For four years, Evan and I have lived a relationship in which we’re apart more than we’re together. When we met for the first time, he was living in Seattle, I was in Vancouver and COVID protocols were still in place. That first date was such a great start that the second date became an entire weekend with base camp being an Airbnb at a midway point between the two cities which happened to be a rural area where the closest town was actually a hamlet that was three blocks long. There didn’t have to be much around us. The spark was unmistakable.
Once again we had to return to our daily lives in separate countries. I remember our next-day phone conversation with Evan asking, “So how do you want to proceed?”
Cautiously, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“How often do we contact each other?”
I didn’t hesitate: “Every day.”
“Oh!” I couldn’t tell if that startled or excited him. Likely, it was a little of both. But I’m not a fan of texting. There can be too many gaps between replies (especially by me since I like to have my ringer off when I’m writing and often forget to check my phone during breaks). At the time, I was also often confused about when a text conversation ends. So often with friends, I’d wait for another reply to come through but—poof—they had moved on to something else. Well, okay…
With very few exceptions, Evan and I have FaceTimed every day. I look forward to our evening chats but they don’t come near the closeness of being together in person. Sometimes they even feel flat when we’re just reciting routines of the day. I worry that my side of the sharing can come off as boring since my days as a person with mental health disabilities can be quite small. I don’t have a job so there are no stories about conflicts or amusements with clients or coworkers. There isn’t an office dog whose endearing antics I can relate. I sit. I write. I move to a café. I write more. Even if I order a scone, that doesn’t expand the conversation. I query an agent. I hear nothing back. I go to the gym. I resume writing. My day doesn’t lend itself to lively FaceTimes.
But a month ago, Evan and I started having dinners together once a week when we’re apart. Sure, we’ve eaten countless times while FaceTiming, Evan eating leftovers from the same pizza he’s been portioning out for three days, me eating something simple straight out of the saucepan. (Why plate and garnish a meal if I’m the only one present? Why not make cleanup go faster?) What’s different now is that we reserve one evening for a proper dinner date, albeit virtually.
It begins a couple of days ahead of time when we agree on a new recipe to make. He hits the grocery store when it fits his schedule and I do the same. Because Evan is a more confident cook—he tosses things in while I measure out everything according to the recipe’s instructions—I have to do some extra prep before the call. I pull out ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator. I wash the spinach; I chop the garlic. I set portioned out ingredients in ramekins just like on a cooking show. It will mean more cleanup but, hey, it’s just once a week.
The basic recipe is vegetarian since I don’t eat meat. Sometimes Evan adds chicken or some other ingredient that is not part of my diet; other times, he surprises himself by going meatless himself. For non-vegetarians, that often feels edgy. What about protein? Will the meal taste okay? Will I sleepwalk in the night and find three empty tuna cans on the counter come morning? Evan’s been with me long enough to know when he can survive or, gosh, even enjoy a dinner without meat.
Once we’re FaceTiming, we prep the meal together, chatting about our day while also commenting on when to add the garam masala and how long to toast the orzo. If my anecdote about writing a tricky paragraph fails to engross, there is always something to stir or a bowl to rinse.
Tonight is our fourth meal together while being remote. Roasted cauliflower orzo. (The guy whose recipes we’ve been choosing from is big on orzo. I’ll have to buy more at the store today along with kalamata olives and, yes, cauliflower.) I will plate my meal and add fresh parsley as a garnish. It will be my most balanced meal of the week and the best looking as well. I’ll take a little longer to eat because there will be conversation between bites. We’ll critique the recipe, I’ll comment on how his looks better than mine. It probably has something to do with his candles, the linen napkin and the fact he’s more experienced in the kitchen, drawn-out pizza nights notwithstanding. Overall, the conversation will be livelier and FaceTime will feel more like an experience than an obligation. We’ll clean up together and extend the conversation with Evan taking to the patio and me settling into the sofa. The call will end as they all do with shared smiles, a little wave and “I love you.” But tonight is more special than last night’s or the ones to come over the week ahead. Although we’re 1,700 kilometres apart, it’s nice to have Date Night.
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