We both woke up on Wednesday feeling well rested, he headed out to pick up shocks and go to physical therapy.  I headed home to do a few chores and vote on our new contract with the hospital.  He told me that he wanted to take a trip to the west coast and see the sunset, have dinner, walk on the beach, “It’s only about 2 1/2 hours from here.  We could do it easily.  We need to get out of town.”

There’s freedom to be had out of town.  There’s seduction in that.  He still doesn’t want one of our mutual friends to know that we date.  I don’t either.  Neither of us know what the guy will say or do, and he works with D so he sees him every day.  He’s always hinted around, jokingly asked, because he picked up the chemistry maybe.  But he didn’t know the abuse that I was taking from the ex.  There are places we don’t go because of H (I don’t want to be seen out with ANY men because H isn’t the most stable person.  I’d hate to imagine what kind of crap he’d pull, but I know he’d pull something).

I call him when I get home, but he’s wrapping up chores.  I wonder if this will all come to naught.  In fact, I’m pretty certain that we won’t go anywhere.  I’m ready to go at 1:30pm.  I call him, leave a message and head outside to wait on the porch. 

He doesn’t show up.  I call a half hour later.  He’s getting things together for the trip.  I ask him to bring some aspirin for me.  I’m getting one hell of a headache, and I can’t take advil on an empty stomach.  He had talked about stopping in a small town halfway to the coast for lunch. He says he’ll pick me up in 15 minutes.  The wind picks up and the temperature drops enough that I go inside and put on a lightweight, long-sleeved blouse, and grab a sweater.  I eat a little cup of yogurt too, standing out back while I take the dog out one last time (I even give the pets half of their evening meal so they won’t be desperately hungry until I get back).  My headache becomes worse, so I grab a diet pepsi to sip outside.  I wait for an hour before sending a text, “Are we still going?  Is everything okay?”  He doesn’t answer.  I’m concerned that something may have happened.  I’m convinced that we won’t be going anywhere.  Just when I’m fishing keys out of my purse to go back inside, D pulls up in the driveway.  He apologizes for being late, nothing was amiss, he just needed to get things together.  He hands me the bottle of aspirin, frowns at my diet pepsi. He follows that with a little lecture on artificial sweeteners.  Then he backs out of the driveway, and we’re on our way. 

Soon we’re headed west and civilization becomes rural neighborhoods and cattle pastures.  We pass the power plant he works at.  He wants to take a side road to give me a closer look but he doesn’t have his security clearance badge.  He never took L or B by his job, so it’s nice that he wants to take me, but it will have to wait another day.  My headache disappears.  Farms hug the road, stretching as far as the eye can see.  This is the Florida that few ever see.  We try to identify the crops.  Sugar cane is easy to spot (we’ve both seen it for our entire lives, we used to see it in the grocery store, too).  Some fields have been recently plowed, and the soil waits, rich and black.  I spot what may be green beans or peppers.  We find a farm that produces our local lettuce and celery.  

D grabs my hand and laughs out loud, “We’re out of town, Baby!!  We’re FREE!!”  He’s delighted about the road trip, and I can’t help but to be delighted too.  I’ve never done anything so spontaneous and unplanned.  I’m happy that I’m spending the day with D, even if I’m nervous that something may happen to spoil our good day. 

He chatters about the last time he made this trip.  It was years ago and with the fair weathers.  I ask if he ever vacationed there with R, L, or B.  He shakes his head.  He only went once with the fair weathers for an event.  He tells me about a colleague who vacations at a resort on an island near the town we are visiting, “I REALLY want to take you there.  It’s kind of expensive but it’s got lush gardens and the beach is supposed to be really amazing.  It’s not a family resort so we won’t be dealing with someone’s kids following us around.  He says it’s romantic and really relaxing and beautiful.” 

It takes us about 3 hours to get there.  We find the restaurant he wants to eat at, head upstairs and sit at the bar waiting on a table.  It’s a little expensive, but pretty good.  We people watch (I’ve been approached by two fairly tipsy men within minutes of walking in the restaurant; lit up like neon signs, they immediately turn on the charm and get their flirt on.  I grab D’s hand and wish them a nice evening.  D looks pretty surprised, and I wonder if he’s going to get pissed off at me, or feel a need to flirt it up with women.  I can’t help but check to see if D is looking at the women in the bar, he rarely does.  It appears that he’s looking at the guys with a suspicious look in his eyes, and it occurs to me that he’s checking to see if any of the guys are looking at me.  A drunken woman brays laughter in a booth near the bar, and D comments dryly that she’s having a good time.  It’s 6:30 pm.  A couple sitting near us is getting drunk and waiting on their dinner.  They gab with a Russian couple waiting for drinks, the wife is blonde and her English is very good.  They visit America often.  They’ve seen more of America than they have of their homeland, but they don’t want to live here.  I wait to see if D will try to engage them in conversation, but he doesn’t.  He’s busy looking at the guys who have taken the empty seats across from ours.  They’re covered with tattoos and wear bandanas and black T-shirts.  I follow D’s gaze, and realize that one of them is staring at me.  I get very interested in my rum and diet coke, glance at D, who is still staring at the biker.  I don’t sneak a peek at the biker.  I know he’s still staring.  Two really rough looking women show up, the one with a puff of blonde hair (and a tattoo on her neck) leans over the bar and calls the bartender.  She looks at her guy who is staring at me (still, what an asshole!) looks up at me.  I shrug.  She surprises me by laughing.  She fishes a cigarette out of her purse and when she lights it I notice the wedding band.  He has one too.  Later, I’ll run into her in the tiny ladies’ room.  She tells me that what I did was cute, “Bos always checks out the pretty women.  I don’t give a shit, looking means nothing.  Most women get the hell out of the bar when they see me.  That’s the first time a woman ever said, ‘I don’t know why the hell he’s staring; I ain’t nothing special.’  You’re the whole package girl, pretty and funny as hell.  Now get back to your man; he looks like he’s scared that someone will fly away with you.”  We laugh a little over that and I meet D outside. 

We cross the street, make our way through college kids on Spring Break trips.  All wear shorts and flip flops and they step lively in the cool evening air.  We walk through a bar and the bartender lets us out a side door so we can walk on the beach.  The gulf water isn’t as pretty as the Atlantic, but the sand is soft and cool.  The sun peeks out behind the clouds, but we don’t get to see the sun sink into the calm water.  We kiss a little, we walk.  D relaxes because the light is getting lower and there are no bikers here.  Mostly there are couples and families.  There are people young enough to be my kids.  D trots to a bar to use the bathroom, I wait in the sand, dancing to the music, much to the delight of some of the college students. 

