After the Concert

"You can tell me you didn't cheat on me then, but you know what? I won't believe you."

She stared at me in horror.

"You see what loss of trust does? Look, this isn't going to work. We both have good jobs. We can sell the house, or you can buy me out, we split the bank accounts and the investments, you keep your car, I keep mine, and we avoid giving half our assets to lawyers. Can we be amicable about this?"

"No, Greg, please! It will never happen again! Can't you please forgive me? Can't you try?"

"Monique... I've run out of forgiveness."

She pulled out a tissue and wiped her nose. "Is there really no chance for us?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't think so." Then, more gently, "Look, we'll still see each other; we have a daughter and a son-in-law and a grandchild on the way. Maybe we can figure out a way to be friends, but I just can't stay married to you. I'm sorry."

><><><><><

The holidays were strained, to say the least. I spent Christmas Eve with Rachael and Jeff. My poor daughter, while excited and nervous about the imminent birth, was feeling pretty down about the separation. She was also physically uncomfortable, having, as she put it, a watermelon bouncing on her bladder 24/7.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie. I guess the timing could have been a bit better. You know your mom and I still love you, right?"

"Of course, Dad. It's just so..." and she started to cry. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world, and at the same time, a spike of intense anger at Monique for causing this. I went to hug my daughter.

She held on for a moment, then, fanning at her eyes, she said, "I'm okay, really... just hormones," as Jeff rubbed her back.

"We'll get through it." I looked at my son-in-law and he nodded back. He knew what I was thinking.

><><><><><

The next morning, I woke up realizing that this was the first Christmas that I would be spending alone in my entire life. Monique and her mother, plus Jeff's mother were all going to Rachael and Jeff's. I had explained to my parents about the split, and they were very upset, not really understanding. I urged them to visit with Rachael as well, and then they could all stop by my place on their way home.

I hadn't spoken to Monique's mother; she and I had never really been close, and she was still living in St. Cloud, so we didn't get to see her much. I could only imagine what Monique had told her.

I texted briefly with the kids, wishing them a Merry Christmas, then made myself some breakfast. After cleaning up, I took my second cup of coffee out to the balcony. It was chilly and overcast, which suited my mood. But the fresh air felt good, and I suppose it was inevitable that my thoughts turned to Catja. She - well, her memory - had a habit of sneaking up on me, especially when I was feeling melancholy. It had been six months since our weekend in Philadelphia however, and I was resigned to the fact that she would remain just a memory.

I went back inside, as it started to rain.

><><><><><

Decisions about arbitration got put on hold for a little bit, because about a week and a half after the New Year, I got an excited call from Jeff.

"Dad, we're on the way to the hospital; I think the baby is on the way!" I could hear Rachael's gasp of laughter. "You think? Ohh, owww... contraction..."

"Hang in there, Honey. Jeff, drive carefully, I'll see you there, okay? I'm on my way."

I got to see them for a minute before Rachael was taken back. "Love you, Baby," I kissed her and gave her a hug. "You're gonna do great."

Jeff hugged me as well and followed her.

Monique got there just a few minutes later, and we managed to be civil to each other while we waited. We sat in the cafeteria and reminisced, studiously avoiding any contentious subjects, and we even shared a laugh or two, mostly about Rachael's antics growing up. Eventually, they needed to close up and chased us out. We made our way back up to the waiting room and tried to get comfortable.

When my phone eventually pinged, Monique was curled up on a small sofa, and I had a crick in my neck from sleeping in a chair. I gently shook her awake.

"It's time," I said, smiling at her mussed and bemused expression.

After a quick trip to the restroom to splash some water on my face, we went back up to find Jeff. He had the most enormous grin that threatened to split his face.

"A daughter!" he almost yelled, seeing us. He hugged me, slapping me on the back. "We have a daughter! You have a granddaughter! Come, come see!"

My arm around his shoulder, we let Monique precede us into the room where Rachael reclined, hair sweaty and tousled, but absolutely radiant, a tiny bundle in her arms.

"Mom, Daddy, please come see Eileen," she whispered. It was Jeff's mother's name, and knowing his history, it was the perfect choice.

