Whine and Wine

I get into the car and drive to the wine and spirit shop.  My phone is buzzing the entire time.

My former colleague is being thrown a surprise party. Would I like to come?

Sure!

J.'s ex-wife Sandy says it is time we finally have that cocktail. I send a note of agreement. Her girls must have tipped her off about my Facebook activity. 

Kate's son is singing in a choir at a nearby church tomorrow. Would I like to join them for Mass? 

What could be the harm in that?

My cousin would like to join me for the football game later in the afternoon.  How about she stops by with chips and dips and beer?

Fine by me!

I am a little excited about my long endless days filling up before my eyes. I decide to buy some wine to go with each occasion.

A bottle of something called Be. Radiant. Chardonnay for Sandy.
A bottle of Malbec for the surprise party hosts.
Kate and I could polish off a bottle of anything but I choose a Chilean bottle in case she wants to sit and chat after Mass at my house.
Now what to get Charlotte and Jack?

It practically leaps off the shelf.

Middle Sister Vineyards Drama Queen Pinot Grigio.

Sold!

And I throw in a bottle of gin to go with the lonely bottles of diet tonic I have in my fridge.

I head to the mall for some shopping...but not quite Christmas shopping. I need new gear for my iPhone 5 that finally arrived after Scott had dumped me and I could not show it to him. I need some common household things. Because nothing makes you feel younger and more confident than buying a broom and an industrial sized bottle of aspirin substitute and a box of tampons.

And I am finding it hard to feel capable of moving again. I may need to eat something. I stop in the Chinese place to take a load off and eat an egg roll.

Another text.

It is my friend Rocky.

"Everything okay over there in your neck of the woods, Liza?"

I am beside myself at his kindness. An old friend. I dated him once. Charlotte may have had a date with him. He and I went to school together and became fast friends. One of the kindest guys you could ever meet. And a lovely wife and children to show for it.

I copy and paste the text I 've been sending. I make a few edits to personalize it to Rocky.

It is clear from his reply that he is heartbroken for me.  And just as baffled. He agrees that it is a crisis of some sort, but that has stopped making me feel any better. The Rock Man suggests that I am lucky that he flaked now, and not three years into marriage.

I suppose he's right...but all I want to do after having to think about it again is nap. I head for the car and bomb for home so I can take a nap and forget for a time.

Rain Nor Sleet Nor Gloom of Night

I get up and start moving but doing anything but sitting and dwelling is downright painful.  I start to strip a bed. I sit and simper a little. I finish making the bed. I lay down across it and sniffle a little.

Charlotte calls. I am immediately crying. I tell her everything. She wants to kill him all over again. I tell her I feel like the housewife whose husband goes out for a pack of smokes and never comes back. I have that many answers.

She tells me my life has become a country song.

I post the sentiment to Facebook and credit her. Suddenly we are both laughing.

She tells me that she and Jack will be over to take me out to the Pub for dinner and in the meantime I need to get myself looking fabulous and get out in public to mail that package back to Scott. Good riddance.

I do just that. I put on a zippy little sweater and jeans and my favorite boots, tie a cool scarf around my neck and head out with Scott's box of crap.  I've returned all of his things, and a few that he's given me... household things that I can't bear to look at. I tell him as much in a note. I tell him I don't send the gifts back to hurt him, but that I can not help but be reminded of what might have been if we'd talked more and that I need to get him out of my head, if not my heart. Signed, sealed and addressed. I am off to the mall by way of the post office.

I wait in line, feeling the weight of the box and the weight of what I am doing. I am sure I look positively miserable. I make a mental note to stop by the liquor store around the corner. A little wine is in order.

When it is my turn, I step up to the desk and the clerk asks me how I'd like the package to be sent.

"Slow and cheap, " I say. "These are my boyfriend's things and he just dumped me. So let's not bother with insurance either."

"Any hazardous chemicals in the box, ma'am?"

Now why didn't I think of that?

"No," I say. "It is just a box of crappy memories."

The clerk looks at the address label. "Is this where he lives?"

I nod. He remarks that most of that town is under water from the storm.

"He's fine," I say. "He's fine. The house is fine. He's just an asshole, that's all."

We don't talk much more. I pay for shipping and walk away.

Somehow I don't feel unburdened.  I take a picture of the receipt and text it to Scott.

"Your stuff's been mailed."

Status Symbol

Through fits and starts and many Kleenex I tell Don my whole story. He is not one for a lot of drama, but he's as kind a man as any you could work for. And I've never dumped a personal problem all over him so he owes me this one lifetime indulgence.

He tells me he thinks Scott has had a midlife crisis. (This is becoming a theme.) He thinks he'll be back, but is not sure that would be a great thing. It would depend on me. And he offers to tell me about his midlife crisis.

