Longer Than We Meant To

December twelfth. We both had the day off at the same time, which happens less often than you'd think, and Simone texted at some point the night before to say she'd heard there was a farmers market running through the weekend and did I want to go. I said yes. I don't know why. It was already late when she asked and I was already most of the way to sleep.

We got there early enough that a few vendors were still arranging their tables. Cold in the specific way that December mornings are cold, not dramatic, just relentless and flat. I had gotten one cup of coffee from the cart near the entrance and was carrying it with both hands like it was a small coal fire. Simone found the honey jars immediately. She does this thing where she reads the labels of things with the focus of someone reviewing a legal document, and I stood behind her for a while not saying anything, which is the kind of comfortable that takes a while to get to with a person.

Simone reading a honey jar label with the intensity of someone grading an exam.

We stayed for almost two hours. Neither of us suggested leaving. I bought a small jar of something, a fig spread, I think, or possibly quince, and Simone got a bag of whatever the root vegetable was at the stall near the end, and then we walked back out the way we came in and stood on the pavement for a minute before agreeing we could probably get lunch somewhere nearby.

Neither of us was fully awake yet but we were moving, which counts.

I didn't plan to write about this. There's nothing in it that requires documentation. But I've been thinking about the specific quality of a morning when you're tired and the other person is also tired and nobody is performing being fine about it, and I think that's the version of company I like best. Tired people are honest people. We got there early and stayed late and I don't entirely know why either, but it felt like the right use of a cold Thursday.