D and I set off in the dusk to explore.  He admits that when he was there with the fair weathers that it was “off season” and that most of the cool attractions were closed.  We passed the hotel the fair weathers stayed at, “They put us in the very back, far from the parking.  They weren’t happy to have us there.  I guess they thought we were pretty low class.  We had to call for towels every day.  They told us that we needed to check out at 9 am on Sunday, even though the sign in our room said 11 am was checkout time, ” he shrugged, “Still it was a pretty nice place, clean.  I stayed with X and Y [a couple who were cheap enough to want someone to share expenses with them, but who didn't want someone who would pick up a woman to share his bed.  That was what I learned from Y; she told me that when I first met her at a wine party.  She was surprised that D was seeing me, because he never had any luck with the women in the group of fair weathers.  It was rather a joke with them all.  I thought she was somewhat bitchy for sharing that].” 

“Next time we come here, we’ll stay for a weekend.  We’ll plan it out, and we will have so much fun, Baby!!  I never get to see what I want to see when I go to places with the others, ” he squeezes my hand.  He doesn’t hold my hand much when we walk.  That’s weird for me.  He has no problem taking me in his arms to kiss me.  We look in store windows, he points out bars that the fair weathers toddled to on their visit.  I venture to ask, “Did you get to go to anything but bars?”  He shakes his head, “The purpose was to get drunk.  They don’t sight-see.” 

Explains why I don’t have much fun with them.  D tells me that they do ask about me.  I look skeptical, but I’m reminded of Y’s amazement that D had a girlfriend.  I’m an oddity.  No wonder they ask.  They think of D as a fat, dopey, eunuch, so of course, they don’t expect him to have a girlfriend.  It’s all about how much you can drink, and how much you can get away with.  I remember D telling me about his friend going to other women for blow jobs because his wife won’t do it, “He’s nicer about it now.  He used to do that in front of her.”  I was shocked but D shrugged, “She ignored it.  I don’t know how, but she didn’t bat an eye.”  He reiterates that his friend wants to sell him Viagra, that he’s intrigued that we don’t need it.  I give him a pained look, “Why does he even care?”  D explains that we have an enviable sex life, that most of his friends don’t have the same drive as we do.  “So what?  They shouldn’t care either.  You shouldn’t talk about it,” I say.

But he does.  He spent so long not having conquests to brag about that now he’s riding high.  Even better, everyone is getting older, grayer, fatter, and the sex is less frequent and less wild, so he can brag to a really appreciative crowd.  He wants them to see him with me, but he wants control of the situation. 

We walk around the town, scouting hotels and restaurants.  He talks about taking me back for a visit.  He tells me that we need to look at hotels in the Keys.  He’s never stayed anywhere really nice there.  When he and L would go, they stayed in cheap places, “L is a Jew.  Really.  She wasn’t going to spring for someplace nice and she’d get pissed at me if I did.”  I don’t ask if he took B.  She was a career woman who had a daughter she despised.  She found Jesus and left D.  They were only together for less than 18 months.  Their vacation photos were of the local beach, in front of D’s house, in her living room with her brother and her dad. 

“Look at that hotel!”  D points at a cute little place.  L and B fly away like swifts in the twilight.  I’m silly to let the ghosts of girlfriends past spoil my time with D.  We leave at 8:30 pm.  Sometimes I doze.  Mostly we talk.  I don’t mention old girlfriends, and he’s gushing about how we will go on the Harley sometime, how we will take our bicycles another. 

When we get home, I feed the animals, grab some things to spend the night.  Even though I’m working on Friday, he wants me to spend the night.  We shower outside together before we cuddle in the bed.  This time we sleep deeply and well. 

I spend the next day looking relaxed and happy.  I text D and thank him for the vacation.  He replies that it wasn’t a vacation, just a road trip, “You really haven’t gone on any vacations in years, have you?”

No.

D promises to change that.  He tells me that I need to take the kids on vacations too.  I tell him that I plan on it.

D is weird.

I sent him a text from work to see what his plans were.  I didn’t have the kids last night, and I had pork chops marinating.  Did he want me to bring them by so that we could eat dinner together?  I would be getting off work at 7:30 pm.  He texts back, “Don’t know what my plans are.  That’s very late.”

I resisted the urge to reply, “No shit, Sherlock”, but I just rolled my eyes and figured he was going to go to the Wednesday night thing with the fair weathers.  Didn’t make a difference to me since I couldn’t get to his house until 8:30 or 9 anyway.  I keyed in a not telling him not to worry, that I could bake the chops while I was showering and that I’d call him tomorrow.  I slipped my phone back into my pocket, and got back to work.  It was busy, and getting busier. 

My phone buzzed with an incoming message as I pushed a case cart into room 5.  I ignored it while V and I bustled about, opening sterile supplies and instrument trays.  It buzzed again with another message while I got medications from the Omnicell.  I figured it had to be my kids, so I checked it while I carried the medications back to room 5.  Two from D and one from my son, so I checked the one from my son first – and keyed in the answer. 

I checked D’s message after I left work.  He wanted me to come over.  The late hour wasn’t an issue.  He was staying home. 

Traffic is better in the evening, so I get home in about 20 minutes.  A large cat waits in my driveway.  It’s the feral who has adopted me, the one who raised so much hell when I was moving stuff with my dad.  He will be coming with me.  I shudder to think of all the new vet bills for a third pet.  I must have “Sucker” written on my forehead.

Once everyone is fed and petted, the garbage is out, I get cleaned up and head over to D’s with pork chops and potatoes.  We fix only those two things because it’s late, and they are quick to cook.  Then we watch a movie, and he asks me to stay the night. 

I look at him with just a trace of sorrow in my eyes, “Are you sure?  Because you said that you don’t sleep well with me, and you have physical therapy tomorrow.  I can go home later if you want.”  He shakes his head.  He wants me to stay. 

So I do, and he puts me on his “good” side so I can rest my head on his chest.  I presume that I’ll make noises that irritate him, but I do it anyway.  We doze.  We cuddle.  We wake up and wiggle around (which is quite a bit like tossing and turning).