><><><><><

Over the next few months, Monique and I came to an understanding of sorts. For my own sanity, I did forgive her, which caused another session of waterworks when I told her, but it wasn't the sort of forgiveness that would heal us. Our marriage was done, but for the sake of our daughter and granddaughter, we would try to remain friends.

I think she had finally accepted things, and we wound up sharing a lawyer to draw up paperwork for arbitration.

At the last meeting with the lawyer, she looked at me sadly, apologized one more time, and told me she'd always love me.

"I'm sorry too. Part of me will always love you too, Monique. I think that's why it hurts so much."

><><><><><

I tried not to think about Catja. It was bittersweet because she really was a special person. I figured out that we'd spent less than twelve hours together in total that weekend, and I was halfway to being in love with her. I wondered if it was due to my fragile emotional state at the time, but I didn't think so.

There wasn't anything I could do about it though, so I continued to throw myself into my work and hit the gym more regularly. Isn't that what all newly single middle-aged men do? I didn't want to break the stereotype. I spent a lot of time with Rachael, Jeff, and little Eileen. The months slowly passed.

One evening the phone rang and I didn't even look at the number, thinking it was Rachael calling to tell me something new that the baby had done. I smiled indulgently, anticipating the conversation.

I was stunned when a soft voice said, "Hello, Greg."

"Catja?" I whispered. I couldn't believe it. It had been a little over a year.

"Yes, it's me." She sounded tired. "How have you been? I'm sorry I haven't gotten in touch..."

"No, please, you don't have to apologize! I'm very happy to hear from you!"

"Are you?" She asked uncertainly. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what sort of reception I'd get. I was almost afraid to call."

"I'm glad you did," I replied encouragingly. "Listen, you made yourself very clear about things when we parted, and I respected that. But if you recall, I did mention that I was hoping? So yes, it's wonderful to hear your voice."

"Yours too, Greg. But before I say anything else, are you still..."

"No. Single now. But the ink is still wet." We'd been on the phone for mere minutes, and my emotions were already all over the place. I had missed her. Missed her badly.

"Oh. I'm... sorry."

Taking a breath to calm myself, I said, "Don't be. I've done a lot of thinking, and looking back over our lives, I wonder if it wasn't inevitable. There were some signs that this might not have been the first time. Nothing I can prove, and at this point, it doesn't matter, but I'm okay."

"Still, though," she prodded, "it's sad when a long marriage, mostly good, I assume, ends?"

"Of course," I agreed. "But it's behind me... it was a fairly amicable split. For my own sake, I forgave her, and I think maybe we might be able to stay friends. We'll see."

There was silence from her end of the phone.

Almost hesitantly, I asked, "So... can I ask what prompted you to call? I'm happy you did," I repeated softly.

"Umm..." I heard an intake of breath. Gathering herself. "I have tickets. Orchestra tickets, I mean. Shostakovich, week after next?" I could hear the hesitation, the inches-from-losing-her-nerve uncertainty in her voice.

"I do love Russian composers," I said after a brief pause. My smile began to spread.

"Oh yeah? You think maybe you'd like to go with me?" Confidence growing in her voice.

I was full-on grinning now. "Try to keep me away."

><><><><><

We met early in the afternoon on Saturday. She was standing beside her Uber, waiting outside 30^th Street Station and she seemed hesitant, unsure of how to act. I just strode to her, picked her up, and spun her around. Her arms went around my neck, and her joyous laugh was a balm to my soul.

We climbed back in the car and went to Sonny's for cheesesteaks. It was perfect; casual and relaxed, as we crammed into a tiny booth. She laughed out loud, hand over mouth, when I burned my mouth and wound up getting cheese all over myself. After our meal, we went outside, and she hooked her arm in mine.

She said, "Greg, I promised this a long time ago, and I owe it to you. It's my turn."

As we slowly made our way toward the river, she began to tell me about her ex.

><><><><><

"That weekend in Philadelphia caught me completely by surprise. Eric, that's my ex, and I had been fighting for a while, and I had moved out. I felt like such a failure, running back to my parents, you know?"

I nodded, and she continued. "They never judged. Then a few weeks later, my friend Ashley - you remember her from the ferry?"

I nodded again.

"I know she was in a mood that night, but she really is a good friend. Anyway, she convinced me that I needed a night out, and when she suggested the Chris Stapleton concert, I agreed.

