A Short Nothing of a Thing.

The crowd swells around her as they all bottleneck at the bottom of the escalator. It's a ridiculous notion to have single-width escalators from the train platform up to the station, but that's what they've done. Weekend tourists jostle for position with seasoned commuters, and in their combined hesitation, she slips into an opening and rides up.

At the top, she scans the crowd. Good, he isn't here, just as she asked. He was more than willing to meet her train despite the hour, but she had said no, he should finish his work and wait for her at home. She hated to be met at the gate, be it bus, train, or airplane. A person could never be received the way she truly hoped for. Any joy, sweetness, or gratitude at their meeting had to be tempered by the crowd. You couldn't linger in a kiss, or press your bodies for the length they craved without chancing indecency.

She makes her way out to the curb, the taxi stand, into a yellow cab. Her phone rings with his number. "Hello."

"Hi. Where are you?"

"In a cab, on the way."

"Oh, so you got the early train, good. I just filed my report and am a block away from home. I thought we could meet there and then go get some food. There's a good Italian place not far from here."

"Well I'll be there in about twenty minutes, with this this traffic. But can you swing by a grocery store?"

"Sure. Although I have most things at home. What do you want?"

"I don't want to go out."

"Oh. OK."

"I want you to cook me dinner, then take me to bed."

A two-beat pause, then "I can do that for you, Eleanor."

"Good. I'll see you soon." She hangs up. The light changes and the taxi moves on. She leans back, and waits to be delivered to him.