We have a nice tradition with our next-door neighbors who are, shall we say, of our generation.
We have a drink together a couple times a month—at their house in the winter in front of their fireplace and on our patio in the warmer months. We plan on an hour and keep to it. Snacks are whatever is in the house. No fuss.
At our last get together, the four of us had a great conversation about the world in general and our lives in particular. We laughed a lot.
When we got home Peter and I retreated to our appointed ends of the sofa to read. We exchanged very few words for the rest of the evening. When we headed to bed, I mentioned what a nice time we had had with our neighbors, but that we hadn’t said much since we got home. He reminded me that that he doesn’t ever say much.
“It’s OK,” I said. We’re not dating any more.”