The Final Curtain

Kate and I take to the trails and catch up on all the usual stuff.  Our kids, our jobs, our parents, our sibs, girls' night out plans, girls' weekend plans, who's talked to whom about what, and when.

And then when all the usual topics have been adequately covered, I say, "I have a story for you, but let me start at the end. I am going to The Flower Show with Mac tonight."

She literally swats at me and asks what is wrong with me.

Laughing, I start at the beginning, with how I was feeling that Craig was not mine to have and to hold and the text to Jackie's husband, and all the incredulous bullshit between then and this morning.

We are nearly crying with laughter over the La-Z-Boy and the 5:15 dinner reservation.  At one point I had to stop walking for fear I'd pee my pants in the woods with miles to go and Kate would not want to walk within ten feet of me.  It might have been the part about the cookies.

"You know why he suggested that you pick him up, don't you?" she asks.

"Of course, I do," I say.

"It's not because you live closer to the city and he's trying to be environmentally conscious. He'd get you there, invite you in, pour you a drink and you'd never end up leaving the house."

"Exactly," I say.  "But I am way ahead of Mac." No effin' way I am crossing the threshold to his weird condo.  Three sticks of furniture, a nasty letter from a judge frames on the wall of his bathroom so he can see it when he pees, and a freezer full of Lean Cuisine.  I've been in homier rentals.

I go home and decide to make the house presentable. No one, even someone you don't care if you impress needs to see dust bunnies or dirty dishes everywhere.  In under 30 minutes the house is ready for the Home and Garden Channel to visit.

And while I am running the vacuum, I miss a call from Mac. So I call back. He cuts right to the chase.

"What do I have to do to convince you to just come up here and have some champagne and talk to me?"

I am not sure I've heard him correctly and ask him to repeat himself.

"I'm so exhausted from work. Let's get some champagne and snuggle up in my La-Z-Boy and talk tonight. Get to know each other."

I pull out my No Bullshit voice.

"Mac, I am not coming to your house. Period."

He begins to whine about work and that he's tired and on and on like a 6 year old.

I stop him.

"Mac, if you are really tired, I understand," I lie. "No pressure. We can go out any time.  No big deal.  I have plenty of things I can do tonight.  Take the pressure off. Forget it.

"OK, gosh you are such a sweetheart.  If you get bored, call me. I'll be here."

Oh, I know. In the La-Z-Boy.

He texts a few more times --- notes of appreciation for my kindness and understanding.

Kindness and understanding have nothing to do with it. What he doesn't know is that he'll never hear my voice again.