The Shape of Rain

REGULARS

Owen figured it out before anyone opened up and said it; it didn't work otherwise for him. Twelve years of working with teenagers gave him an ability to read people's unspoken emotions. On Thursday evening, after walking in, he noticed that Elliot's coat was a little too close to Mira's jacket hanging on the hook by the door, observed that the couple was positioned slightly closer than necessary because of their spatial geometry, and just said, addressed to no one in the room: "Well."

That was it. Just "well". Then he went to have some cheese as if nothing even had taken place. Diane picked it up. Still, she didn't speak a word. She simply stared at Francesca, and the latter returned the gaze, so they exchanged a whole silent conversation that only 40 years of friendship could translate into an instant. Then they both turned their smiles back on their cups of tea as if it was the funniest thing anyone could imagine in a couple of weeks.

"Did you miss something?', was Tobias's question since, at the age of 24, he was quite unaware - in the way of the ones who suppose everyone his age is too overwhelmed in the complexity of issues they wouldn't even dream to notice - of anything.

"No, " Mira replied.

"Yes, " Ruth answered at the same time.

Noticing their disagreement, Tobias gave them a puzzled glance, but decided the issue wasn't worth further investigation and turned his attention to his book. Like all Thursdays, the evening proceeded normally. Somebody suggested a book. The chatting went in another direction - this week, they discussed ethics related to ghostwriting, the issue of whether one can consider a book written by one person and published as having been written by another person as ever owning them, and whether the issue of authorship is more about the physical action, typing, or the creative source behind these. Sera, the least experienced, made a strong point that authorship is collaboration wrapped as individual effort, in her opinion. One person does not author an entire work; you see, she stated. It is a discussion between you and all those people that made you into the version of you who writes.

During that particular part of the conversation, Elliot was staring at Mira. In return, she too kept his gaze. They were not uttering a word, but a kind of silent communication was going on between them that had definitely nothing to do with writing by proxy. Meanwhile, Ruth, from her seat, was eyeing everything that had been happening and was very, very happy about it, with the satisfaction of a woman who had been waiting months for exactly that.

Once the rest of them had departed, the trio settled themselves at the back table in their usual manner. The only difference that night was that Elliot had moved in a little closer to Mira than usual. Just a bit, not Much. An inch. Maybe two. That type of change which nobody really would pick up except for Ruth, who always had an eye for details and in particular this, and who refrained from pointing it out.

Instead, she said, "Maybe I won't prepare the Thursday soup anymore."

Mira raised her eyes. "What? No, you mean you just got tired of making the soup for so long?" "Not retiring, " said Ruth, "just evolving."

Mira said, "Ruth, everyone is so fond of your soup; we wouldn't have you stop it, you know that."

Then she pointed out, "I don't want the soup to be gone. I prefer to get a change."

Looking back at them, she added, in a way that the sentence about changing the soup didn't seem to be the point at all, "Sometimes what you used for one season doesn't work for the next season. It doesn't show that the first thing was the right one. It just means seasons are changing. "

Elliot remained quiet for a while. "Are we still talking about soup?"

"We're always talking about soup, " Ruth replied, keeping her face expressionless. "What else could we be about?"

Mira quickly glanced at Elliot, who couldn't hide the grin that took over him. She was also trying to hold the one back.

"Okay, " Ruth said, going to the kitchen while putting on a brave face, picking up the mugs. ''Just be very sure you're not still sneaking glances at one another as if I were not aware of the whole thing. Since it took me 31 years to raise David, what am I going to miss?" Ruth went to the sink, and that, from her point of view, signaled the closing of a conversation.

"She is very transparent, " Mira said after accompanying Elliot to the door.

"She is not really a subtle person. She is just good at being direct. Anyway, I think that's one quality that I like about her, " Elliot said while putting on a coat.

''Me too''. Mira added.

Standing at the doorway, it was February, still cold, but the cold was not quite as severe as the day before. There was a kind of gentle cold which one only gets during a season change, and the air seemed to carry some hint of March, although the month had not yet arrived.

"Owen said, " said Mira

"I know, " said Elliot

"Well... Just like that - it explained everything."

"Probably, for Owen it might as well explain everything. Elliot looked at her. "He doesn't waste his words. If he says 'well', he really means 'well' and everything else in between."

"Do you know what the paragraph says?"

Elliot was thinking seriously about it, which was usually the case for him: "Possibly it says something such as, ' Took you both long enough; don't mess this up; and, by the way, I wish you well. Would you like me to bring you some extra cheese?"

Mira laughed. "That's quite a lot for just one word, " she said. "Owen contains so many different things, " he replied.

She stared at him as if the doorway light was casting shadows only on him. The pale grey eyes were unmistakably his. He had always carried that peculiar brand of exhaustion, she mused, that was his own, and somehow it must have become lighter to him after all these months. Lighter - like there had been a portion of weight in him that he had deposited somewhere quite unobtrusively. I love this, " she whispered. "The fact of being acknowledged by people in general and not keeping that aspect of me hidden."

"I like it too." He took her hand and smiled. "I spent a lot of time trying to live up to the expectations of others, who were quite anxious about me. They thought that even one wrong word could have broken me. I remember I had to go to great lengths not to upset them.''

There's something different about being teased by others, " he added, as though trying to make the point clearer himself by saying it. "That's progress, " she said.

"Absolutely, " he agreed.

He kissed her goodnight just the way he did now, casually at the door, and she watched him walk out into the spring-like weather. It wasn't very cold anymore, just a bit. "Ruth" came quietly behind her and, in the company of a very worn-out dish towel, the mug was being wiped dry at the same time.

"He looks lighter, " Ruth said, not even as the hint of a question. Her eyes were focused and sincere.

"He is," Mira added.

"Good." Ruth took a few steps backwards towards the kitchen, but then she stopped.

She continued: "David would always tell me that the shop influences the people. It keeps them, changes them, and eventually brings them different, mostly better, at least different persons. I thought he was inventing this nonsense because of sales, " she said.

"And now?" Turning her eyes from the window to Mira, the old lady paused and then said:

''Now, at least I feel that was the case with a lot of other things David was saying.'' Then it was as though that thought had ended and Ruth had left Mira alone.

Mira went into the kitchen, thoughts still revolving around the store holding on to people for some time and finally changing them. Mira stayed in the kitchen for a while longer, switching off lights, leaving the corner lamp burning, just as it always did, as she reflected on the change of seasons, evolution of soups, the power of a shop to change a person or at least to alter the view. Mostly it turned out better, though.

The feeling that she finally understood everything David meant came over her as she was standing by the corner of the kitchen.