True Confessions

I hate to admit this, but I didn't hear a single word Father said from the pulpit that morning.

Between my daughter's suggestions that I spruce up a bit there in the first pew, and my sudden concern that I might have coffee breath, and my son's insistence on baiting his sister, I had a lot of distractions.

The last time I'd seen Casey was - as I'd mentioned, two, no, maybe three years ago. Right here at Our Lady of Condemnation. At the time, I'd been seeing J. for about a year. Things were going beautifully. We'd just met each other's children and there had been no drama or tears or tantrums. We'd taken my kids to the zoo and to lunch and had loved every minute. We'd taken his girls bowling and for icecream and had had a ball. We were anxious to survive the holidays at Camp Divorcee and once the emotional turmoil of Christmas was packed away for another year with the tinsel, we'd introduce the kids to each other.

So when Casey and I had bumped into each other unexpectedly after nearly 30 years, and had started chatting - and then extended the chat into the Hospitality Hour (known in my house as Doughnut Day) - the conversation was an easy, breezy, no pressure gab fest.

We'd caught up on everything we could think of: His parents (divorced when mine were, still alive and still not talking). His siblings (still in the area, one married with kids, one committed to bachelorhood). His wife and kids (kids fine, wife left him for another woman a few years back...ouch). His friends (most of whom I'd known once and never kept in touch with). And then all the same topics from my end...My dad had passed, my mother remarried the year I was married (hers working out much better), what my siblings do to fill up their days, the husband I should have left years earlier. Skipped any discussion of friends. They'd never in a million years cross paths.

And so after a couple of cups of truly hideous coffee, and a combined total of 7 doughnuts, we wished eachother a Merry Christmas, and exchanged numbers so that our respective brothers could rekindle what had once been an inseparable relationship. My brother could use a bachelor in his life.

And that was that.

Except for a random text on Christmas Eve, right at midnight, which read, "Merry Christmas, hon," which I'd immediately assumed was more misdirected than misguided, and had deleted at once without replying.