The sea is flat….like a mirror….no waves…just flat. 

I listen more when D talks.  He’s still on medication so he can’t drink much, and he talks a great deal.  He doesn’t realize what he’s divulged, but that’s fine.  I sit, chin in hand, listening.  Every so often I prompt….

He talks about one of his best fair weathers:  “C loves his wife, W….but he ‘fucks around’ on her.”  My eyebrows raise, because D had told me that C had had second thoughts after another fair weather had a messy breakup.  D continues, “She won’t do every single thing he asks, so he finds girls who will do what he wants.  He’s nicer to W now.  He used to do that kind of stuff right in front of her.”  My jaw hits the floor, “C would have some girl perform (sex act) on him IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE?”  D nods and says, “He was really mean to her, and no one said a thing.  That’s why he’s fixed up the house and yard for her.” 

D looks at me to see my reaction.  I shake my head and say, “I would have left.” 

D nods, “I know.”

Unspoken him:  “Which is why you would never ‘fit’ with the fair weathers.  You are too strong and too smart and too independent.  They realize that too.  That’s why they ask about you.  You are different, funny and smart, and unafraid….You aren’t like them.  I’m afraid that they’ll realize that you find them tedious.”

Unspoken me:  “That’s why I don’t give a shit if I don’t ever hang out with your fair weathers, D.  I think they are shallow and vacuous, and unintelligent.  I don’t hang out with people like them.”

We cook dinner and hang out when I don’t have the kids.  He’s clingy, avoiding the fair weathers.  Full of praise and compliments…I stay humble.

I watch and listen and he talks about C some more.  He’s divulged plenty about us to C.  I’m not happy about it but the only indication is my furrowed brow and frown.  He, C, V, and T get together and talk about their women plenty.  I can’t help but look pissed off now…How dare he?  He shrugs, “Yes, we go into detail, but I have to admit…I’m envied because I have the best sex life.  The rest of them are on Viagra.” 

I snort with disgust and turn my attention to the dinner dishes.  He continues, “C thought I was full of shit, but V and T vouched for me.  They’ve seen how we are.”  Lovely.  Nothing better than being an object.

Thank goodness work is going well….

….for Wednesday night….I get to see D. 

For now I’m hanging with the kids.  We start moving this weekend.

My heart was broken today.  A former patient returned to surgery.  He was once a cooing, babbling 2 month old.  Now he’s an unresponsive three month old.  I fought tears while I stroked his soft cheek.  His mother remembered me.  I told her that I’d take good care of her boy. 

I always do.

Sometimes, babies get sicker and slip away.  I touch his limp hands and stroke his hair.  He opens dull and sightless eyes.

My heart breaks…

He’s thanked me profusely for the time I’ve spent with him, answering questions, helping him with treatments, medications.  He takes me up on an offer to pick up mail at my house out west.  He wants to get propane tanks filled.  We need to get some groceries.  My printer needs to be replaced.

We set out very late.  He drives.  We stop for gas.  He’ll comment on how far away I live, but part of the reason he’s going with me is to refresh his memory on how to get to my house.  Maybe someday he will come out.  He checks out the paint inside, wants to replace the bulbs in the fans, the batteries in the smoke detectors.  He comments favorably on the work I did on the unstained furniture.  I plan on getting more and staining it.  My own bedroom furniture will be parawood because it’s easy to stain and the results are lovely.  I just don’t know yet what I’ll need as far as furniture is concerned so I’m sticking with my old furniture for awhile.

He shops very slowly.  I’m not used to that.  He’s never had to shop with small children so he can take his time.  When we check out, there is a family with small kids ahead of us in line.  The mother isn’t watching her 3 year old who takes it upon himself to start grabbing at the items we are loading on the conveyer belt.  Before I can say anything, the mother notices, “Billy, those aren’t our things.  Our things are in the basket.  Come along now.  No no.”  Billy grabs a stack of blank compact discs and announces, “This isn’t our stuff.”  Before anyone else can say a word, D bellows, “Don’t touch that!”  He has a deep voice.  He scares the shit out of the mother and both kids.  She grabs Billy with one hand and trots out at light speed with the cart while her embarrassed husband waits for his receipt. 

