There's no free

“Shall we sit on that hill for a bit before we go?”
The man, dressed neatly in a light blue shirt and beige pants, wasn’t particularly tall or short, but something about him stood out. From the side, he looked a little like James Dean—cool and charming. His clothes, fresh and crisp as if just sun-dried, gave off a clean and pleasant scent.

We sat silently on the hill, watching the crimson sun sink beyond the horizon. When he finally stood up and started down the hill, I followed. He turned back and said,
“Well then, I’ll be going.”

“Yes, me too,” I replied.

But then I suddenly called out to his back, mustering courage from somewhere,

“Would you like a glass of wine? My treat.”

Though he’d just said he was leaving, he eagerly searched for a bar. We sat across from each other, clinking glasses under the soft candlelight and gentle music, without saying much.

That was a dream I had last night—probably because I didn’t have a proper dinner and went to bed hungry. I dreamed I was drinking wine with a guy I briefly dated in college.

I still wonder, even 30 years later—why did he always meet me after lunch around 3 PM and leave before dinner at 6? It wasn’t like he seemed poor. He had a pale, clean-cut look, always well-dressed. But we never once had a meal together. Our relationship just faded away like that. Did he have indigestion issues or something? Or... was I simply not someone he wanted to have a meal with? But he called often and we met multiple times.

“Why did we always meet after lunch and part ways before dinner?”

Even in my dream, I held back from asking that question.

Before we were married, my husband used to work for low wages at a wig wholesaler on Broadway in Manhattan. Still, he always made sure to buy me meals, drinks, even cook for me sometimes, and once took me to a fancy café in SoHo. Even though he often wore clothes straight from the washer, still damp with that musty laundry smell, I thought his willingness to feed me meant he really liked me. Whenever he called for a drink, I’d rush out to meet him.

After marriage, I found out he had a mountain of student loans. He said he hadn’t been able to pay them off because he spent all his money buying me food and drinks. I didn’t have any loans when I studied, so I was a bit bitter—but what could I do? It was the price of all the meals and drinks I enjoyed during our dating days. I couldn’t exactly complain to my parents.

I should’ve listened to my father’s words:
“Don’t expect anything for free. There’s no such thing in this world. And if something seems free, you’ll end up paying for it many times over later.”