I tell him that I was so outside my own skin the day before I'd nearly asked him, assuming he'd had one, since it's apparent that he's not twenty anymore.

He tells me some of the outrageously out of character things he did. Things he can't believe he did. Things he's not proud of. Things he'd never do now. And the reasons he felt like doing them.

Somehow that makes me feel better. To label it. But in truth, it is only a half comfort. Men have midlife crises in many forms. Jack had his and he went out and bought a vacation home without showing it to Charlotte. And a motorcycle. She got another million in life insurance and called it resolved. Not bad for something called a crisis. But her girlfriend's husband fell in love and ran off and married a twenty year old. Obviously the crisis turned his life in another direction for good. There was not turning back from it. What if that is Scott's fate?

It is apparent that I am worthless to the office and leave early. I go home. I make plans with James and his boyfriend.

And I log onto Facebook and go to my profile.

And change my status to "single."

Messages pour in from friends and relatives I have not told. Thank God I can copy and paste the same story to each of them and not actually have to think about what to write each time. It spares me the heartache of going to that dark little place.

Comments on my page are flowing in. Words of encouragement. Compliments. My friend's husband remarks that I will only be single as long as I want to be and calls me beautiful. It is a temporary high.

And somewhere in the middle of the night, while I am drinking with James and his mate, Scott unfriends me on Facebook and proceeds to systematically unfriend all the people we have friended as a result of our relationship.

Ouch.

A Tale of Woe

I spend the rest of the night sending selective texts - copying and pasting the same sad, shocking, humiliating message to groups of friends. The Girls Weekend Girls, the high school pals who met Scott when I did, my college roommate. They are all so sweet. They are all shocked. They are all baffled at how it has all unfolded. They all want to kill Scott.

I feel the need to reach out to Scott's girls. And the kid next door who is always at the dinner table. And the older daughter's boyfriend.

I message them together on Facebook. I tell them I am not sure what has happened but it is apparent that I will not have an opportunity to say a proper goodbye to them. I tell them that I've loved getting to know them and will miss watching them become the wonderful people they will surely become. I wish them all well and let them know they will always be in my heart. It is heartbreaking to write. I've lived so much of their lives with them for two years.

Each one writes back, some more than once. It is nice to know that they thought they'd never have to say goodbye. It is nice to read all of the nice things they have to say. It still feels awful.

By some act of God, but against all logic, I get up and go to work. I make the rounds to the curious and supportive girlfriends. They are all sweet. They are all shocked. They are all baffled at how it has all unfolded. They all want to kill Scott.

I get a text from Charlotte asking about Thanksgiving. Do I have plans with Scott?  Do we want to join them? 

Time to face the music.

I tell her in several painful texts what has been happening. She is rabid. She is also sweet. And shocked. And baffled. And wants to kill Scott.

She texts him. They exchange several texts back and forth. At least he answers her. I guess he's not afraid of her crying. Of the look on her face.

My friend James reaches out. Everyone needs a supportive gay man when they are down on their luck. He invites me out for a drink later. It is the last thing I feel like doing, but I know I can not form a habit of laying down and dying. I need to survive this. It will try to kill me but I have to force my heart to keep beating in spite of itself.

And then I get a message from Scott.

"I am so sorry. I guess I kept quiet about little things and they became big things. I hope someday we can be friends. I have always loved you and will never stop. xoxo"

It is all I can bear. I am about to break into a million pieces when my boss Don walks in trying to reschedule a meeting. I ask him to shut the door. I've known this man for years and owe him an explanation.

"Don, I am totally off my game - and I don't want you to think it has anything to do with all the turmoil in the office. It doesn't."

"Oh," he says. "I had not noticed that you were off your game. What's wrong?"

And I can feel myself cracking.

Take Your Cat and Leave My Sweater

By the next morning, I've angsted off the entire birth weight of my first born child. Leave it to me to shed every last excess fat cell at the first sign of trouble.

I tighten the belt a notch and head to work. Reality is sinking in, but I am still finding it hard to believe that Scott would just exit my life without a trace after two years in a committed relationship.  We are each other's best friends.  He doesn't think a conversation is warranted?  At a minimum?  What is he afraid of?  That I'd cry?  Of course I would. I think a few tears can be expected. Man up and face them. It won't last forever.

I need confirmation. I have a plan.

I am going to call when I get home. When he ignores the call and it goes directly and rudely to voicemail AGAIN, I will push the send button on the following text message and draft e-mail at the same time.

"Scott, please be reasonable. I am not interested in drama. I simply need to make arrangements to get my things from your house. Saturday or Sunday morning. You  don't need to be there. Leave my key on the dresser. 10 minutes and I'm gone."

Having a plan, however doomed, gives me a dim sense of peace.

I drive home, barely breathing. It's been days since I've taken more than a shallow breath.

I greet the kids. I start dinner. I dial Scott.

