In Luck and In Love

By Friday, I am slightly more rested but not entirely sure I should be out of my plastic bubble and out mingline with the general public. But there is no way I am cancelling Sandy. That would be dirty pool.

I get home on time and "sh*t, shower and shave* as my Dad would have said.  My dark wash jeans are fitting more fabulous than ever (purchased during the relationship afterburn of the J. years) and my legs look 10 feet long.  I love the color of my clingy new sweater. My hair and jewelry are perfection. I may be headed out with Sandy, but nothing says I can't turn a few heads in the meantime.

I get in my car. I am hoping I will recognize her. J. had always convinced me that she was pure evil and to look at her directly would have meant I'd have surely turned to stone.  It seems so silly now. Why on Earth did I ever believe one dollop of drivel from him?

Against the odds, since it is the night they are lighting the Christmas tree in town, I find a prime parking space right near the place where we are to meet. I get a text from her as I am taking off my seatbelt. "I am here!"

I text back that I am too, just parking. 

I walk into the restaraunt. It is very crowded. There had not been a soul here on Sunday.  But I see Sandy at the bar, and she sees me, or probably my coat. In a sea of navy and gray overcoats, I look like Little Red Riding Hood.

We greet each other warmly. I realize I feel like I've known her my whole life.

And really, I have, sort of. At least for some pretty major crap.

And yet, it is like we are starting fresh. Fact checking.  Comparing notes. Piecing things together from scraps and clues we've filed away for years.  We are full of questions...but first things first.

Like I'd thought, Abby and Moira had seen my Facebook activity and had told her of my change in status. When she'd first reached out to me to plan something awash in cocktails, I'd agreed right away but would not commit to a date. I fessed up that I had recently found myself among the single set - and rather abruptly so, and was not sure I'd be great company.  She had said she is a great listener, but did not push. She alluded to a heartbreak of her own.  I left it at that, since I had no idea at the time when I'd feel human enough and strong enough to tread the path we'd be on tonight.

But it was time to tell her the tale. Someone completely outside the situation needed to learn all about it and digest it and spit out what honestly uninfluenced opinion she'd formed.

It was surprisingly painless. 

I could gush about Scott, I could rail against Scott, I could tell her without crying that my heart had been shattered by him. And I could tell her very honestly that I'd wallowed and played morose music, and reached out to friends and asked for the help that I needed. That I'd been so touched to find that I was important enough to care about. I mean, come on. It was a garden variety bad breakup. It's not like my parents were killed in a plane crash with a famous rock band or my house burned down and took my museum quality irreplaceable art collection with it. I got dumped. Yawn!

But she got it.

Mostly because she'd lived it on her end too. Had her own lengthy, lovely relationship that was full of promise. One that made her heart beat faster and made her want to get her eyebrows waxed and buy new lipstick and new bras.  One that put a spring in her step and motivation in her every undertaking.  One that soothed her to sleep and filled her with peace.  And he'd abruptly made his choice as well. And for her, it will never be the same. She has no hope of reconcilliation. But has never gotten him out of her heart or her head.

And suddenly, I am pitying her. A woman of such power, as I've come to know her. The world by the ass. Layed low in love never to recover. 

And I think for the first time in weeks that I am about the luckiest person I know.