I struggle to keep from busting a gut laughing because it’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.  D explains why he did it while we unload.  I tell him he wasn’t wrong.  I don’t tell him that it was hard not to laugh.  He feels a bit bad about scaring the kid. 

I head home to feed animals, get the mail, get cleaned up, and do a little more laundry.  Then I fly over and we cook and soak in the jacuzzi.  We make a half-hearted attempt to be intimate, but he’s pretty uncomfortable. 

I have lots of things on my mind.  Deadlines.  Moving.  More deadlines.  Paperwork to gather.  Taxes.  License renewal.  All will be right by April, but so much to do. 

I wake up alone at 5 am.  The bed is cold.  I get up and pad through the house looking for D.  He’s not in either bathroom, at the computer, in the den.  A light is on in the kitchen.  He’s not there either.  Then I hear a noise in the garage.  He there, tidying up.  I tell him what time it is.  His internal clock is screwed up.  He’s been up, icing his shoulder, then he started tidying the garage.  He looks at me and gently says, “Go back to bed, Honey.  I’ll be there soon.”  I pad back to the bedroom, and crawl under the sheets, wide awake.  It’s a weird feeling.  He talked to me earlier about his divorce 13 years ago….the events leading up to it.  I had assumed that his wife had filed.  I learned that he had.  Then he had had what amounted to a mid life crisis at 33 years of age.  He hasn’t spoken to his ex wife in over a year; she didn’t even send a card at Christmas.  He last saw L when he dropped off gifts for the Angel Tree at her job, and it was reportedly a hand off with nary a nod.  B has never contacted him other than to add him as a business contact.  The other “girlfriends” are absent from his life.  I think about all that while he comes in, rinses a glass in the sink, heads into the bathroom to freshen up.  He slips into bed beside me and pulls me close.  He kisses the top of my head about a dozen times….and drifts off to sleep quickly.  I stare into the dark.  All the knowledge of the previous evening spinning overhead like a fan. 

“I took care of my brother when he was dying.  I took care of R, with her frequent suicide attempts.  She was a good girl, a wonderful wife.  I couldn’t handle the mood swings.  When she moved out, I realized I needed a change.  I couldn’t live like that anymore.  I don’t want to have to take care of anyone ever again.”

I won’t tell him that someday he may have to do that.  His mother lives locally, and she’s in her eighth decade of life.  When she declines it will be a slippery slope.  His dad lives states away, and is forgetful and easily tired.  D was shocked at his decline when he visited last year.  His dad liked me a lot, but D was distressed that he kept asking what my name was.

I’ll be there, of course.  He shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.

It feels weird though.  I can’t put my finger on it, but it does.

When I arrived he was sitting stiffly in the big chair at the computer.  He had a tremendous ice pack on his shoulder.  I leaned in and kissed his forehead.  He liked the doctor.  I was surprised at the improvement in his bedside manner.  I saw the same doctor about a decade ago and he was brusque and taciturn.  I didn’t share that with D; no need for him to know that his doctor had been a different person once.  D gestured to the TENS unit and the bottles of pills lined up on the kitchen table.  New generation anti-inflammatories, non opiod pain relievers that contained no narcotic, muscle relaxants…I didn’t know any of these new medications and I was fascinated. 

D asked me about one.  He recognized the one ingredient as a common over-the-counter anti-inflammatory, “The other drug in it keeps it from upsetting the stomach I guess.”  He turns to me with a quizzical look.  I pick up the bottle, “The dose is 2400 mg a day, which is a huge dose.  It would wreck havoc with your stomach.  The other drug in it is Pepcid, I believe.”  I explain how Pepcid works to prevent ulcers.  He goes to the computer and looks it up, and is delighted that I’m correct. 

I just smile at him and shake my head.  Then I cook pasta sauce and rice pasta for dinner.  He eats some of that.  Later he’ll heat up the chili I made a few weeks back.  He really pushes it with food safety sometimes. 

