Friday 13 July 2007

Indecent Proposal

Last night at dinner, O asked me if I’d consider marrying him.

This is not how I imagined a marriage proposal – over lamb and sweet potatoes at Ottolenghi on Upper Street, somewhere between discussion of the Fig and O’s six-week-old daughter he has not yet seen.

O wants an American passport, mostly, it seems, so he can have a legitimate excuse to see said daughter as infrequently as possible.

I pointed out that O could get an American passport by marrying the mother of his daughter – she has an American passport, although she’s never lived there.

O laughed. “I don’t want to flatter with you with compliments, but you’re a lot higher than she is on the list.”

Ah, these English men and their idea of compliments… I forgot about O for a moment and instead heard the Fig’s voice saying: “You’re not hard to look at.”

As we walked toward my flat O joked about telling a friend of his -- a friend I loathe (not that O knows that) -- that we were getting married, and asking him to be best man.

"I don't think M has the sincerity to be best man at our sham of a wedding," I said. O laughed. I laughed, too.

O is off to Hong Kong in a couple of weeks, and as I'm off to Ibiza on assignment next week, I may not see him for a while. We're not getting married -- I could never do that -- but we stood on my stoop awkwardly. O kissed me goodbye in the English way -- both cheeks -- something he never does with me. I felt the urge to hug him, but didn't. I opened my front door and didn't look back.

1 comment:

  1. Yum, love Ottolenghi! Especially the French beans with Nigella seeds (heaven)

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