The Veríssimo Project

She saw him looking pensive in the imported wine aisle. She wanted to turn around, but it was too late, her cart was right by his foot. He stared at her, first blankly, then surprised, then embarrassed, and they both smiled. They had been married for six years, separated for one, and that was the first time they met since the separation. They smiled, and he spoke before her; they almost spoke at the same time.
-You living around here?
-At daddy's.
At daddy's! He shook his head and pretended to organize the produce in his cart - canned goods, cookies, many bottles - so that she wouldn't noticed how emotional he was at that instant.
He had heard of her father's passing, but couldn't make it to the funeral. It had been soon after the separation, and he hadn't the courage to offer his condolences to the woman whom, only one week earlier, he had called a cow. How had he phrased it? "You are a hearless cow!" She wasn't bovine in the least, a beautiful woman, but the insult had sprung to his mind. It was the last word he had said to her. And she called him fake. He thought it better not to ask about her mother.
-And you? she asked, still smiling.
She still looked pretty.
-I have an apartment around here.
It had been wise not to go to the funeral. It was better that their first meeting be like this, informal, at a grocery store, at night. What was she doing there at night?
-Do you always shop this late?
My God, he thought. Will she think I was being ironic?
That had been one of the problems with their marriage, he never knew how she would interpret his words. That's why he had called her a cow in the end. "Cow" left no doubt that he despised her.
-No, no. I just have some friends over and realized that I have nothing to serve them.
-That's funny. Cause I also have some friends over and just stopped by to get some drinks, pate, that kind of thing.
-Funny.
She had said "some friends." Was it somebody from back then? The old gang? He had never seen their old friends again. She had always been more social then he. Maybe it was a male friend. She was a thin, beautiful woman, of course she could have boyfriends, that cow.
And she was thinking: he hated parties, hated having people over. Going out, to him, was going to Dad's house for poker. Now he has friends over? Maybe it's a female friend. After all, he was still young... He left her at home and came here to get groceries. And imported wines, that fake bastard.
He thought: she doesn't miss me. Has a house full of friends. And I am sure she noticed how emotional I was when I saw her. She thinks I miss her. Well, I won't give her the satisfaction, no ma'am.
-My liquor cabinet is always empty nowadays. There's always people over, he said.
-It's one party after the other at my place.
-You always like parties.
-And you didn't.
-People change...
-I can see that.
-You wouldn't recognize me if you lived with me now.
-For God's sake, she said, still smiling.
They both laughed. It was an informal meeting.
During those six years they had loved each other intensely. Couldn't live without one another. Their friends always said, "Those two... If one goes, the other will commit suicide." Their friends didn't understand the intricacies of their relationship. There was always the threat of a misunderstanding between them. They loved each other very much, but just couldn't get along. It was as if their love was stronger because it took the place of understanding, it had an accumulated function. She interpreted the meaning of his words, and he meant nothing by them.
They walked through the cashier together, he offered to pay for her things, after all, she would pay for them with his alimony anyways. He thought of asking about her mother, she thought of asking him whether he was ok, if the uric acid thing hadn't returned, they both started at the same time, laughed, then said goodbye without another word.
When she arrived at her house she heard her mom yell from the bedroom that she needed to stop shopping for groceries so late at night and that she needed to find some friends, do something, instead of mulling over her lost husband. She said nothing. She put the groceries away and went to bed.
When he arrived at his apartment, he opened a can of pate, the packet of cookies, the bottle of Portuguese wine, got drunk and ate alone, until he went to bed.
Fake bastard, she thought to herself before falling asleep.
Cow, he thought to himself before falling asleep.