Be Our Guest

And as word spreads about J. and people reach out, I feel like a heel. They are all so kind. Acting like I must be sad. I feel like a villain when all I can truthfully say is that I am sad for the girls. I am not devastated or mournful. I feel no sense of loss. I feel nothing really, except a little wigged out that someone I dated is dead. That's a new experience. Doesn't happen a lot in your twenties. I guess now that I am crowding in on 50 I should consider the potential for a repeat.

Charlotte texts me that she saw the obituary (in the Irish Comics). Not a recent picture. No kidding. That would have just been gruesome. Another friend texts me the link to the online obit and asks if I am going.

I reply, "No. No need to go."

The day of the service itself passes without so much as a mental note to myself except to heave a sigh of relief toward the end of the day that surely that hideous tattoo would be six feet under by now.

Later, I go to text my friend about getting our daughters together, and notice the link again. Out of truly morbid curiosity, I take a look at the online obituary.

The picture is indeed old. Back from his gainfully employed days when he'd written an article on annuities or some such snoozefest topic. Easily 15 years and 40 pounds ago.

The obit is all the usual survived-by crap. Nothing remarkable. Saying much more would have cost money.

I click on the Guestbook.

Sheila has written two nearly unintelligible sappy notes as though she were speaking directly to him. One is exactly the same as the other except it has an additional thought...one that mentions a great neice or nephew on the way. I suppose Chuck and Em are procreating. More family weirdness to come. Glad I won't have the front row seats I had for the wedding planning. I am sure the potential for drama has not been curtailed in any way. Betcha they name the baby J. Or Spiderman.

Moira writes something sweet. Nothing from Abby.

And then there is an anonymous one. No name mentioned. No city identified.

It simply says, "I love you..."

And I am fuming. I don't know who wrote it and don't care. But the fact that it is anonymous probably has everyone assuming that it was submitted by me.

As if!

Did someone put that out there so people would think that I wrote it? Did someone write it assuming I would see it and be jealous? (I can't even begin to comment on how ridiculous that idea is!)

Did Abby write it and not want anyone to know?

Normal people don't sign the guest book and conceal their identities! Someone is up to something! My conspiracy theorist self is in overdrive.

I love you? That is the last thing I want anyone to think I wrote. It takes all my willpower not to write a guest book entry of my own.

I could take the high road (almost) and send my condolensces to Moira and Abby only, and thumb my nose at the family without actually doing so.

Or I could take a wholly unique approach and write something that indicates in no uncertain or nebulous terms that I do not love him. Sight the numerous indiscretions, faults, and other heinous attributes that I will not be missing when he takes his pathetic little self to the Hereafter.

I am filled with gall, because really, I can do nothing.

And doing nothing is not my style.