Epilogue

On one of the long wooden benches that line the pathway through a frost-tinged Central Park, a guy sits alone, staring up at the trees, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his dark grey 'Charlie' coat. A woman strolls towards him, her long quilted jacket hugged tight, lost in her own thoughts. When she gets within a couple of yards, he straightens up and stares at her, rocks his head to one side.

"Hi there," he calls out, "don't I know you?"

She stops and takes him in for a moment, before smiling and nodding.

"We almost met once. Outside a coffee shop. You were with a flatulent dog and a clown trying to organize your life. Everything hunky-dory now?"

"Ah." He registers her, and then lowers his gaze. "Not really. It's been one of those days." He snorts into the fresh air. "Well, one of those years, to be honest."

"Tell me." She stands there, appearing to make up her mind. "You want some company?"

He seems to brighten at this and pats the space next to him. Seated, she leans back and tucks her legs under the bench. They sit in comfortable silence for a minute before she speaks.

"'Trying' is an interesting word, isn't it? You know, when somebody says it's been a trying day or they've had a trying time. Do you ever wonder how that one got into the English language?"

He considers the question a moment before saying. "No, but I'm trying. My favorite expression is 'surprisingly good'. Such and such was surprisingly good. It's a slap in the face cunningly disguised as a compliment."

She breathes a steamy laugh into the chill air and turns to him.

"Sorry. Rude of me." She peels off a mitten and offers her hand. "I'm Wendy."

He gawps at her for a second and begins to chuckle, softly.

"Of course you are."

He pulls his own hand from a pocket and holds hers. Not only does the warmth of his complement the coolness of hers, but in a strange way they seem to fit.

"Hi Wendy," he grins, "I'm Peter. Where on earth have you been?"