Before I can even leave the house, he starts with the texts. A phone call woudl be much more productive, even if it ended up with me screaming obscenities at him in the end, which is hardly outside the realm of possibility.
"What time are you free?"
I answer.
"Do you want me to pick you up or do you want to come and collect me here?"
I literally stop in my tracks to make sure I've read that correctly.
Did he really just suggest that I might want to do the driving on our first date? Unless he has his right foot in a cast or has suddenly lost his ability to see, there is simply no excuse for such a preposterous idea. Call the Police! There's a madman around!
I his small and inadequate, feeble defense, I could reationalize that when we dated before (using the term loosely and indiscriminantly now) I was still living with Lars. I HAD to go to meet Mac or see Mac or whatever reasonable alternative there was to Mac knocking on my door and introducing himself to Lars and the kids.
But still.
That was seven years ago. A lot has changed. Or so I'd hoped.
"I think it is time you come to me, Mac," I write.
"No problem. Give me your address."
I already had. A week ago. But I did it again because evidently, anything that is not specifically beneficial to Mac beyond the moment is not worth remembering.
"Great. See you at 7:30. This will be fun."
Somehow I doubt it. All of it.
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