She liked thin slices of prosciutto wrapped around a thin slice of honeydew melon. He didn’t like the combination. “Melon and ham, and all that fat? Doesn’t do it for me.” If they had prosciutto but no honeydew melon, she’d say “I can use the cantaloupe we have. It’s not nearly as good with prosciutto as honeydew, but it’s still quite good if you slice it real thin.” If they had prosciutto but no honeydew or any other melon, she’d sometimes say “Know what I’d love with this?” and he’d say “I do, and if you want I’ll go to the market and pick up one. If they don’t have honeydew, then a cantaloupe, and if they don’t have that either, which I’d be very surprised at, then a ripe melon of some kind.” If they had honeydew at home but no prosciutto and she said she’d love to have some with melon — she never said it if they just had cantaloupe or some other kind of melon — he’d say “I’ll get some at the Italian market in Belvedere Square,” and if they were in Maine, “the gourmet market in Blue hill. If they don’t have it, then I’m willing to go all the way to Rooster Brothers in Ellsworth, who always carry it and sometimes two or three versions of it.” “Since I’m the only one here who’s going to have it,” she said, “you don’t have to go just for me,” and he said “But I want to and I could use the break.” And if the kids were home: “And I’ll take the kids with me, if they want, and get them a treat there too.” “If you do get prosciutto,” she reminded him a couple of times, “make sure you first ask for the Parma kind and sliced paper thin. It’s twice as expensive as the American prosciutto — to cut the cost you can even ask for a little less than a quarter of a pound — but it’s more than worth it.”
He bumped into the daughter of Gwen’s Ph.D. advisor on Broadway. It was near where her family owned a brownstone off Riverside Drive and about ten blocks south from where he and Gwen had their apartment. They got to talking — the usual stuff: “How’s Gwen?” “How’s the family?” “How’s your writing going?” “How’s school?”—and then she said she wanted to tell him something she never told him or Gwen but had her parents. “I once saw you and Gwen not far from here in front of the Cuban restaurant on a Hundred-ninth on this side of Broadway. That’s probably why I’m now recalling it. This took place soon after she brought you to our house for dinner and we first met you, so long before you were married and had kids. I didn’t reveal myself to you and Gwen on the street because, corny as this must sound, you only seemed to have eyes for each other, which I think is also why you didn’t notice me, and I didn’t want to spoil it by saying hello. I was young but I at least knew that. You were standing on the sidewalk, each holding one of those corrugated paper cups of what I guess you’d call Cuban ice. I’d got some of it there myself a few times. You fed Gwen a plastic spoonful of it out of your cup — you must have had different flavors — and she in turn gave you a spoonful from hers. You did this a few times, then kissed. Then you each finished your own ices and you dumped your cup and spoon into a trash can at the corner — I think you even took Gwen’s cup and spoon to dump with yours — and grabbed each other’s hand and walked up Broadway, I assume towards home. I’d never seen a couple so happy, is what I’m saying. I thought, watching you walk, when I fall in love with someone, that’s the way I want it to be.” “You know, we’ve had our bad moments too,” he said, “and once even stopped seeing each other for a while, maybe even around that time,” and she said “Of course; every couple goes through that, and sometimes more than once. But then, it was pure joy between you two, and what a wonderful thing to witness. It really seemed rare.” When he got back to the apartment he told Gwen who he’d met on the street and what she’d told him. She seemed to think about it a few seconds and then said “I don’t remember that day but I’m sure it happened. I do remember the ices at the Cuban restaurant that they used to scoop into paper cups. We should go there and get some one of these days, or their bolitas, I think they call that fruit drink. I love them.”