"Then I met you." She paused and took my hand. My heart rate accelerated a little.

"When I saw you on the ferry, you just looked so alone that I couldn't help but ask if you were okay. I half-expected a tale of woe, but our conversation from that point forward just felt so comfortable."

She glanced at me shyly. "I didn't want it to end, but Ashley was being a pain. I think she wanted girl time, and I was clearly enjoying talking to you.

"So, I was getting ready to let her drag me home when you shocked me with your invitation to the symphony. When you alluded to the reason you had an extra ticket, I could see your pain, and because of my situation, I felt very sympathetic to that. And the way you offered, not trying to get my number, letting me be in complete control of my decision, was so... well, I was really touched. Then when Ashley gave me attitude later, I decided to accept.

"Greg, I was so glad I did. I know we promised not to call it a date, but that night was the best non-date of my life. Even though both of us were dealing with relationship issues, and we knew we had to resolve those before we could consider anything further."

"It was amazing for me too," I said, and she smiled before continuing.

"When I got back to my parents' house, I knew I had to make a decision about my future. Eric and I had been struggling for a while, and I could feel him pulling away. So I called him and asked if we could talk. He agreed right away and I was kind of surprised that he seemed a little more upbeat than usual."

She took a deep breath, and I stayed silent.

"I went back to our condo. He'd ordered some takeout and bought some wine. Clearly, he was making an effort, but honestly? I didn't know how I felt about that. We talked a little bit, then out of the blue, he dropped a bomb on me."

Again, she paused.

"He told me that his company had offered him a position overseas. In Australia! He said that he had been asked once before but he had declined, 'for me,' he said. He never even mentioned it!" She shook her head. "But now, he said he was taking it, and wanted me to go with him. He said it would be a chance to start over in a new place. We could work on being a family again."

"My God! Wow, that is quite the announcement," I said.

"Well, I reminded him that my family was here, my friends were here, my job was here, and I wasn't going to pick up and move halfway around the world. Especially when it was only on the chance that we'd work things out.

"I could tell he was hurt. He looked at me a little defiantly, and said, 'Well this job is a huge opportunity for me and I'm taking it. With you or without you.'

"And that's when I realized, if I loved him, I shouldn't have an issue with going anywhere with him. The argument that I didn't want to uproot my life - that was just an excuse.

"I looked at him; this man who I no longer knew, told him good luck and that I'd start the paperwork on the divorce. He said... well, he said some things, and left. That's the last time I saw him."

She looked up at me then, and I put my arms around her, and she cried against my shoulder.

"Greg, I wanted to call you, so many times. I'm sorry I waited so long. But it took me a while to get over it. Not him, per se, but the situation, you know? The marriage, and my..." She paused, then said, "Anyway I felt like when I did call, I owed it to you to have my past completely put away.

"When I finally did pick up the phone, my heart was in my throat. I was so afraid that you had moved on!"

We had arrived at the viewing deck by the river, where I held her, stroked her hair, told her she was incredible, and her ex was a fool.

Then, I thought about what she'd said. I thought about my last conversation with Monique. I searched Catja's eyes with mine, and asked, "Have you? Put your past away?"

Her eyes locked on mine, she whispered, "Yes."

She looked up at me with those eyes, and I knew she was vulnerable, but God help me, I took a deep breath, slid both hands into her hair, and lowered my lips to hers. The world exploded. I heard her brief whimper, and as her arms snaked around my neck, I lowered mine to wrap around her and she pressed herself against me.

After what seemed like an eternity, we broke apart. Her eyes fluttered open and locked on mine.

"Wow," I breathed the word, more than spoke. There was a smattering of applause from some of the other tourists, and she blushed furiously.

><><><><><

The concert was amazing, and once again, I was enthralled watching Catja's reactions. I resolved to look into a subscription package. I was very hopeful that we'd be coming back.

Before we parted for the evening, Catja turned me, suddenly shy. "Greg, are you busy tomorrow?"

I shook my head, smiling. "For you, I'm sure I can find time."

"I'll text you, okay?"

"Sure. Everything all right?"

"Yes." She kissed me and got in her cab. I climbed in mine, and headed for the train, lost in thought. She had seemed completely engaged with me for most of the evening, but a couple of times, like when we said goodnight, she seemed... somehow nervous. Something was still on her mind.