In the morning he gets a call from the physical therapist asking him to come in later.  That’s fine, because I need to go vote on a union contract at work.  He wants to go on a day trip today.  To the west coast…..2.5 hours away…We’ll walk on the beach and come back.  He wants me to spend the night again since I don’t go to work until 10:15. 

He talks about taking me on a weekend trip. 

I think about how upset I was just a few days back.  It’s like a roller coaster with D.   Mostly, I’m just confused about what the relationship really is.  He never ceases to amaze me.  I just don’t know what to make of it all.  Really I don’t. 

I’ve started my real shift, and the transition was seamless for me.  I set up an alternate ride for the kids so they could get to Scouts, but they handled it all beautifully.  I thought all was going to be perfect and nice.  Not so.  The kids hadn’t had dinner so we ended up cooking and eating very late.  Then they wanted to spend time with me, and we got to bed late. 

I tell myself that it will be easier when we’ve moved and when they’ve switched schools.  I felt bad about it for the longest time.  Then I talked to a colleague who has worked for many years in the mental health unit of the hospital.  I outlined what H does, what I do, what kind of coping mechanisms the kids have.  He shook his head, “You need to call the authorities and report him for neglect and endangerment.  From what you tell me, he appears to be mentally ill.  It’s more than just depression when people say things to a child that are inappropriate.  You need to step up and get the kids out.”

I’m still afraid though.  I’m afraid that he’ll blow up on the kids.  I’m afraid it will backfire on me. He told me he has a doctor appointment today; his blood pressure is very high.  I’m a little concerned about that.

“You’re divorced.  He can’t control you now.”

Yet he still does.  On one hand I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to go to the traditional visitation for awhile, only I won’t ask for support. 

It’s so much easier on the kids when they’re with me.  They’re relaxed.  I’m relaxed.  I don’t want H to feel like I’m taking the kids away.  I just wonder if the whole child care thing is too hard on him at the moment.

He has his moments where he retracts his claws.  He told me that I need to get my will and trust in order.  I know I do.  He told me his attorney fixed him up right.  I smile and say that I’ll get it taken care of.  I will, and soon.  I have to get all the paperwork in order and the Roth IRAs set up. 

I’m opening a Roth for each of my kids.

Tonight when I get off work, I’ll give D a call and see if he’s ready to talk.  He sent a text thanking me for the cat food, and left a message that he was studying.  His exam is on the 29th.  I’m off tomorrow.  Maybe he and I can go out to lunch or to a nature center and picnic.  We’ll see.

Now I’m off to work.

I order food that I will barely touch, the Chinese man taking my order asks three times if I want it delivered.  I assure him that I’ll be picking it up, because I have an errand to run.  I take to rain slick streets and head to D’s. 

My chest gets tight…very tight.  Another anxiety attack trying to take hold.  I had them often when I was still married to H.  I know that this is more about all of this being too familiar, even if D doesn’t realize it. 

Or maybe he does and he’s trying to drive me away. 

I start hoping that he’s at the store or somewhere, anywhere, but his truck is there.  I go to the front door and put the bag with the cat food under the overhang.  I don’t even turn off the car.  Then I step lively back to the car and drive away.  Rain begins to patter down.  I key in his house phone number…and leave a message.

Devil me looks disgusted, “You should send him a text in case he’s showering and he missed your message.”  I say, “Good idea!”  She snorts, “He’s pushing you away…again.  I wonder if he’ll realize that he’s being an ass and talk to you on your next day off?”

I surprise her by saying, “I might just go to happy hour and not worry about seeing him at all.” 

True to form, he doesn’t reply to the call or the text.  When I check the social networking site, he’s not responded to the email there either. 

I come home, eat, and do my taxes. 

I will get a lot of work done if he decides that he’s not going to see me.  It’s hard on me though.  I was starting to get comfortable.  I was starting to fall again. He had asked me what I was doing next weekend.  What changed his mind this time?  What the hell did I do or not do?  That’s the worst…not knowing. 

I suppose I’m still falling…only now I’m falling to the rocks below…shattered again….I’m too tired to think about it. 

He’s exhausted again when he comes home, and his mood is off.  He isn’t nasty to me, but I can feel it hanging like incense smoke.  My dress was shorter, with the same high heels.  He doesn’t comment other than to say, “Oh, you’re here.  Lay with me.”  He pats the bed.

We make do with leftovers that night.  He’s going to make a salad and top it with chicken that he grilled nearly 2 weeks ago.  I take the ground beef crumbles that I cooked a week ago and make taco meat out of it.  I don’t trust the chicken.  He chides me about it, and it borders on nasty, but I keep my comments in check.  He frowns over the skillet, and then pulls out a bag of taco meat that I made from the other half of the package of ground beef.  I missed it in the fridge because I figured he had eaten it on his days off.  I can’t help but feel sheepish and wasteful under his disapproving gaze.

Devil me pinches my arm, “Snap out of it, woman!  It’s ground beef from Walmart!  He’s acting the ass!”

Somehow, I don’t hear her.  I’ve switched to “please others” mode.  It will get worse as the night goes on. Part of the problem is that I’m fatigued.  I moved some things to the new house, climbed on chairs and ladders to replace dead batteries in seven smoke and carbon dioxide monitors, checked and cleaned an a/c filter set in the highest point of the ceiling (perched on an 8′ ladder with palms sweating and heart pounding), assembled the bed I stained, dragged limbs and fronds from the front lawn, fixed the kitchen sink….7 hours of work with no break.

We watch a movie (he teases that I’ll fall asleep during it, but I don’t…It’s very good…..”Restrained”).  When we go to bed, he’s not amorous at all.  I chalk it up to being tired, refrain from commenting on it.  I cuddle up and rest my head on his chest. I tell him that I don’t go to work until later on Monday, so if he wants me to spend the night on Sunday I can.

I’m immediately sorry that I made the offer.  He tells me, “I don’t sleep well when you’re here.  You make noises in your sleep.  It’s not snoring, but your breath catches when you lay on my chest.  It keeps me awake.  You probably don’t realize that you twitch and jerk in your sleep too.  You wake me up.  You do it constantly…”  In the dark he can’t see my eyes growing wide with shock, he ignores the waves of distress.  I immediately move away from him, stammering an apology.  “You can’t help it, but you must have been told…” he offers, “You sleep so deeply that I just move you around until you stop snoring.  You never wake up”.  “No,” I reply, unable to hide the distress and hurt in my voice, “I’ve only slept overnight with the ex husband and you.”  He goes on, but I have no words for him. He even teases that I’ll go sleep on the couch.  I murmur, “No,” so quietly that I can’t be certain that he heard me.

