You Say Goodbye, And I Say Hello

He sends a few texts throughout the afternoon. It stops just short of me wanting to kill him.  What I don't need is another J.

And speaking of J., I can not spend all damn day on the phone. I have arranged to have J.'s girls over for dinner. I am making a favorite recipe of theirs and need to get busy.  We'll get to that later.

But he does eventually back off and I enjoy the afternoon - and find myself looking forward to the possibilities. I am not feeling especially attracted to him, but need to push myself to give people a chance. One date will not kill me. Will not mean anything. Will not go on forever.  Even the worst date of my life (Casey) did not last as long as my worst day in the office.

He sends me a text at about 4 pm asking me to call him. Weird, but I do. (I mean the phone is in his hand, just dial for Chrissake.)  Turns out he's about to take a nap. Another routine. I think this makes him sound ancient. But I do, on the flip side, think a nap sounds fabulous.

We talk for a few minutes and my phone is buzzing the entire time.  Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. Like some cosmic call waiting telling me that this is a bad idea.

I think as I get off the phone that it must be Hil texting from the attic asking what is for dinner and when Abby and Moira are arriving. 

But no.

I get off the phone to find that I have several texts.

Not from Hil.

Not even from Pat.

From Craig. And from Scott.

And I realize that there is not some cosmic call waiting feature out there telling me not to go out with Mac.  There is a cosmic radar alarm clock that lets all the men in your life know the precise moment when they've lost your attention and alerts them that they have to jump up and down and wave their arms in your face again. Maybe just for laughs.

I want to open Craig's first. But I am disciplined. I read them in order.  Scott first.

"What's for dinner?" 

I tell him that I am making a Pennsylvania Dutch recipe of my grandmothers and describe it. And suddenly I wonder why I never made them for him and his girls.

He is clearly frothing at the mouth. Miss me, miss my cooking. That's part of the price you pay.

I tell him how to make them. He laments that no one in his house will make the effort. I actually do feel sorry for him.  But not that sorry. Hello, grown ups, learn to feed yourselves!  I have texts from Craig to read.

"What are you doing tonight?"

And now I am really regretting having invited Mac back into my life. I am willing to give him a chance but Craig would clearly win the coin toss any day of the week.

It's amazing how the simplest things can change the course of my heart.