Home and Away Games

The next morning I am refreshed and feeling much zippier. Though I had had a crazy dream about Craig, that at once made me feel confused but happy to have seen him, even though I hadn't.  Dreams are strange that way. Even wide awake you can't always be sure there isn't some grain of truth to them.

I leave early as I have to stop at the store for muffins and flowers and a card for the office. A coworker is leaving and I want to give her a nice send off. Don't ask me where the good will has come from.

I pull into the lot at the store and check my phone as I am unhooking my seatbelt.  Three texts.  Craig, Scott and Mac? 

All Mac. He'd sent them after I'd gone to bed. They were all very nice. 

I text back before I get out of the car. "Sorry to have missed you last night. I was out of gas and went to bed early. Slept well and am back in the game today. Have a great morning!" Send.

I walk the 20 steps into the store and my phone dings. Probably Mac saying good morning back. I look at the phone just to make sure it is not one of the kids saying that they left their project worth half their grade on the back seat of the car.

Craig!  He'd just woken from a dream about me! 

And suddenly I am smiling from ear to ear like a lunatic in the bakery aisle.

I stop by the bagels to reply.  "Did you now?? I had one about you too!"

"Good or bad?" he writes.

"You would not kiss me, so very bad."

And what follows is a dozen or so very cute and flirtatious texts that later I will find myself re-reading over and over.

But the fallout is this: Until, in a later text, Craig and I establish that there is no possible way for us to get together that next weekend, I am plotting what to say to Mac to get out of going anywhere or doing anything with him in favor of any time I can spend with Craig.

Pink eye.

Leprosy.

Death in the family.

Gravely ill family member in another state.

I know where my heart is. And it is not with Mac.

Monday Blahs and Blechs

Monday comes way too soon and I am cranky.  I instantly regret having stayed up to watch the very last second of the Oscars and having skimped on my much needed beauty sleep. 

And after having a a brief chat with a few ladies in the office about who looked fabulous and whose dress flopped and why on Earth George Clooney would cover up even one square inch of that face with a beard is beyond all of our comprehension, I take to my desk.  I feel like I am made of lead.

And my phone is instantly ringing.  Hello, Monday.

I answer as cheerfully as I possibly can.  No one is convinced. 

It's Mac. And he says something bossy and snarky that he intends to be funny, but isn't. I am not sure it's not funny because it is just not funny or if it's not funny because Monty Python would not even be funny this morning.

He asks if instead of Miami or NYC we could go to Clearwater and watch some Spring Training games. We could stay someplace nice and his broker could get us great seats behind the home dugout.  Asks which airport is easier for me, how early can I get out Friday, can I take Monday off.

This is going to be some first date.

And although I answer each of those questions honestly, it is not as though I am mentally packing my bag.  I am not clearing my appointments late Friday or all day Monday.  I am not at all convinced that Mac is not still all smoke and mirrors.

He sends a few texts during the day. Some of them cute, some of them annoying.  I get the sense he is trying to figure out who he needs to be with me.  So far the Sybil act is just confusing. 

And a few times, he suggests that I call him.  And he seems to mean it.  So I joke.

"Some of us actually have to produce something for a living."

And arrogant as ever, he says, "I provide guidance, leadership and insight, Liza." 

What does he think I do all day?  Deliver pizza?  I snark back. "I make shit happen."  And I add a little figure of a face with its tongue out.

He remarks that he thinks I have a big attitude and condescends that he thinks it's cute. A verbal pat on the head. Asswipe.

I decide to snuggle up with the kids for a little TV after dinner and turn in early.  No need to be available when Mac calls or texts. My patience and my fortitude are waning.

A Walk on the Red Carpet

As the day goes on, Mac quiets down. Craig is silent. Scott texts a few times.

Does anyone else worry that someday they will send the wrong text to the wrong person?

I can see it now. A baffling text erroneously sent to Craig about NY or Miami plans.  A misguided note to Mac intended for Scott asking about the dogs. A foul ball text to Scott remarking about an inside story only Craig would understand.

This is not my MO.  I am a one man woman.  I make my mistakes one man at a time.  Now the potential for error has exponentially expanded. I am doomed from the start.

But Scott and I carry on a lovely conversation about J.'s girls. It is nice that he's even interested. He'd never met them.  But kids are special when their parents are or were special to you, so whose womb they actually flew out of tends not to matter.