I thought it was going well between us.  Now he tells me that he doesn’t like sleeping with me?   It would seem like such a little thing, but it’s not.  It’s rife with baggage and pain that I can’t discuss with D.  

When he begins to snore softly, I hook my right arm and leg over the edge of the bed and carefully move away from D.  It’s a practiced move.  I spent years sleeping on less than 12″ of bed.  Those were the final years of the marriage to H.  Often, I was awakened by a brutal punch, or a sharp kick would send me flying over the edge to the floor.  Eventually, he locked me out of the bedroom to sleep on the couch.  Sometimes he would come out and punch me or haul me off the couch by my hair and kick me in the ribs.  I still sleep lightly, so I’m puzzled when D says that I sleep deeply.

I guess I trusted D.

Halfway to the edge, D stirs and he cuddles up to me.  I turn my back to him because I’m crying silently (another practiced art perfected from years of living with someone who could easily give me something to cry about if he saw tears).  D remarks that he thought that I was going to kiss him, but I couldn’t talk then.  He brushes my hair back, dragging his fingers through tears, which neither of us comment on.  He cuddles me until he falls asleep, then he rolls to his back and I continue my journey to the edge of the bed. 

The rain pounds on the roof.  It’s nasty outside tonight.  I listen for a lull, because I am seriously considering going home.  I’m not mad, just hurt and distressed that he’s never said anything.  I wonder if that’s why H would punch and kick me when I was asleep.  I always thought that he hated me, but maybe it was just frustration because he couldn’t sleep.  I laid on my side at the edge of the bed, tears streaming silently from my eyes, embarrassed and wondering if anyone would ever want me for anything other than sex.  Who would want me anyway?  They’d never get any sleep thanks to me.  The finality of it all was overwhelming.  

The rain poured down harder, and I realized that I would never live with anyone, that I would just live alone.  Why risk getting pounded with fists?  My chest grew tight with anxiety.  If I dozed, it was only for a short while.  I  was afraid to sleep. I wanted to leave.  I was afraid to stir.  

To make matters worse, his clock wasn’t set properly and with the time change, he overslept.  His phone rang at 6 am.  Only it wasn’t 6 am, it was 7 am and he was late.  He had offered me coffee, but I declined.  He didn’t comment on my swollen eyes, which was fine with me.  He bustled around, upset about oversleeping and his clock being wrong.  I couldn’t help but feel responsible even though I wasn’t.  We flew out the front door, with me looking at the ground. 

He surprised me by taking me in his arms and kissing me, “I’ll talk to you later.”

I came back here, crawled into bed after feeding the animals.  The kitten hopped on the bed and cuddled up close.  I dozed for an hour, then she crept up and nuzzled my face with hers.  I scratched her head, “You don’t mind sleeping in bed with me.”  I got up and got busy with chores and errands, until I was weary. 

Being busy meant that I wouldn’t have to think about D’s puzzling behavior.  Hadn’t he said before that he loved it when I slept over?  that he loved waking up next to me?  When I sat down for a rest the questions poured over me like a flash flood.  I felt like damaged goods.  Not.  Good.  Enough.  Again.

The tears started up again and I howled, “Goddammit!  I have no tears left!  Besides, I have to do my taxes!”  The dog looks at me with her head cocked to one side.  It begins to pour rain again.  I’m thankful that I mowed the lawn and hauled the garbage and recycling out to the curb.  I should shower, but I blog instead…I’m hoping that it will ease the anxiety that clamps my chest.

It does, but only after releasing another flash flood of tears.  Devil me sits down next to me.  I’m wondering if I’ll order Chinese food for dinner and then drop off the cat food that I picked up for D when I go to pick up my order.  Devil me looks disgusted, “I’d order Chinese food, then drop by the grocery store and return the fucking cat food and let that happy asshole buy his own.”  I look at her helplessly, then I start to giggle, “What cat food?”  I start to apologize to her, “I’m expecting Communists to invade the funhaus and the weather is pretty shitty and I’m tired…”  Her turn to laugh.  She tells me to check the forecast.  I do.  Wow.  Rain for most of the week. 

Her eyes narrow, “Now check Daytona.”

I look at her.  She’s not smiling.  I key in the city, and get the forecast.  The weather is perfect, will be perfect all week, next week.  Not a drop of rain.  I look at Devil me, matching her face, which is mine, of course.  I open a new window and type in Bike Week Daytona.  I hunt for the event dates.

D usually goes to an event in Daytona with the fair weathers the weekend before Bike Week.  He had bemoaned the fact that he would be working.  Worse, he was nursing an injured shoulder.  He can’t ride the motorcycle at all for weeks – doctor’s orders.  The fair weathers are too lazy to even ride up anymore; they trailer their bikes or some don’t even take them at all.  They cite the unsafe roads and the length of the ride.  Last year he bellyached about having to ride up with a friend from work.  He roomed with the guy, who spent most of his time on the balcony chatting up some girl on his cell phone and smoking cigars.  They missed riding the “loop” with the fair weathers because they left early. 

Bike Week started this weekend.

Devil me taps the computer screen with her finger, “So quick to criticize yourself and lose sleep.  He’s upset because he didn’t get to go hang out with the fair weathers.  Wah wah.  He still could go to the event in April.  He could do some rides here.”  She taps the screen to emphasize her point.

“Then he takes it out on you.  Hurts you.  Makes you feel like dog shit on the bottom of his shoe,” she’s pacing the room, “He acts like it’s your fault.  Bullshit.  Sometimes you don’t get to take a vacation to somewhere you want to go.  He goes every year.  He gets half the month off with his wacky schedule.  He’s off next week.  That’s probably why he mentioned that he couldn’t ride the bike; he probably wishes he could get to Daytona.  Nevermind the fact that he couldn’t get a room in a fleabag motel within 100 miles of Daytona….

“You know why he doesn’t take rides with the guys here?  You know why he would never take you along?  He’s afraid of some of the guys.  He’s afraid you’ll leave him for one of them…” she rants while I stare at the screen.  There’s a leggy blond in a microscopic bikini in one of the photos.  I know she’s right.  I can’t believe I didn’t remember.  He always pouts when he doesn’t get to go to his favorite events. 

