour to return home, and, when I went to meet him, Marco had decided the gym was acceptable for him, and he signed up for a membership before we left.
It was nice outside, and we decided to make the 15-minute walk back to the apartment rather than spend money on a bus.
“Do you come to the gym often?” Marco asked as we strolled along the avenue.
“Not as often as I should,” I admitted. “It looks like you know your way around a gym, though. How often do you think you will go?”
“I go when I can. Life gets busy, you know, so sometimes it is hard to keep up with it. It’s how they make their money, the gyms. All the dead memberships from people who sign up and then forget to cancel after they stop going.”
“We could make a pact, maybe,” I said, thinking aloud. “To go to the gym regularly, I mean. Sometimes it’s easier with someone else. Peer pressure and all.”
“I’d like that. By the way, I really do appreciate dinner the other night,” Marco said, thanking me again.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I feel like my family is so tired of my cooking. It’s nice to have someone actually appreciate me for once.”
“Any time you do not feel appreciated, you let me know. I will always appreciate you. Your food at least, I mean,” Marco said with a laugh. “And as a gym buddy.”
“If you want, we could have you over again for dinner,” I said off hand. “Maybe I can teach you some recipes. Just simple ones for a beginner. Teach a man to fish, as they say.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Oh, it’s no bother at all,” I insisted.
“Well, I insist, I have to buy the groceries for the meal. It’s the least I can do after you have been so kind,” Marco replied as he accepted my offer.
“I suppose that’s fair. I’ll have to go with you to the grocery, make sure to pick the right ingredients. Men say, use the right tool for the job. It’s the same idea in cooking. The right ingredients can make all the difference between a bland meal and a savory dish. Do you have plans for this weekend?”
“I don’t. I hardly know anyone at university. It’s just me by my lonesome. Sad, isn’t it?” Marco said glumly.
“No, not at all,” I replied. “Besides, now you have plans. We both do. I’ll stop by your place at 4 pm Saturday then. We’ll pick up what we need from the corner grocer, and then we’ll cook the meal. How does that sound?”
“Lovely, indeed,” Marco replied as entered the lobby of our apartment building.
*****
Oscar teased me again that night as we prepared for bed.
“Another date. I might think you have a boyfriend,” Oscar said skeptically.
“He’s just a boy. Barely 18. It’s almost offensive to even suggest such a thing.”
“Well, you never offered to teach me to cook,” he complained.
“You never had any interest to learn,” I retorted.
Still, I had to admit, I did enjoy being with Marco. Oscar has been a good husband, but we have been together for so long, the luster has worn off on our romance. There’s a newness to Marco, and I felt an almost matronly duty to him, especially since he is new to the neighborhood and living on his own for the first time. That said, it is nice to have someone show an interest in my own talents and the things I enjoy.
All these years, and my family take my food for granted. I enjoy cooking, but it is much more meaningful when others enjoy the fruits of my labor, and to hear my husband and daughters sometimes complain, “Oh, gazpacho again” or “Really, jamon again” is deflating. And I make an effort to go to the gym, but my husband and daughters do not share the same interest, so it is nice to have Marco who is appreciative of my cooking and regularly goes to the gym. I know he is young, but it is refreshing to have so much in common with someone.
******
“Dressing up for your date, I see?” Oscar asked.
It was Saturday, and I had to meet Marco in a few minutes to pick up groceries for our cooking instruction tonight.
“Would you have me looking as a slob?” I asked back. “And besides, it is not a date.”
“Then what would you call it?” he asked.
“I don’t know but calling it a date makes it sound like something it is not.”
I had put on a nice sun dress. It is simple, and the day is nice. It is nothing fancy. It is a little bit lower on top and the hemline is higher, but it is perfectly appropriate.
“You are putting on your heels? You never wear them anymore,” Oscar continued. I wondered if he would critique my every decision tonight.
“Marco is over 6 feet tall,” I answered him in exasperation. “I feel so short standing next to him. Really, you are imagining things.”