The Mystified Moon

Lunette pressed her cheek to the cool glass of the window, watching the rain fall to the suburbs below. He would be here any minute now. Lunette hadn’t seen him in several years; they had only just met at the supermarket and decided to get a bite. She anxiously fixed the top of her strapless dress and continued looking outside. What a pitiful way to say “hello”. Of all the days for it to rain…

Ding dong!

Lunette rushed downstairs, pausing only to grab her clutch purse. She stopped just before the front door, swallowing nervously, and peered out the window. Lunette smiled, and then opened the door.

The man standing before her had the hair and eyes the color of a raven’s feather that contrasted to her light blonde hair and blue eyes. He had a sort of rugged, dark look about him. Once he’d registered the door opened, he looked up and smiled. “Lunette,” the man said airily. “How are you?”

“Perfectly fine, Marcus.” She smiled and stepped out of her apartment and then locked the door behind her. Lunette stepped under his umbrella, and then ran with him to the waiting midnight blue Mustang in the parking lot.

The two drove to a nearby sushi place where they talked over what had happened in the four years since college. However, by the time their sushi was brought by, Lunette had struck up an amusing conversation about the many reasons why chopsticks were too complicated to use, atleast by American standards. Butterflies floated around her stomach each time she heard him laugh.

“I once flicked a chopstick into Sable’s shirt on our first date,” Marcus chuckled. “Poor girl hasn’t wised up and left me yet. She puts up with my horrible aim.” He scooped a piece of sushi into his mouth and then took out his smart phone, which he used to show me a picture of a heavily pregnant bombshell of a girl with dark corkscrews for hair and green eyes. She was short, about 5’3, with fair skin dotted with freckles here and there.

Lunette forced a smile and said, without an ounce of contempt in her clear, bell-like voice, “She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Marcus turned his phone back and smiled at it for a moment before putting it away. He then began to start a conversation about wasabi’s uncanny likeness to pistachio ice cream.

Her heart wasn’t really in it anymore, but Lunette was still laughing by the time Marcus had arrived at her home. She hugged him goodbye, and then opened the door and rushed up the steps to her apartment, a slip of paper with ten digits clutched in her left hand along with her purse. She let herself in after waving goodbye, and then rushed upstairs to press her face yet again to the cool glass of her bedroom window.

He made a life for himself, Lunette thought. And you're not in it.