It doesn’t justify treating me badly and taking it out on me. 

I’ll give him space, but I will drop the damned cat food off when I go to pick up the Chinese food.  I don’t want to look at that in my trunk for the next week.

I had apologized in an email, a real apology.  I had sent him a text earlier today as well, when I was still bewildered.  He answered the text, “Don’t come over tonight.  I have to read for the exam.”  He’s having a 6 hour exam soon.  He had said before that it would be a “surprise” exam.  That he would have to answer questions asked by a board of questioners, that he could get nothing wrong.  Perhaps he got the head’s up and it’s going to happen.  I wished him luck on it.  Promised to drop the cat food over while he was at work. 

More likely he’s so upset about the whole Daytona thing that he just wants to wallow in his misery and watch dark movies and be alone. 

Either way, I’ll leave him be.  I’ve got plenty to keep me busy here and at the new house.

I had planned on going over before he got home so I could start supper, but my lunch was proving to be problematic.  It wasn’t gluten, but it was still a poor decision on my part, so I suffered the annoyance of an upset gut for hours while I did chores here.  I arrived not long after he did, walked in the front door, called out to him.  He answered from his darkened bedroom, “I’m laying down.  I just got home.  I’m beat.”

First day back for four 12-hour shifts is a real bear.  He was laying with his back to the door when I walked in to kiss him.  I kissed his ear, and he rolled back and took me in his arms, “A dress?  You look beautiful, baby!”  He apologized for being so tired, but he always is on his first day back from being off for a few days.  He didn’t go straight to bed on Thursday night, so that was part of it.  He tells me we can eat leftovers, because there isn’t a need to cook, but he knows I want to make white clam sauce.  He wants to try the corn pasta he bought. 

In the oddest way it is so sweet that he no longer buys wheat pasta because he knows I can’t eat it.  He checks labels now, and buys products that are gluten free.  He proudly shows me his purchases when I come over.  He raves over the pasta I cook.  To me, it tastes the same, but he insists that it’s better. 

He kisses me and strokes my hair, but doesn’t get up.  He wants to lay down awhile.  He’s not hungry.  I leave him in his bed, and head for the kitchen.  Soon, I have water heating in the big pot.  I’ve drizzle olive oil in a saucepan, and methodically press clove after clove of fresh garlic into it.  The kitchen becomes fragrant with the aroma of cooking garlic.  Heavenly.  The cat winds around my legs as I stir the pasta into the boiling water.  I joke with her, “Are you so smart that you can read the can on the counter?  Do you know that I’m making clam sauce?”  The baby clams look positively revolting when I open the can, but they prove to be tender and sweet.  The cat could care less, but D pads out to the kitchen.  He remarks that he is getting hungry, and the sauce smells amazing. 

He putters with the computer he’s working on.  He’s not looking.  I casually mention that I don’t generally cook in high heels.  He absently replies that I have flip flops in the bedroom if I want to change.  I turn and give him an exasperated look, and he catches that.  Then he looks.  He’s a leg and foot man.  “Hey, Romeo!  Your girlfriend is cooking you pasta with white clam sauce and she’s wearing a black dress and high heels.  You might want to check that out!” the voice of Devil me resounds in my head although D doesn’t hear it.  He becomes quiet and stares. 

I’ve seen that stare before.  Angel me maintains that it’s either love or a performance worthy of an Oscar.  Once, I perched a pair of reading glasses on my nose to read the impossibly small print on the literature that came with his prescriptions.  He grew silent and stared.  I continued to read, believing that he was quiet so he wouldn’t disturb my train of thought.  I looked up, ready to explain his medication and how it worked, and was surprised by the expression on his face.  I wasn’t certain if it was desire or intense pain.  Alarmed that he might be in pain I asked why he was looking at me like that and if he was okay.  He simply said, “You are so hot.”  I asked him if he was delirious from the pills.  He told me that I looked like a sexy nerd with my readers on, “Like Sarah Palin, she’s pretty hot, you know.  That was her appeal…the glasses, the upswept hair, the whole MILF thing,” he grew wistful.  I cocked an eyebrow.  He continued, “Of course, every time she opens her mouth it’s apparent that the ONLY thing she has going for her is her appearance.  She’s a complete and utter dolt who can’t sound intelligent even when she’s reading a statement that someone else wrote for her.  But as long as she keeps her mouth shut, she’s hot.”  Angel me snorts disgust when he pats my leg and pulls me close to kiss me, “With you I get the whole package, sexy, nerdy, hot little bod, horny, and brilliant.”

I wondered if it was bullshit then.  Yet here is “that stare” again.  I wink at him and turn back to the pasta pot.  D and I have had an “off and on” relationship for 3 years. 

All in all, it’s a quiet evening.  We eat.  We watch a couple of episodes of American Pickers, the cat settles in next to me, purring and snuggling close.  This never fails to elicit a comment from D, “She loves you.  L tried for a decade to get that cat to come to her, but she avoided her like the plague.  Hell, she takes days to warm up to my sister and brother in law.  You, she loved from day one.  L would never believe me if I told her.”  We go to bed and cuddle until we sleep.  The cat sleeps with us, leaving when we get frisky in the middle of the night, and returning later when we’re spooning.  I hear her purring loudly.  He pulls me close and kisses the top of my head.

Eventually, I fall back to sleep, but it’s more of a light doze.  He reaches for me in his sleep, pulls me close and hooks a leg over me.  He will do that every time I roll away in my sleep. 

He told me earlier in the evening that he threw away the smoking mixture (the “fake” pot) and the paraphernalia that went along with it.  He’s sick of coughing.  He knows that his lungs are “weak”.  I had told him that he could expect to cough a great deal when he woke up from surgery.  I told him that he might want to lay off the stuff for a few weeks or a month to make it easier when the time came.  It blew me away when I realized that he had not only listened, but he took it to heart and acted on it.  I don’t nag.  I certainly don’t get on his case about the extra weight he carries, or any of his other faults.  He listens, though.   He listens to every word. 

“It’s love, you know,” K laughs, “I think that asshole is finally realizing that you’re sincere and that you love him.  He can’t avoid the issue forever.  He can act like a hardass for only so long.  Now he’s starting to realize that you just might be the best thing that ever happened to you.

