One Day at a Time

I go to training. My friend is teaching the class and he asks me what is wrong. Evidently, I am not a great pretender.

I tell him the details and he is horrified. He's met Scott. He's hoping for the best for us. Maybe this is just a blip. "Don't do anything rash," he says.  I'll hear from him, he's sure.

I fake it through the class and a meeting that follows. I am sure I look like I've just come from a funeral when I return to my department. I am immediately set upon by the ladies I'd spoken to earlier.

I share the details with them while I try to eat my lunch. Eating has not been a priority during my personal crisis and my pants are already starting to look roomy.

They ask a lot of questions. Give a lot of advice. They don't think I'm getting dumped. I'd like to believe them. Of course I would. I am not sure I do, but it is giving me a little strength to go on with my day to believe that there is some hope. 

Their advice is simple. Give him space. He's obviously freaked out about something. Perhaps the storm catalyzed some mid-life crisis waiting in the wings and he's taking stock in his life. It does make sense. Destruction all around him. The shore town he loves has tons of damage. His statements about his life and his job and his house...that all adds up. And he's the right age.

I am to give him time to sort it out. No calls. No texts. Just leave him alone to sort it out. They think he'll call by Wednesday as if nothing has happened.

I am willing to believe. I can not imagine that after two years that THIS is how he'd choose to break up with me. I am dying to talk with him. I have so much to ask, so much to tell him. I just need to be patient. I 'll have my chance.

But Wednesday is a long way off.