We watch an abysmally bad movie, but it gives us time to talk so we don’t jettison it as quickly as we should.  We are joking about the costuming in the movie, which is set in the 70s, and is pretty ridiculous.

Then D turns serious, “You are so good to me.  You are so good, and always there for me.  I’m an asshole sometimes.  You can be a real bitch when you want to be.  When it’s right, though….when it’s good….I’m so happy to have you around, because you are so good to me.”  Then he pulled me close with his “good” arm and kissed the top of my head.

I was taken by surprise by that statement.  Hardly the flowery words of a lover, but for D, that’s about as close as it gets.  It wasn’t fueled by liquor or pain pills.  He had only had the new generation ibuprofen so he was clear headed. 

I replied in the same spare way, “You know I’m crazy about you.  I always have been.  Besides, all women are bitchy sometimes.” 

We find a better movie, and I doze off during parts of it.  It’s been a good week at work, but it’s late and I’m tired.  D is awake for the whole movie.  I doze with my head on his chest, the way my kids used to doze when we would watch television late. 

Later in bed, I keep to “my side”.  He tells me to scoot closer and he hooks a leg over mine.  He can’t lay on his side and I can’t snuggle in on that side of his chest because that’s the shoulder that is painful.  He sleeps like a baby.  I don’t sleep well at all.  My alarm on my cell phone goes off at 6:30 am and I’m wide awake.  It’s set to vibrate.  I sleep so lightly that I still hear it and wake up.

I figure that I’ll get some rest while I do a little laundry and feed the animals.  Ha.  The dog and the kitten slept all night.  They want to play.  So I get no rest.  I also have to drive to my new house to pick up mail.  There’s a check waiting.  A big check.  There are also some other important papers.  I don’t think D is up to going, but I ask him if he wants to ride along.  I figure we can go to the grocery store on the way back.  He surprises me by being up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed…and yes, he would like to ride along.  Damn.  Didn’t expect that. 

So I’ll fold another load of laundry, put on a little makeup, and head over to pick him up.

I’m good to him. 

I wonder if this is how L felt during the time that she dated him.

He called again … late…”pain is excruciating…going home.”  I text before I leave for work, urging him to see a doctor.  He does. 

The verdict:  bursitis and a probable torn rotator cuff.  I was right.  The orthopaedist treats it aggressively, steroid injections, TENS, strong anti-inflammatories and narcotics. MRI in 2 months.  Possible surgery.

Did he get a note for light duty?  He goes back in to get one.  What does he want for dinner?  He starts to suggest going out for a bite and I veto that idea.  He’s going to be in horrible pain tomorrow.

He wants me to come over and stay overnight.  I’m mystified, because I know he’s going to be pretty wracked up with pain.  Why the hell would he want me around?  I’d dose myself and hit the hay.  He wants me there.  I told him I’d do some laundry and cook dinner for him.  Did he want me to come over now?  No.  He needs to get cleaned up, throw in laundry. 

He wants to hang out.  Cuddle.

He’s so cute that it pulls my heartstrings….I have to remind myself that eventually he’ll be a horse’s ass again and I’ll want to take those heartstrings and tie him to a tree. 

I’m on my way….sheeeesh.

He asks often about my duties at work, wanting details of the unusual.  For him, the usual is unusual, and he’ll sit close and hang on every word.  When I ask why he’s interested he tells me that someday he wants to write a book about the specialty I work in.  It’s a mysterious world to outsiders, and he finds it fascinating.  I thought he was full of shit at first.  He spends so much time with the fair weathers that I wonder about his integrity sometimes.  Then he hangs on every word, asks the right questions, and I wonder if he’s sincere. 

He admits one day that he’s amazed by my work, “You have seen every part of the human body from the inside.  What is that like?” 

Sometimes I get technical in my explanations, which throws him off.  I have to simplify it.  My working knowledge of anatomy and physiology, of surgery itself, is endlessly intriguing to him. 

To me, it is all in a day’s work.  I don’t think about four years of college with a nearly perfect GPA.  I don’t think about my decades long membership in the international honor society of nursing, Sigma Theta Tau.  I don’t think about the times I take my newbie colleagues aside and explain why we do certain things.   They tell people that I’m brilliant; that I know my stuff.  I’m not only holding my own, but winning support in the “main”.  I know what I’m doing.  I don’t need to toot my own horn.  It comes back to me….