An old plastic milk crate sits in the kitchen.  It’s part of the stuff that he’s brought down from the attic.  A huge homemade Valentine is there, pink and red, with hearts and the words “I love you!” and “Our first Valentine Day together!” written on it.  Obviously his wife made it, and it’s very sweet.  I smile and wink at him.  He’s kept it for decades.  That’s sweet too.  He intones darkly, “Back when she loved me.”  She doesn’t call him anymore, but she did invite him to a party she has in May.  He’s not sure if he’ll go.  He doesn’t extend the invitation to me.  Then he pulls out the notebooks which are the notes and playbill from productions he worked on in college.  His degree was in the Arts (what he finished of it).  He was stage manager at a local playhouse for a year.  He had been serious, but his dad talked him out of pursuing it as a career, directing him to blue collar work.  I hug him and kiss him, exclaiming over his past glories.  A script that he worked on with someone who achieved the dream is there.  A note is written on the front “Use this as your inspiration.  You can do this too!  You just need to realize that you can!”  The insecurity was there then.  He wouldn’t overcome it to reach for his dream.  There were others in his life who tried to break through that wall and lift him up. 

I lean over, pull him close and kiss him.  I tell him that I think the work he did in college was amazing, that it must have been the coolest job.  I want to hear more.  I want to hear all about it.  He beams, but it’s time to put the stuff away.  When he finds more stuff, we’ll talk.  He’ll tell me more.

I wonder if he will.

I’m falling in love again.  I know that.  Funny how falling feels like flying…

I left his house wondering where I stood.  Was it time to walk away?  Was I over-reacting?  Was it worth the grief and anxiety?  I sat at the traffic signal, tears welling up, shaking my head.  Then the clouds cleared and my tears stopped rolling, because I remembered that I didn’t have to stay.  That I could walk away and leave him behind.  I  drove home and slept like death.

The next day, I forgot my cell phone at home.  I called H (from work) to let him know that I wasn’t connected and that any emergencies would have to handled by him.  He screamed at me because he couldn’t handle the kids and he thought I was lying.  I sighed, tried to calm him down, talked to our oldest child.  Then had a particularly beastly day at work.  I wondered if I should try to call D, but didn’t have time until later in the afternoon.  Turns out he’d sent a few texts and had called me.

The texts started up again when I got home, but I told him that I was taking my kids, my dad and his wife out to dinner.  He asked that I call him when I got home.  He told me he missed me.  Long strides took me to the opposite end of the house.  I thought, “Maybe.”  Angel me shook her head, “Leave it be tonight.  He doesn’t need a phone call.  Let him go hang with the fair weathers.”  She’s right.  I send a text, which goes unanswered.  Near 9 pm I call and leave a message on his house phone, he doesn’t answer.  I shrug.  He’s out. 

I don’t text on Thursday, but he starts fairly early.  He wants me to work out some way to see him.  Angel me scowls.  I work all day, attend a mandatory class after work.  It’s ridiculous.  I set off for home in the rain.  There are numerous accidents and it takes me 90 minutes to get home.  I shower, the kids and I eat, I throw on clothes, but no makeup.  I haven’t even shaved my legs. I can’t believe I am wasting my time.  I text, “On my way.” 

He calls back immediately.  He’s glad I’m coming.  He was afraid I wouldn’t come over.  My eyes narrow, “Why?”  The late hour. 

When I arrive, he’s giddy and kisses me a half dozen times, until I giggle.  He hops in the shower.  He wants to cuddle for awhile, and we do….for 30 minutes. 

He tells me that he was shopping for computer parts last night.  He ended up buying a new laptop.  I ask why he didn’t hang out with the fair weathers.  He waves it away, “The group is shrinking.  I think T is running people off.  I don’t want to see those assholes every week.” 

“I cleaned out my phone and put some photos of you in it,” he says, “I’ll show you..”  I ask why he did that and he answers, “Because I like to look at you when I’m working.  Besides, the guys I work with want to see who I’m dating.  I think that they don’t believe me.”  He chatters while I gaze into the dark.  I didn’t think he gave a shit about the photos in his phone.  I don’t ask what he did with them but he offers it up, “I transferred the cheesecake to the computer.  The old photos of girlfriends and such I just deleted.  No need to have shit like that coming back to haunt me even if they were tame.”

I wonder if he noticed the hurt in my eyes or if he just was afraid I’d leave.  J thinks it’s more the latter. 

I don’t know anymore…

Maybe he did it because he … cares….

He texts me a few times today.  I went over the night before for dinner, jacuzzi time, and just to hang out.  It was a relaxing time…He talked about getting lobster to cook at home (for some reason he’s on that kick again…homebody time).  He told me that he planned on taking his mom out for a lobster dinner at some swanky restaurant near the water for her birthday.  It’s a wonderful idea.  His mom will be pleased!  They’ll have a great time.  I ask if he’s taking his uncle too, but he says, “Not this time.  I had him over for Christmas.”

He despises his mother and his uncle.  They abused him when he was a child. 

What can he do though?  I understand.  He can’t just abandon them.  He is all they have left.  It’s a cruel twist, but I’m grateful for an evening off.

He tells me that he’s taking mom out at 4:30 pm, then they’ll hang out, then he’ll call me.  My oldest has an appointment at 6:15pm  so I tell him that it’s fine.

He calls me at 7:45 pm.  They’ve just gotten back from dinner.  I breathe a huge sigh of relief and say, “Don’t feel like you need to rush because of me…”  He replies, “I’m not!  I haven’t spent any time with mom since the holidays, so I’m going to stay here for awhile.”

I consider that he’s probably calling from his mom’s kitchen (within view and earshot).  I also consider that it may be guilt.  His voice sounds a bit strained.  I decide that I won’t be the one to save him tonight.  He won’t die spending a little time with mom.  She’s in her 80s; how long does he think he’ll have to take her out to dinner?  I tell him to have a great time with mom. Then we say goodbye and hang up.

He didn’t have to call.  It’s just like him to “check in” though.  I never suggested that he had to check in, but he always does.  I’ve never asked him about it.  Maybe it was a requirement when he was seeing L.  Maybe he does it because it’s me.  J has always said that the rules are different with me.  I laughed at that, but D has been consistent.  He always calls.

Was he looking for an out?  Was he just checking in to make certain that I wasn’t out with friends?