And later, as the Oscar buzz is hitting a fever pitch, I pour a glass of wine, take a seat on the sofa next to Hil and watch the Red Carpet pageantry unfold.

This is where Facebook and texting hit their stride. The banter on Facebook is immediate and spot on. It is like being there with your friends and having sidebar conversations. Realtime.  This would never have happened before the advent of the social network.

And at the same time, Mac is texting. He's sitting watching the Red Carpet with his sister and niece. It strikes me as a very tender thing to do.  I am sure Mac is not big on fashion. But he does have some very sweet things to say (and very respectful things, I might add...) about some of my faves.  Anne Hathaway melts his heart. He loved Charlize Theron's new short do.  He things Renee Zellweger is adorable and has a knockout figure.  He likes Hallie Berry's dress (I didn't.)

And during the Oscars show itself, he had thoughtful comments about some of the movies and some of the skits (though he missed "We Saw Your Boobs" which is just criminal to have been deprived of). 

I am actually starting to think I could like him. 

He then asks me to turn on a computer (I take to the iPad) so he could show me a few hotel choices.  He seems to know what he is talking about and I am thrilled that he's even planning.

But still, I am not about to start packing a bag. 

There is something that tells me this is all a smoke screen.

A leopard rarely changes his spots. Seven years could have resulted in a lot of changes (including baldness and obesity, which remain to be seen.)  but a complete transformation? Not likely.

We end the evening of chatting with him asking if he can take me to lunch one day this week. He'd like to see me so our big weekend adventure is not the first time he sees me.

I am flattered. I am cautious. I am agreeable. I am in big trouble. Lunch will be my big walk on the red carpet.

Rise and Shine

Craig and I exchange a few e-mails that evening.  And then poof!  He's gone. Vanished. And I wonder to myself if this is just exactly what I should expect of him. He's trying to wedge a lot of things into his life and I will get his attention when he has it to give. Which will be somewhat unpredictable. 

I make a wonderful dinner and brownies and set a beautiful table to welcome J.'s girls.  Hil and I catch up with them for hours. Pat misses out on all the girl talk because he's at Scout camp.  Probably just as well. But we have a lovely time--- and as I've said, we'll get to that.

Mac texts a few times. And each time I hope it is Craig. I hate when the text is from the wrong guy. Though his texts, I must admit, showed signs of good-natured humor, maturity and sweetness. Instead of the Alpha Dog mentality I expect. 

The next day Hil and I decide to take to the nature trail at a local college. We gather up all the bread, rolls and crackers whose expiration dates have come and gone and hope the geese and ducks have returned to the lake at the end of the trail. It's a gorgeous day. I am anxious to take pictures.

As we leave, I get and ignore a call from Mac. I am spending the morning with my girl and no one will intrude. What does this say about the viability of the Mac thing?  Nothing good.

Hil and I chat and walk and chat some more and are thrilled that the geese and ducks are there in masses.  They come right to the edge of the lake and don't seem to mind at all that we are big scary humans.  Starvation will do that, I guess.  After the goods are gone and we've walked all around the lake and laughed at memories we hold of the place, we decide to take a short detour to a local coffee shop for some muffins and hot chocolate (okay, a latte for me...) 

I look for signs of life from Craig on Facebook.

I get signs of life instead from Mac (who is not on Facebook, which I find very convenient).

He texts that he is off to the gym (another departure from the Mac I once knew) and he'll talk to me later. The text was about 30 minutes old...so I answer, thinking I can get away with a one way conversation.

No such luck. He calls.

And truth be told, he's very nice. Says he likes that I am spending quality time with my daughter (though not at the moment, she's reading the New York Post while I am yakking on the phone, Bucko) and likes that side of me. Tells me that the last time we were together, the "kid thing" sort of scared him.  He seems to be unafraid now. Asks a lot of questions about each of them. It's sort of nice.

But I am probably becoming a nuisance in the coffee shop, and Hil is done with the gossipy section of the paper, so I end the conversation. He sends a text about the geese.  He seems to be genuinely engaged in getting to know me.

He sends another text. He says he thinks we could be great friends. And adds that friendship is the basis of every good relationship. He's enjoying getting to know me. 

So why am I not thrilled to hear this? 