A CST introduced me to one of the trauma surgeons – “Have you met, _____?  She just came to us from South County.  She’s a great nurse, really knows her stuff.”

The “old guard” nurse to the supervisor:  “I’m not worried about ____.  She knows her stuff.  She’s ready to be on her own.”

The “difficult” surgeon in the “undesired” service:  “Why isn’t _____ in my room more often?  She’s knows what she’s doing.”

Tonight I get the panicked phone call.  He wants me to tell him to rest and ice it.  I tell him what it will likely be, what he may expect, what the diagnosis will likely  be.

I know I’m right.  He bargains.  I shake my head.  This time he needs to go to the doctor.  I know he’s in terrible pain.  He’s opting to stay at work.  Then he surprises me….He asks if I’ll come over tomorrow night.  I’ll go over, but it will be a gentle night.

He texts twice a day.  Good morning….Have a good night.  I happily text back.  He’s flirtatious and sweet, sending hugs and kisses…wishing me well at work.

He doesn’t act like he’s afraid to commit.  Honestly, he acts like he’s happy as a clam to have me around.   I chuckle to myself and enjoy it.  We are both off this weekend so maybe we can do something fun.

Work….like puzzle pieces falling into place, it’s all making sense.  I’m proving my worth.  Today I asked to remain in a “difficult” case.  It proved to be the right move because I won the respect of the specialty team leader, the supervisor, and the very difficult to please surgeon.  I felt like singing when it all fell into place, familiar as riding a bike.  Home.  What a thrill to hear the specialty leader praise my work.  It was wonderful when she told me that the surgeon was glad that I was in his room because I knew what I was doing.

I walked out on cloud nine…never mind the magnolia husks in the parking lot. 

Two more days….then I get to see D.  Looking forward to that.

He was out on the Harley with a fair weather when I sent him the text, “Do you need another backrub?”

Obviously, the answer was NO.  LOL.

He keyed in a response, “Be home in an hour!”

He wasn’t.  I spent some time with the kids.  Did some busy work here.  Showered and got ready to hit the hay, because I was that tired. 

The truth:  He called from the apartment complex….twice…..to tell me that he was sitting there in the rain, waiting to take me to his place.  The time was 9:15 pm.  I was in bed….damned near asleep.

I didn’t go.

He needs me again.  I laughed ruefully at that….because he is “afraid of commitment”…yet he’ll wait across the street with a loud Harley waiting to sweep me away.

Way to be subtle….my kids would have noticed the thumping of the Harley….

He’s hooked.

I’m his crystal meth.

No response, but I expected as much.  I sat in the driver’s seat reading the texts in my phone.  I scrolled down to his name.  No reply.  I sighed and sent another asking if flowers would do or should I send a card. 

I’m fairly certain that the Valentine’s Day greeting was just a sarcastic dig designed to ruin my day.  He’s not my friend.  I’m not sure what he’s up to, but he’s not my friend.

The rejection damaged me.  My world lost it’s color.  The only bright spots were my children, the only reason to smile.  I faked a bright and cheerful attitude at work, which helped a great deal.  My heart was empty, but I still spoke gently, used my hands to heal and comfort.  I left work each day calm and at peace….but still empty.

The texts started up again.  D was belligerent and sarcastic, and I backed down.  I was right.  He’s not my friend.  I back off completely.  He cut off contact again, but less than 12 hours later, and after a beastly, long day, he sends a different text, “I’m home.  You can call if you still want to talk to me.”

Damn my marshmallow heart.  I wrestle with myself for 30 minutes and finally give in and call.  It’s awkward, at least for me.    He doesn’t sound upset.  He talks, and I listen. Then the most unusual thing happens.  I apologized for my unkind attack.  He floors me when he admits that he was wrong, and that he’s sorry. 

