The words came too late. We confuse chemistry with compatibility. Actually, they would not have helped. Wise words are useless when you meet someone you click with. Who needs wisdom when your body and mind are ignited?!
I need it, that's who.
She moved in last week. A blissful first day. Next morning, we woke up among my blue sheets. Strange, someone with me. After months of an empty flat.
I smiled at her, caressed her cheek. She smiled back. Getting up was awkward. No-one had inducted us into this sudden familiarity. What was there between us? An attraction, obviously, from my side. But what did she see in me? Maybe no more than the opportunity to vacate a dingy studio dig? I brushed the thought aside.
We showered, breakfasted, made love, washed the dishes. The silence was suddenly a strain. "Do you like music?" I asked. Of course she did. Everyone does. She grimaced when I put on orchestral music. "That's elevator music," said she. I sank us back into silence.
"Let's go out to lunch. To celebrate our first weekend together."
"Sounds good to me. No girl ever says no to lunch," she answered brightly.
In the lush garden of my favourite cafe, I admired her long jet black hair. I had never dated an Asian before. Was she submissive or dominant, easy or difficult? I wished I knew more about her. But I was happy to look into her dark eyes, savouring the fact. The fact that I had someone.
She ate sparingly and then ordered chai latte. I hate milk. But then, we didn't need to have the same tastes. Or did we?
Having rugged up to meet this sunny winter's day, we decided to walk. She wanted to head for the mall, I for a park. We compromised on the mall. Heck, why wouldn't I please her? She had shared my bed.
She walked with a natural grace, though she wore jeans and a black top, not the lacy red dress of our first meeting. I surmised she did not need to impress me any more. Yet I was on my Sunday best behaviour, trying to meet her every wish, including unspoken ones. Was I a push-over?
Her English, though fluent, was occasionally deficient in grammar. Jarringly, she did not know about plurals. I wondered what cultural differences would come to divide us. She had grown up in mainland China, a place alien to me.
She still charmed me, though. When she smiled, I melted. I loved the way she threw her hair from one side to the other. Was this artifice?
With a shock, I realised I hardly knew her. Apart from her job at Sydney university library and being 35, I knew zilch about her. Here she was, already a part of my life.
My mind had filled in the blanks, using that standby, wishful thinking.
Back home, she was distracted, hardly engaging with me, focusing instead on her mobile. Suddenly, I thought about the cases people spoke about. Women who started relationships here, but who had a husband back in China. Was she one of these?
I needed to discover the reality of her, something that her long hair, prominent bosom and slim figure had hidden from my male purview.
"Would you like to see a movie tonight?" I asked, trying to get her to put down her mobile, breaking a too-long silence. "No, don't feel like it. Let's stay home. I like your flat. It is so peaceful here." She returned her attention to the phone.
Feeling boorish, I barraged her with questions, sounding painfully like an interviewer. Her answers were cursory. Back to her phone. She asked me nothing in return.
Was this a red flag?