Maybe it is just like it was with Scott in the beginning. I had doubts in the days that led to our first date. What if too much had changed?  What if we had become too different? What if there was no spark? And that had all evaporated the moment I'd seen him. Maybe the moment I see Mac, I'll remember why I was attracted to him? 

Let's hope so. Otherwise it's going to be a very long, hellish date.

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.

Return of the Mack

I reply.

"Hello, Mac. That would be lovely."

"What are you doing tonight?"

"I have my kids this week. Next weekend?"

"Great. New York or Miami?"

I am sure he's exaggerating. I tell him both sound great. But if he isn't exaggerating, it would appear that Mac has learned that you need to part company with a dollar or two on a proper date. He was big on dates that required none of that. Parties.  Quiet evenings at home. They don't qualify as dates in my book. And certainly not first dates.

He says he's at an art museum downtown.  A very prestigious art museum.  Seems Mac has become somewhat cultured.  When I'd met him he was as cultured as a bottle of Boone's Farm. Maybe the seven years in between our last contact was productive for Mac. Maybe he's finally gone to Charm School.

He calls me.  Still very funny. Same over the top attitude, but I am more comfortable with sparring now. He's met his match from a verbal fisticuffs perspective. It is actually fun to talk with him.

He wants to stop over. Right now. Pushy little thing.

I am just off the treadmill, and therefore a sweathog, so I say no. He says he doesn't care if I am hot and stinky.

What?  I haven't seen you in seven years and you think I should be OK grunging on our first meeting? Eeew.

I flatly refuse. He says he's taking his mother to lunch anyway and backs down, thank God.  She's 85 and his steady Saturday lunch date. I think that is cute. I'll forgive the weirdness about seeing me sweaty.

Then he tells me that he was on a date at the museum and was glad to have gotten the text telling him to call me. 

What?  He was on a date?

That means two things to me.

One - He is mature enough to plan a Saturday morning date that will not end in nudity.

Two - He is self-centered and rude enough to text another woman while on said date, and perhaps that is because said date will not end in nudity. (perhaps due to the standing lunch date with his mother.)

I tell him if I ever find that he is texting other women while we are on anything that resembles a date, I will kill him in public. And he will be screaming like a girl. It will not be pretty.

He  laughs heartily.

I am regretting this already.

Hello, I Must Be Going

Days go by. I send one last ditch text.  Tell him that I miss chatting and hope he is well.

A day goes by and I get a text. One text. It explains a lot, but not enough. I give him a pass but still, it nags at me that he's not at least just sending a quick hello.  How busy can he be?  It speaks volumes about where I fall in the pecking order of priorities.  Some priorities I understand. Others may be more problematic.

A week goes by. It is the weekend again.  I decide not to be a fool and pine over something that all indications say has run its course. I need to push myself to move on. I consider my options.

Scott? Not. We've been over this...

Find someone new?  Harder than it sounds. And there is no way I am doing the online dating thing.

Consider someone old. Not older, just from the past. I rifle through the Rolodex in my brain, reviewing and discarding almost everyone in the pile. 

I review my Facebook friend list for hidden gems. Zippity doo-dah.

And then Jackie's husband puts something on Facebook that reminds me - Mac!

Mac was the dude I went on a few ill-fated dates with when I was newly separated. Still so newly separated that the ink on the file wasn't dry, and sadly, I was still living under the same roof with Lars. (Which really cramps one's dating style, I might add.) He was larger than life...too large for my life at the time. Big personality. Large and in charge. I needed sweet and tender and nurturing at the time. Hence, my attraction to J. made sense.

But I am much more confident now. He was entirely too much for me then, but I have a lot more gumption now. And in spite of all his big-ass arrogance, I do remember being attracted to him.

But he was given my number by Jackie's husband before Christmas. All the high holidays with gift requirements have passed and he still hasn't called.  Maybe he has someone in his life?  Or maybe he is a big chicken?

I text Jackie's hubby.  "Tell your friend Mac he is a big, fat chicken. I can hear him clucking from here."

He texts right back. "Do you want him to call you?"

"Well, I'd answer the phone..."

"Booty call!!!"

"Ha ha. You're hilarious. This is not a booty call. I am bored and he's entertaining."

I get a text from Mac ten minutes later. "Hello, Liza. Shall we try again?"