When I was at his place last night he mentioned my work again.  He discusses it with his closest fair weathers.  I can scarcely contain my major eye roll.  What the fuck do they care?  Apparently, they think it’s the coolest, most intriguing work in the world (I allow myself another eye roll since my back is to him).  I shrug.  He tells me that he wants to include realistic operating room scenes in the book he plans to write.  I listen blandly, nodding when the bullshit gets knee deep.

In three years, I’ve never seen him read a book.  I’ve never read any of his writing.

It all sounds like so much bullshit.

The fair weathers can barely find their car keys, so I hardly think they find my job mindboggling.

Angel me sits on my computer desk looking prim.  We take time to talk. 

“He’s playing you,” she says blandly.  I nod, “I know.  I’m smarter than this.  Long silence….then, “Why do you stay?”  “Because he  said that he loves me….I know it sounds like bullshit,” I sound tired. 

Angel me cocks her head and raises an eyebrow.  I shrug and giggle because I feel a little crazy.

I relate that he tells me that he wants to travel, to go out to eat, to shop together.  Hell, he’s even asked me to stay overnight on the weekends while he works day shift.  I agree.  I won’t sleep late though.  I have moving to start.  He’s got mixed feelings over that but I need to get settled.  He’ll come around if he wants to.  If he doesn’t then it’s time to move on.

I’ll be fine.

……

He shows me the new phone.  He takes a playful photo while I flash him, then when he searches the galleries for it (I asked him to delete it since his colleagues and fair weathers look at his photos…I know…WTF?).  He quips that he has to clean out his album, while hiding the screen.  There are some photos that aren’t ripped from the internet. 

Do I need to worry?  Do I need to snoop?  My heart sinks low.  I can’t help but look sad, and he catches that.  Joke or not, the damage is done.  I feel pretty shitty.  I’ll let it ride, but it’s just another reason why I shouldn’t love.  Too many ghosts in his closets and his heart.  No room for me, really. 

Angel me holds me while tears well up in my eyes.  Soothing.  Soft voice, “You know that you really don’t mean that much to him.  You never meant anything to anyone, honey.  I’m sorry…”

It really pulls me apart….I know it’s really time to part ways.  It’s just that I know it will be an easier break when I move.  He really will be too lazy to see me.  If I don’t have time, he’ll hang out with the fair weathers and be happy to masturbate over his porn.

I know I won’t have time.  It will be good.  I will make lots of overtime.  I don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone…

I don’t want to get into anyone’s love life.  It’s all so exhausting

I don’t want to correct him.  I don’t have the energy.  Besides….I don’t give a shit.  If that’s what you want, go for it.  I’ll step aside.

He never wants that.  I’m always his prize…..

It turned out to be the leading edge of a front, but the wind picked up enough to threaten the orchids in the trees out front.  Rain swirled and hammered from all sides, and I woke the kids for no other reason than it was time to get up.  I told them we were under tornado watch (later discovered that it was true, much to my oldest child’s delight, because he loves the way we can read the weather).  The temperature dropped significantly with a chilled breeze.  March seemed to be coming in like a lion.

We don’t get much done.  My youngest is going to be 13 in a few days, so we spent time cooking amazing foods and playing video and dice games together.  I’ve managed to get some laundry done, but I haven’t roused my inner housekeeper. 

We laugh and joke, eat and relax.  My youngest tells me that coming to my house is like a vacation because they can relax here.  They don’t laugh when they’re with their dad.  They both plan on not going back once they turn 18.  It used to bother me terribly when they would say that, because I wanted them to have a good relationship with their dad.  Their dad has other ideas.  He’s controlling and stubborn and alcoholic.  The good man who I thought was there was simply an illusion.  It was always smoke and mirrors.  He was good to the people for reasons known only to him.  He cut me to the core often, so he could keep me under his thumb.  When it came down to being a parent, he was absent.  I made excuses, and he was happy to wallow in them. 

Now, the teenagers who are our children can speak of their history and their past.  They could have told the judge that I was the one who spent the most time doing things with them.  The zoo, the library, soccer, tae kwon do, the park, swimming lessons, camps, Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, bicycling.  I was the one who had mud fights with them in the backyard after a week of heavy rains.  I was the one who took them camping.  I was the one who took them to see fireworks.  I was the one who read to them and who rocked them to sleep at night.  I was the one who took them to carnivals and the fair, to nature centers and the beach.  The judge waved it all away.  Too stunned by my ex husband’s good looks, she gazed at him with undisguised lust.  For me, only contempt.  Still, I didn’t ask for more than the state allowed, so she was unable to deny me anything.  Our custody was 50/50, no support, no alimony.  He whined a little over that; he had entertained punishing me with paying him alimony. 

The court washed their hands of it all.  They didn’t want to see either of us again.  Good riddance.

D felt like I made out like a bandit.  I didn’t.  But I didn’t get the shaft either, because I was smart and not greedy. 

D was surprised when I told him that I only got 50% of the assets.  There was a great deal there.  H and I had been worth more than most people our age considering our jobs.  I didn’t share that we would have had a great deal more had H not stood in my way as far as the real estate went.  We could have been extremely comfortable, but he was stubbornly conservative to the point that it cost him money.  His 401K worth only a quarter of what it should have been.  I take my share and we will see what I can do to make it grow. 

Independence is sexy in itself.  D asked one time if I had 3 months worth of savings to carry me over, “Ideally, you should have 6 months, but just going through the divorce, you may need time to build up your accounts again.”  I look at him blandly, which he mistakes for apathy.  He delicately asks what my monthly expenses are.  I figure the mental math, “Counting groceries and utilities?”  He looks exasperated, “At least the damned mortgage.”  I tell him I could get by on $2500 a month without cutting corners.  He yelps in surprise, “That’s an awful lot of money!  How much is your mortgage?”  I’m calm, “It’s under $1100 but the taxes and insurance are included.  The rest is a generous estimate for other bills.  I’m sure I could live on less.”  He looks at me in utter amazement, “You couldn’t possibly have $15000 in savings.”  I shake my head.  He begins to lecture me on budgeting, but I quietly interrupt, “I have enough to cover 10 months, and that’s only one account.  That’s not counting the other accounts, the 401K, the stock, and my own ability to find work.”  He sits back and stares.  “And that is only my half,” I add primly, “Still think H is right to plead ‘poor mouth’?”  Now he knows how much I’m worth financially, and there’s no fear that I’d come after him for a loan.

I’m in good shape for now.  Hopefully, I’ll be in good shape for the long haul. 

