He goes back and forth with me via email.  Grumbling at first, then docile.  On the holiday, as I cook with the kids, enjoy dinner, play video and board games…he drops a note in my box, “Happy Thanksgiving!  Hope you and the kids are having fun!  I love you _____”. 

I don’t see it until the next day.  He’s shot texts to me, asking if we can meet.  I’m busy with my kids.

The next note in my box is angry, accusatory….nasty.  It’s out of line.  My eyes narrow, but I resist the urge to reply.  I lay in wait with narrowed eyes.  Devil me leans in to scrutinize the note, narrowing her eyes in disgust.

“He’s weak.  He’s upset that you didn’t acknowledge his declaration of love. Where the fuck did that come from?” she rolls her eyes.  I nod, “No shit.”

Then I begin to type my response, chilly and terse, coldly professional.  I detail what I won’t tolerate…his jealously and suspicion that I’m dating other men, his suspicion that I’m romantically involved with my ex husband, his remarks that imply that I’m a neglectful mother….I draw the boundaries and state the conditions, either we talk about and work on those behaviors that annoy us so that we’re on speaking terms longer than a few days a month, or we shake hands and part ways.  I leave it at that. 

Devil me groans, “I thought you were done with the games.”

“This isn’t a game,” I say evenly.  It’s not.  I’m not trying to back him into a corner so he’ll do what I want.  I’ve given him a choice.  I’m prepared to go forward with either.  As I scroll up the screen so that I can log out, the chat box lights up.  I raise my eyebrows, “Although I was prepared to let him sleep on it.”

I ramped it up a notch.  I took extra shifts and extra call.  I found myself smiling less, but found comfort in the fact that my life had become nothing more than work and family.  I slipped away from my friends, making the excuse that I needed to get into my own head and get my head out of my ass.  They reached out to me, but I disappeared into the crowds, into the darkness…and watched silently. 

They waited around for awhile, but eventually returned to their lives and their families. 

Devil me peered into my hiding place, “They’ve gone.  You’re safe.”  She offered me a hand, “Still no smile?  Is it because you’re alone, or is it because you are afraid that you’ll go back to D?  Or is it something else…?”

I cock an eyebrow at her, “It’s nothing, and everything.  Sometimes I think it’s fear, but it’s more than that.  I’m becoming accustomed to the idea that I will always be alone, but the finality of it weighs heavy.”  I laugh hollowly, dry and mirthless, “I can’t say that there isn’t anyone good.  There are good people.  I just have too many flaws.  I wonder if I’m too picky, but the truth is no one seems interested, or if they are interested, they’re too old or too far away or too eccentric.”

“No one close to home?” her eyes twinkle.  I shake my head slowly, sadly, “No.  Harmless flirtation, but the women they tend to go after are meek and bland, spiritless and unimaginative.”

She throws me an exasperated look, “You’re a colorful bird.  If they don’t want you, keep looking.  I think you need to go to galleries and wine tastings.  If nothing else you’ll be happy to be doing something different.  You tend to attract people.  I really think that you’ll be surprised.” 

There is just so much to do.  The chore list that I have with the new house grows all the time.  I know I need to go out and have fun sometimes but I’m bound by a sense of duty that dictates that I knock out chores first.

I think about D.  Even though he’s likely seeing L again, I allow myself the luxury of missing him for a moment.  He doesn’t try to contact me, but still checks my page on the social networking site.  He intrudes at times, but stays in the shadows, watching.  He’s spending time with the fair weathers, because he enjoys their company. 

“Jumping Jesus, woman!  Do you actually give a shit who he spends time with?  You know those people are the type of people who you respect the very least – they imbibe heavily and drive.  You take care of the unfortunate people they injure when they have accidents with their cars.  They are low class, vacuous, irresponsible creatures.  You’ve said yourself:  ‘When you lay down with dogs, you wake up with fleas.’  You’re fortunate that he hasn’t given you something dire,” Devil me growls as she paces the room.  She’s angry that I let my thoughts wander to D.

I’m angry too, but I soften later.  Clandestine and darting between the thoughts and words of others I break and send a two word greeting on the social networking site.  He’s had surgery, and his recovery has been rocky, so I feel safe asking.  It proves to be a grave error.  He makes small talk, probing for a weak spot.  Revealing that he’s been hosting family, staying in, bleeding and infected.  He shows his wounds, his weaknesses.  I stay out of his grasp, wary eyes glowing in the dark.  He boldly reaches out, but I dart back to the shadows.  I don’t growl, but my response is delivered with bared fangs.  He tries again, and my reply is chill and harsh.  He claims that he’s unwell and signs off to nap.  I respond with words that remove all doubt that we’re through.  I rein in the sarcasm and adopt a quiet and professional demeanor. 

Later,when he reads it he sputters with anger, telling me that I’m wrong on some points.  I shake my head.  I’m 100% correct on the important points.