One ringy-dingy. Two ringy-dingy. Voicemail.

Oh. My. God.

Send. Send.

He text back almost right away.

Please please please let this be a text telling me that I am overreacting. That I have it all wrong.

"Seems silly for you to drive all the way down here because of me. I will get your things to you."

There it is. Confirmation. I am single. Dumped. In the worst way possible.

I keep my composure.

"I have things of yours to return also. And I have no idea what you may have in my garage. I also need to get some of the art I've had hanging in your house. They are things that were from my Dad's house and I am not ready to part with them yet."

I sit and patiently wait for his game plan.  But nothing comes.

A few hours later I decide to play tough.

"My sister has offered to drive with me to your house just to get this over with."

That gets his attention. I am sure he knows Charlotte would disembowel him on sight.

"No. Please stop," he writes.

"Well I'm not hearing any other alternative plans."

He writes that he'll mail my things on Saturday.  And asks if that is soon enough.

I reply that yes, it is soon enough and I will do the same with his things.

And then, considering that is apparently the last order of business, I simply write, "Goodbye."

And as though he's insulted, he writes, "Nice."

And I am wild.

"I don't think you are in a position to judge my ability to communicate!"

"You vanish. You don't call. You don't answer. You don't text. You don't reply to texts. You just walk out. At least I had the courtesy to say goodbye.  NICE!"

And then nothing.

A Dose of Reality

I am swinging on that thread of hope all through the day and it is good for me. I am starving for contact with Scott and it was the familiar note I'd hope he'd strike again.

But on the drive home, as I plan to call him, I get the sinking feeling that my instincts were right from the start. That I really have been kidding myself. The text was friendly. It did not smack of anything more than that. After days of silence, at a minimum, there should have been a "Love you," or a "XOXO" somewhere.

I am nervous. I almost want to write down my delivery so that if he does answer the phone, I'd be prepared. I'd ask him how we got to this place where we're not talking. Are we through or are we just in a little puddle of some kind. What does he need from me? What would make it right?

I am greeted at the door by my jubilant daughter, Hil. She has just looked at the PowerSchool portal and final quarter grades have been posted. All As. Eight of them. Straight A Honor Roll!  She is thrilled.

And just who does she want to call?  Charlotte or course, and Scott.

She goes to the house phone and calls Scott.

She makes a face because it goes to voice mail.

She digs her phone out of her backpack and texts him.

"Hey, I just tried to call you! I got straight As!"

Within seconds he texts right back.

"Awesome!"

 Hil brings me the phone and shows me. She is elated. "Mom, you should call him now. He has his phone. He just texted me."

And I explain to her that I won't call because he won't answer. He apparently does not want to talk to me, and to be honest, he did not answer her call from the house phone because he thought it was me calling. I have to face facts. He just does not want to talk right now.

The bright look of hope washes from her face. "It's okay, Mom. How about I paint your nails tonight?" 

Two Days and a Butt Dial Later

"OK, I can do this, " I tell myself.

I drive home without calling Scott. I would normally call as soon as I'd reached the downside of the bridge when I'd be sure not to lose the call over the water. Not tonight.

I put on a brave face with the kids. I have introduced the idea that Scott and I may be heading for a crossroads, but realize that it is happening to them as much as it is happening to me and I need to be sensitive. Like my nerves could be any more exposed.

I make dinner. I post musings on Facebook. I pack lunches. I obsessively check my phone every two minutes for missed calls or texts. Of course there are none.

I toss and turn through the night and push on through election day.  I vote, I go to work, I distract myself to the best of my ability.

I check my phone throughout election night, keeping one eye on the election returns and one eye on my text message page. The returns are far less disappointing.

Wednesday morning arrives and I am convinced that it has some magical meaning. Because my friends predict he'd call today, I am hopeful he will. They clearly know more about everything than I do.

I drive to work, and as I get out of my car, it happens.

I hear ringing.

No, my phone is not ringing for me to answer it. It is dialing out.

I look inside my purse where I have just thrown my phone and see that it is lit...and OMG ---

I AM CALLING SCOTT!!!!

Nooooooooooo!!!! I do not want to call Scott! I want to give him space! Appear aloof!  Go with the flow! 

I reach in and end the call before it goes to voicemail.

And thinking quickly, I try to recover. And probably overdo it.

I text. Like any hapless moron would.

"Sorry. Butt dialed you getting out of my car."

And I am immediately filled with regret. Is there an un-send button?

One of two things will happen. He will reply something completely benign and non-committal like "OK" or absolutely nothing. Both will kill me for sure. I'll be dead before the parking garage elevator hits the ground floor.

My phone dings. The moment of truth.

"No problem. Have a good day. Stay warm."

WTF?

I text back, almost hopeful. "You too. Chat later?"

And nothing.