1. Max and Rosie Pt. 1


    Date: 10/19/2017, Categories: Love Stories, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 13, Source: LushStories

    The shrill sound of the tea kettle shattered Max’s reverie. He was remembering when he and Rosie met thirty-eight years ago. Sighing deeply, he looked down at the yellow mug and remembered the vision of the two of them rowing down the Charles River that May morning, the night after their first date, the first of many, before shocking everyone they knew by getting married one April weekend while still in their senior year of college. He had been attending Harvard and she was at Radcliffe, a few years after the two colleges had begun sharing courses. He often remembered Rosie walking in on the first day of their Chaucer course. She stood at the doorway and looked around the crowded room for a seat. He was immediately captivated by her pretty, oval-shaped face, high cheekbones and the serious intensity in her eyes as she scanned the crowded room, then the delighted, almost childlike smile when she saw the empty chair next to him. She’d asked if he minded her sitting there, and he turned and looked around the room. “Well, there aren’t any other seats in the room, so I guess it’s okay.” He could still see her that day with her thick, bushy, brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses, an appearance so unlike most of the other women with their long straight hair, tailored clothes, aristocratic air, who looked as if they had just stepped out of an advertisement in Seventeen or Glamour. She wore a long flowery skirt that came below her knees and a baggy green turtleneck sweater, several ...
    rows of a beaded necklace and sandals. She looked, more bohemian than Ivy. When she sat down next to him, his heart leaped in a way that surprised him, having no idea at the time where that moment would lead. Max poured the water into Rosie’s yellow mug, then glanced over at her as she sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window, her chin resting on her hand. What is she thinking about? What is she trying to remember? Dipping the Earl Grey teabag into the mug, he watched the water turn bronze-colored, knowing how strong she liked her tea and how long the bag had to steep before it was just right. Stirring in a little honey, he heard the little ping of the toaster-oven and noticed the orange light go out, then reached for the rye toast Rosie loved. He placed it on the plate with the blue lily enameled in the center. He made sure he served the rye toast on the same plate every time because of the way it made her smile. She always said, “Ah, my favorite dish.” He liked it when she remembered little things like that. He had brought out the raspberry jam and now he spread it on the toast. This was their four o’clock ritual—tea and rye toast with raspberry jam. They would sit at their round oak kitchen table and watch the blue jays, yellow-headed finches and occasionally, doves, come to the feeder. He loved the way the birds made her smile as they watched quietly. “Oh, look,” she’d say, “what’s the name of that bird?” Max could see by her squinting eyes she was straining to ...
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