He tells me that he’s been wrong so many times, that it’s not me.  He tells me he’s not good for me.  When he stops to gather his thoughts, I let him know that his message is loud and clear.  We’re done.  He doesn’t want to see me anymore.  He’s done.  I don’t cry, and the emptiness is gone.  I sigh quietly, and he continues.  He says that the chemistry is wrong, then corrects himself.  The chemistry is the only thing that’s right.  He explains, “When everything is going well, it’s perfect.  It’s great.  But we don’t do well when things aren’t perfect.  You turn into a witch, and I don’t like that side of you.  I know I’m not patient when I’m tired either.  I didn’t want you around last weekend.  I wasn’t kind.  I was a bastard to you, and I wanted you to go.  But I don’t like seeing what the breakups do to you.  I was fine, because I don’t mind being alone, but you…I don’t enjoy seeing you sad and crying your eyes out over me.  I’m not worth it.”

So what do we do?  I actually ask him that.  I ask him if he doesn’t want to see me anymore.  He grows quiet.  There is no relationship, we’re bargaining time.  I feel pretty cheap, but I don’t tell him that.  He admits that he’s not sure what he wants.  He has commitment issues.  No shit.  So do I.  I reiterate that I don’t want to marry again, that I don’t want to live with anyone. 

I don’t ask about his day, but he tells me anyway.  It’s a safe subject; much safer than feelings.  He helped an old fair weather move a refrigerator.  Only it turned into a farce when the refrigerator was too big for the hole it was to be installed in.  I can’t help but ask why the friend didn’t measure twice.  D tells me that it turned into a fiasco – they had to take the old appliance to another relative’s house, and then take the refrigerator there to another relative’s garage.  Then they had to go to another relative’s house and clear out a garage.  Three hours of work turned into 10.  His back and neck are singing. 

He wants a back rub, and I know he needs one, but he won’t ask.  I offer anyway.  He’s honest when he says that he’s not going to be able to have sex.  I tell him that it doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t.  To me this all smacks of a big blow off.  I have “good hands”.  He’s had massages in the past and he swears mine are better than the professionals.  It’s likely because I have a good working knowledge of anatomy and physiology.  He asks me to come over.  I tell him that I will, even as Angel me and Devil me shake their heads in disbelief. 

“You were so close to being free of that asshole.” 

I drive over, beating myself up for being weak.  His front door is locked.  I tap on it lightly.  Soft music plays, and I know candles will be glowing.  He answers the door, kisses me, then holds me close. 

I missed you.  I know I’m not good for you, but I missed you.

He’s lit incense in the bedroom.  I don’t tell him that it smells like he’s burning cat turds.  The house is spotless.  That’s what he was doing on his days off.  That, and killing himself moving major appliances for people who never help him.  He fixes me a drink.  When I go for straws, I notice the dishes in the sink.  Bowls with dried tomato sauce.  He tells me that he’s been eating the chili I made for him a week ago.  This was the chili he pronounced not fit for a dog when the crap hit the fan a week ago.  I don’t say anything, but he tells me that it took a couple days for it to get good.  I had told him to throw it out if he didn’t want it. I was a little put out, because I had purchased the ingredients and he’d helped me cook it.  I didn’t feel like I was a shitty cook, though.

That’s another way that D is weird.  He rants about one thing, swears that he makes up his mind and acts on it immediately.  Acted like he hated the very fibers of my being over that chili.  The chili an insult, an abomination.  He keeps it anyway.  Because it’s food.  Because I made it.  Who can tell?  He tries it every day.  When it’s mellowed and become awesome, he eats it.  It’s fabulous.  He’s crazy.

All of my things are there.  J tells me that for all the bluster, D likes having my stuff there, because it means that I’ll come back.  J believes that D loves me, and that he avoids telling me because he’s afraid of commitment.  I roll my eyes. 

Later, his cat snuggles next to me, my argument for her loving me because I had no cat blown out of the water.  He holds one of my feet.  He loves my feet and legs.  He tells me that I’m the sexiest thing.  He tells me that he likes his life, but he likes his alone time.

What he doesn’t say:  He likes his alone time until he feels lonely, then he not only wants me around…he needs me.

He walks me out, kisses me under the stars.  He needs me now.

I’m such an idiot.