I go to Bikram Yoga to meditate and sweat out my reaction to "overwhelming." Ninety minutes later I'm clear and it's home to pack for a three-day business trip to Iowa and Kansas. I check my phone and see a text from R.
"Okay, you're not responding to my texts... I hope you're okay. I know you do that delete thing when you're feeling defensive."
And two hours before that: "Hey, how was your day?"
I start to text a reply but opt to go old-school and call instead. He answers immediately, "Yello!"
"You thought I was ignoring you?"
"No... well, maybe a little." I smile hearing his voice as well as hearing his insecurity on the other side of the phone.
"I wasn't ignoring you. I've been in yoga."
"Okay, well I thought maybe my 'overwhelming' comment rubbed you the wrong way."
"It did. I mean, I took it a little personally."
"I don't mean anything personal by it, it's just that I'm used to being alone. I'm not used to having someone around so much but also, it was really intense. Don't you agree?"
"You're the one that insisted on the 20," I retort. "Truthfully, though. I could have gone another round this morning. I was disappointed we didn't."
"I couldn't have. I was, well like I said, 'overwhelmed'." Maybe it isn't personal. What if the stuff men say is never personal? Just a thought.
"I'm heading out of town tomorrow but return Friday," I tell him. "The kids will still be with their dad next weekend. Would you like to come up to my place Saturday night?"
"Sure," he says. "Lets talk later in the week."
The days tick by with a six-hour road trip to Council Bluff Iowa for a customer lunch meeting, a two-hour dinner in KC with a 35-year old surgeon customer whose maturity level rivals that of most 14-year-olds and finally a meeting with a marketing director at Johnson County Imaging whose boobs are as firm and high as cantaloupes floating in a bird bath.
I return home to greet the weekend with excitement and a trip to HEB where I buy ingredients for Lydia's Chicken Scallopine in Lemon-Caper Sauce. Knowing R's preferences for Sobe, Truvia and Rice Dream (for his coffee), I pick up those items up too before leaving the store to swing by Brushy Creek Wine and Spirits for Tito's.
Hours drag until finally, R stands in my home, mine all mine. What would normally take an hour to make takes three with myriad breaks for soulful kissing. At one point he stops to ask, "how do we sustain this?" I look at him. Isn't this the million-dollar question everyone wants to know.
"I believe it's sustainable when two people make a commitment to sustaining it," I answer in between kisses. "And I think that things happen, people say things that layer up over time. Two people have to be committed to breaking through the wounding things they do or say to keep scars and bitterness at bay." Which is precisely what would have kept my marriage in tact I think but quickly move past to focus on the present.
At some point the lemon-caper sauce starts to burn. Crap! I save it before it reduces to a crisp. "Whoops."
"It'll be fine," he offers up understandingly. And he's right. We devour what turns out to be amazingly delicious. Then - because of nerves, an acid-akaline imbalance or because I didn't eat enough through out the day - I develop a mild stomach ache which R responds to by cleaning up the entire kitchen while I lay down on the couch.
We make our way upstairs to continue our night of a 1000 kisses, to pick up where we left off the week before. Something is different, though. Oh, no. Is this the beginning of the end? I sense it but do not acknowledge it. We've not even had a chance to exchange hurtful sentiment! R leaves after brunch and calls a few hours later. He recommends a visit to the doctor, that perhaps it's the result of taking antibiotics, that he doesn't want this to get in the way of US and that's why he's saying something now.
A gyno appointment reveals a bout of bacterial vaginosis. Oh, you gotta be kidding. I hammer the doctor for a probable cause: intercourse? vibrator? sweaty clothes from yoga? toilet seats in places that do not carry paper seat covers (Love Field Airport)? fooling around a with goofy cowboy from West Texas who insisted on calling me darling New Year's Eve EVE? Her response to each? An unequivocal NO. There is not a single cause other than, "sometimes things just get out of balance."
I'm betting it was antibiotics. Either way the crotch, the hootch, the pootang, the beast, the va-jay-jay, the bald man in the boat! Whatever, the pussy is closed for business for the next several days. Meanwhile, someone has decided they want to return to the Austin Dinner Club because it's "just fun to socialize." Excuse me????
That same day an email arrives in my work inbox from Drew. "Just wanted to check in on your advertising budget. Oh, and by the way, I've gone through a divorce recently. I've also lost 90 pounds."
Okay, that's not the type of news one professional normally shares with another. It's a bit suspect. He continues, "let me know if you're going to be in Dallas any time soon. I'd like to see what my radio station can do for you... we have a great promotion later this spring." It just so happens I'll be in Ft. Worth Thursday. This sounds less like a business dinner than a date, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. It's Drew after all. There's no way he's waxing on amorously.
On the drive to Ft. Worth I call R. There was nothing to worry about from the dinner apparently, "You don't have any competition," he says. Yea, that makes me feel so much better. I ask about getting together over the weekend but he's non-committal.
"Well, I understand if you want to take a weekend off," I throw on the table.
"Oh, wow, thanks. I appreciate you saying that," he replies. "Yeah, let's just play it by ear."
We play it by ear. I see Drew after my meeting that night and he looks amazing. The last time I saw him he was a frumpy - if not dumpy - middle-aged man with a lot of gray hair but a great personality. Now he's thin, fit and sporting short, dark hair. He still has a great personality and he seems taller now. At the restaurant I try to decide whether or not to order the filet mignon.
"Soooo... this is a Clear Channel expense?" I ask.
"Uhm, no. This is personal actually." So it is a date. I order the steak anyway and he spends the dinner opening up, describing how he's always had a crush on me but never said anything because we were married. He brings up his phone and starts to flip through a number of photos when I see a picture of me. He turns slightly red, "I hope you don't mind... I copied this from LinkedIn."
It strikes me as a little odd, but I suspend judgment. Drew is a good person. He's not a creep and I'm actually flattered. Dinner progresses and there's a little chemistry, but he's not R. I don't know what to think about R's whole return to ADC, but when I contemplate Drew in bed I can't fathom a toss in the bed as hot as my guy back in Austin.
He gets ready to drive me back, but not before darting across the table for a long, wet kiss. Whoa, not bad I think, still not R though. We drive back to my hotel where he makes a final effort to seal the deal with an invite upstairs. Seriously? I may be eager, but I'm not interested. I politely decline and disclose that there is someone else.
"Well he's a lucky guy," Drew tells me. "I hope he realizes that."
"Thanks Andy." And I hope R realizes that too.
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