Who Do You See?

Breakfast before work

A young couple sat across from each other in a corner booth of a local diner. Eva endlessly talked about her plans for the garden. As her words faded into a continuous stream of chatter, Caden gazed at her beauty. “Are you even listening to me?” breaks the rhythm of her cadence.

“You want three boxwoods placed evenly across the front garden. Between them, there are to be rosemary plants because you love the fragrance. In front of the perennials, you want annuals of purple and red flowers,” as his eyes still focus on her face.

She studied his face for a moment and then asked, “Why is it that when I look like the farmer's daughter, you seem most enamored with me? On those nights when I slip into sweatpants and a hoodie, you become insatiable for me?”

Caden sat back in the seat while never taking his eye off Eva. He searched for the right words to say before beginning, “Monday through Friday and one Saturday a month, you armor yourself in a professional suit to manage the bank branch. The minimal makeup, the power bun in your hair,  is a façade that shows authority and competency.”

A curious smile crossed her face as she clarified, “Are you saying I'm faking it at work?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Your employees follow your lead, your bosses praise your leadership, and your customers rely on your abilities. If you were faking it, none of these would remain true for very long.” He paused to gather the right words, “It’s more like a portion of yourself you want them to see, the professional, the expert, and the one everyone relies on. You dress for the job, for the people to see you specifically as the branch manager even when you forget your nametag.”

He stared into her face again, “Once a month, we dress for a night out with friends. You spend hours perfecting your hair into a runway style, painting your nails flawlessly, and your makeup looks professionally applied. You slide into a dress that exudes the glamor of a movie star at a red-carpet event. But that is for you and the women around you.” He smiled a devilish grin. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the final results, and I am more than happy to go out with you. Again, you dress that way for the world to see a stylish woman.”

“Are you saying I am vain?” with a hint of fake anger peeking through.

“Not as vain as I am when I see other men wondering how a clod like me landed a supermodel like you. Your confident stride across the floor and the elegant way you sit at the table are noticed by men and women alike. Again, it is an image you portray to others. It is only part of who you are.”

She smiled quaintly and asked, “Do you really think I am a supermodel?”

“Do you not see the way I strut around like a peacock when you are on my arm, looking that good?” He nodded back to her.

Then his face went serious and continued, “When you sit on the couch in your sweatpants and hoodie, I see the real you. Your feet tucked under your butt, your hair allowed to flow freely. The occasional burp or fart coming out of you is all mine. I share you all the other times, but those quiet times at the end of the day, those are mine. Even your parents have never seen this side of you. No one else gets to see that, only me.”

“So, who do you see when I am sitting plainly at the end of the day?”

Caden closed his eyes to picture her on the couch. “I see a girl married to a boy trying to figure out life. She is confident but a little scared, courageous yet still cowardly, and possesses a strength that hides her weaknesses. A woman ready to take on the world if needed, and a little girl at times, who fears the future. She is a bank manager, a supermodel, but most of all the woman I love.”

He opened his eyes and saw tears forming in hers. He thought to himself, “I screwed it up this time.” Then stated powerfully, “I love the girl sitting in front of me wearing blue jeans, a hoodie, and work boots. The way your ponytail pokes through the gap in the back of your hat makes my heart skip a beat.”

Eva’s tears poured down her face, and Caden added, “I’m sorry!”

“Sometimes you are really an idiot,” broke the stream of tears. “These are happy tears at the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”