Running with Scissors

And the next day things were relatively quiet. Craig was traveling and I was looking forward to a chat later that night. And as soon as the chatting began, just as before, Scott texted.

A photo of one of the dogs, looking sad. And an inquiry.  How was I doing, aside from him hurting me? And an apology. He really is sorry.

I told him the honest truth. A little more detail this time.

I am fine. It took a while. I have spent time with myself and my friends and immersed myself in work, which has paid off with a nice opportunity. I have had some work done on the house and am feeling good about things. But to be completely truthful, I added, though I have truly forgiven him, it is hard to forget how he treated the kids and me when it counted. Send.

And he says he's not forgotten. He's worried himself sick about it. Lost a lot of weight.

I tell him to go eat some ice cream. He was certainly not suffering from a weight problem at all. Did he lose a limb?

And what happened next made me sad. He told me that he was kind of on a health kick, in so many words. Eating right, going to the gym. Looking better than he ever has.

I suggest that that must make him happy.

And he says it would, but he's still alone.

And it sounds like he's trying to - I don't know - attract me to him.

And that is what is sad. My attraction to him was certainly helped by the fact that he was handsome and sexy, but that was just the candles on the cake. I loved his soul. His heart. The way he loved his girls, his dogs. His mechanical genius. His kindness. His willingness to fix anything that broke in my world. His sense of adventure. How much fun we had. His tenderness toward me. His unflinching respect. He could have had crossed eyes and buck teeth and I would have loved the things I saw with my heart.

So I made a snappy remark out of desperation and stopped texting.

Later he sent me a goodnight text. And used my name. Like I'd always asked.