So the sweet emails continue and the sweet texts arrive regularly.  D hasn’t lost his fear that I’ll dump him for someone new, for someone better, but that’s okay…He’ll stay on his toes.  It’s fine.

The man who I went on a few dates with in November/December, the one who expected sex on the second date, hailed me in the chat box on the social networking site.  He told me that he was trying to plan a trip to my part of the country; he wanted to see me.  He would let me know when he would be down.  He wanted to go on a cruise so I’d need to make arrangements for time off and to make sure that I didn’t have my kids.  How arrogant!  I decided that enough time had passed that I could break it off safely via chat.  After all, he hadn’t been here in 3 months, and he expected me to barter time off and jettison my kids to go cruise with him?  Never mind how utterly sleazy that would look to my kids for their mother to be heading off to the Bahamas with some guy who has only had 2 dates and those months ago.  He has money.  He makes great money, but he’s pretty selfish and arrogant. Still, I’m not cruel.  I tell him that I’m seeing someone.  He’s crushed.  He gets a bit maudlin.  Then he wishes me well.  Sniffs around for some pity, before telling me he has to go.

His arrogance keeps him single.  That’s all.  That, and the fact that he wants a “trophy” on his arm.  That’s flattering, but not at the price of losing time with my kids or jeopardizing my career.  I’m too smart to fall for that dangling golden carrot, that reflection of the bone in the pond.  I’m not greedy. At least D understands and happily grants me time with my kids, because he didn’t have a good mom.  He finds it intriguing that I can juggle the job, the kids and him without losing my mind. 

I find it intriguing too.

He talks a great deal when we are together now.  Without the booze to tie his tongue and dull his senses, he prattles on about his past, his family, his life before me.  He fills in the blanks without me asking a single question.  I just listen anymore.  He texts and calls.  Emails fill my inbox.  When can he see me again?

Because he needs to talk.

His childhood was marked by an overbearing and neglectful mother who abused him and his siblings after her husband walked out.  His mother had been a stunning beauty, and his older sister and brother had been popular and were blessed with beauty and roguish good looks.  D had come along later in the marriage, with the weak lungs of an asthmatic…tending towards chubbiness and not academically, artistically or athletically gifted.  He bore the brunt of the abuse later when the marriage crumbled.  He was in band with me from middle school on. In high school, his brother moved back home, dying from leukemia.  D took care of him. 

We were all clueless in high school. I reached out to him more than once because I liked him and wanted to date him, but he was afraid of me.  He told me that he remembered where my “cubby” was in the band room.  He could remember me smiling up at him, and that he thought about how nice it would be to snatch me up and kiss me.  He was too scared of me then, “You were sexy then.  There was a lot of talk amongst the other boys regarding how hot you were, but everyone was too afraid to ask you out.”  He admits that thinking about me smiling up at him gave him “raging boners” later when he thought about it at home.

He dated some really unattractive women.  He laughs when he tells me that he broke up with a girl who wanted to use a vibrator when they had sex.  Then he started dating R.  Less than a year later they were married.  I asked if he loved her and he looks surprised, “No.  I wasn’t in love.  She was a sweet girl and I should have loved her, but I don’t think I ever did.  It just seemed like it was time to get married.”  They were 23.  They would divorce in 9 years. 

He finally admits that he was the one who filed.  She walked out and moved in with her sister.  He was tired of the suicide attempts, the depression, the drama.  He found her wandering down a busy road with her makeup applied like a clown.  She’d taken an overdose.  This wasn’t the first time he’d had to rush her to the hospital. He was through.  She thought they would work it out.

It’s eye opening.  Now I understand why he acts the way he does, and why his definition of drama differs from mine.  R would rant against a perceived slight at work for days.  I think about my own work rants.  My issues weren’t perceived but now I understand why he blew up when I bitched.  R always wanted to be bff with the black women in the office; she was upset when they didn’t accept her “white bread ass”.  I think of my relationships with my black students; I didn’t try to be one of them, but we all respected each other and all was fine.  D hollered until he was red in the face that I’d never be accepted.  I was puzzled at the time because I didn’t understand what the fuss was about.  Now I know.

(Recently, he blew up when I explained a surgical “time out”, and expressed frustration over patients who got belligerent when I have to ask them to confirm their identity, their surgeon, their allergies, their procedure….I explain that it’s for safety.  D screams, “I’d think you were stupid if you asked me.  You should know what the fuck I’m there for!”  I snap back, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.  If the patient is asked a dozen times then they should be relieved that we care enough to make damned sure we get it completely right.”  We spend about 15 minutes sparring, until I shut up and put my head in my hands.  I seriously consider walking out the door.  He dishes up a plate of the food I cooked while I wolf mine down.  When he sits down, I get up and load my dish and glass in the dishwasher.  I start to clean up the kitchen, while he compliments my cooking.  It seems weird and inappropriate, but I keep my mouth shut.  I don’t sit down until he asks me to.  He never apologizes, just suggest that we should get in the jacuzzi.  We do.  Later when we lie together in his bed he pulls me close and kisses my head, “I’m so glad you’re here.”  I gaze sadly into the darkness.  It’s feeling weird again.  I start pulling away, disengaging mentally…..When I leave, he pads after me to kiss me at the door.)

Knowing what I know now, I realize that he’s not playing games.  D is insecure.  He has friends who are shallow, unintelligent, and uninteresting.  He gave up a career in theater because of the advice of his dad.  He feels like he’s lost a lot.  He even missed getting his degree because he couldn’t pass the Algebra class he needed.  My head shot up as if I’d been slapped.  He looks at me sheepishly, “I’m an idiot when it comes to math.”  I breezed through college with a 3.86 GPA, pissed off that it wasn’t 4.0.  One “C” was responsible for that drop.  D is amazed.  I shrug it off, and he continues, “If I had been with you then, I would have pushed you to change your major to Pre-med.”

I don’t call D on Friday.  I’m still upset about the whole “surgical time out” argument so I decide to let sleeping dogs lie.  After all, it’s not like I entertain thoughts of living with or marrying D.  He surprises me by calling me.  Bright and cheerful and full of plans.  He’s talking about stopping by and staying overnight with me when I don’t have the kids.  I just murmur affirmation even though I have always been positive that he’ll never stop by once I’ve moved.  I’ll live too far away.

I say as much to K and J.  They disagree, but I am skeptical. 

It’s easier that way.  If I expect nothing then I won’t be disappointed when I find myself alone.