The Fourth First Date

Every January, Adam and Lin had their first date.

They always met at the same restaurant in Rawai.

Adam arrived from Copenhagen with a pale face and twelve months of news. Lin arrived twenty minutes late and pretended to have forgotten exactly how long it had been.

The first year, they spent two weeks together.

The second year, three.

By the third, Adam kept a toothbrush at her apartment, although leaving personal items for eleven months is less commitment than long-term storage.

They rarely spoke while he was away.

A birthday message. An occasional photograph. Enough contact to keep the relationship alive without requiring either of them to define it.

During their fourth first date, the waiter recognised Adam.

“The usual table?”

This pleased him more than it should have.

Over dinner, Adam finally asked whether their relationship could ever become real.

Lin considered the question.

“We meet every year.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You come back. I’m here. We are happy.”

“For three weeks.”

“Yes.”

Adam had imagined real relationships lasting longer.

Lin had experienced enough of them to know duration was not always the useful measurement.

When he left, neither promised anything.

Eleven months later, Adam messaged her.

“Same table?”

Lin replied two minutes later.

“Same first date.”