The next morning, I did get a text.

> Good morning!

> Good morning beautiful!

> Thank you. <blush emoji> Still free?

> Try to keep me away.

> How about lunchtime, at... and an address followed. I plugged it into my phone.

> Catja?

> Yes?

> This is only 15 minutes from where I live!

> Oh wow. How crazy, we've been this close all along.

> Right? I'll see you around noon then? Can I bring anything?

> Just your smile.

> Easy. Til then.

> c u

><><><><><

The GPS led me to a medium-sized two-story home with a wrap porch and stone front, set well back from the street.

I pulled into the drive, and got out slowly, admiring the house and yard. It was well-maintained, and as I turned in a circle, taking in the views, the front door opened and I saw Catja step out. My breath caught. She had her hair up in a simple ponytail and was wearing a white cotton blouse and a long, indigo-blue peasant skirt.

She was followed by an older gentleman, perhaps ten years older than I. It had to be her father. Catja had already told me a little bit about her parents - father born in Sweden, then moved to the US with his parents and younger sister when he was about twelve, and they had settled in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. He met Sara, Catja's mother, on a ski trip to Seven Springs. She was from Hollidaysburg and fell instantly for the handsome and charming Swede (as her father liked to tell the story, with a laugh).

I could feel my smile growing as I strode more quickly up the walk.

"Greg." She had come to meet me, wearing her own smile, and took my hand. Turning, she drew me back to the wide porch. "This is my father, Hendrik Gullickson. Pappa, this is Greg Pearson, the man I've been telling you about."

"A pleasure, Greg." He had a dry, firm handshake, and a pleasant, open manner.

"All mine, sir," I returned his greeting respectfully.

"Please, call me Henry," he said, with the barest trace of a Scandinavian accent, putting a hand on my shoulder and turning toward the house. He held the door as Catja entered.

"Oh shoot, be right back," I told Henry, and I ran to the car. Returning with my forgotten item, I followed him into the house.

"Sara! Company!" Henry hollered amiably.

"Stop shouting, Henry! I'm in the kitchen." Catja moved ahead of us and went right, toward another room, as Henry steered me to the left, to enter what turned out to be a well-appointed kitchen. Therein stood a silver-haired beauty of an age with Henry. I could see where Catja got her looks.

Hand on my shoulder again, he grinned, "Greg, my wife Sara. Sara, this is Greg Pearson, Catja's young man."

I raised an eyebrow at the 'young man' comment, and he chuckled. "Sorry, couldn't resist." I knew then that I was going to like him.

I held out my hand to Catja's mother. "It's my honor, ma'am."

She gave me a warm, welcoming smile. "It's Sara, and I'm very happy to meet you."

I handed her the bottle of wine I'd retrieved, then turned as Catja re-entered the room.

"Greg," she chided, "I said you didn't need to bring anything."

"I know, I know... but my mother managed to beat some manners into my head. 'Never show up empty-handed' was one of them," I said cheerfully. Then things went a little wonky for a moment, and my heart skipped when I spied one big blue eye peeking from behind Catja's skirt.

The room went silent as I slowly knelt, my eyes going back and forth between the sky-blue eye that was carefully observing me, and Catja's darker blue, which were locked on mine. Her face was unreadable, but I was absolutely filled with amazement. I had no idea. But now I think I knew why she had been nervous the previous evening.

Catja spoke. "Sweetie, I'd like you to meet my friend." And out from hiding, she urged a tiny carbon copy of herself. "Hanna, this is Mr. Greg. Greg, this is Hanna. My daughter." She pronounced it in the Swedish style, with both 'a' sounds as in 'fa la la'.

Catja's eyes were still on me, and she was biting her lip.

Smiling, I said softly, "Hello, Hanna, I am very happy to meet you!"

She clung to her mother's leg as she solemnly regarded me.

"How old are you?"

She looked down at her small hand, then carefully held up four fingers.

"Wow, that's pretty old. Are you a princess?" I asked.

She slowly shook her head back and forth.

I put on a crestfallen look. "Oh, gosh. Why, I was certain you must be. Only a princess could be as pretty as you!" I squinted one eye theatrically and peered at her. "Are you sure?"