We Meet Again

I’ve been dreaming of this moment forever. She actually texted me back. And she wanted to meet. It’s winter now and I plan to meet her upstairs at McLaughlin’s this time, not on the patio. I brought her another bottle of her favorite wine. A $60 bottle about two feet tall as a joke. Gawd I have missed this woman. It’s been 8 months since we last met. Then she ghosted me. None of the pain and frustration of these past months matters right now though. I’m about to see her. I order my wine and have half a glass down before I hear footsteps on the wooden stairs. I’m so lucky right now. The six tables around me are empty. We have a balcony view of the restaurant below and I chose to sit at a table in the middle, not too close to either the balcony or the stairs. Privacy matters.

Sounds like some chunky heeled boots. I see black lacquered bangs coming up the stairs. I laugh to myself. That poof belongs in the 1980’s with my best friend, CJ. Warmth floods through me. It’s like she’s a reincarnation. Those dark eyes, that hair, black as midnight. Of course Elizabeth’s hair is wavy and shorter. CJ’s fell like a blue black waterfall straight to her ass. She accidentally sat on it more than a few times. Damn. Why’d she have to up and die at twenty-three?

“Hello”.

A voice brings me out of my memories. I look up and can’t help but gasp. She’s standing here in front of me. I feel tears well up in my eyes. This is not sane. I should not be this emotionally invested in one person. It’s too vulnerable. But I am, nonetheless.

“Hello Elizabeth”, I say, nearly reverentially. The muscle in the side of my neck tightens. I am so afraid to lose contact with this woman again. I’m so afraid this moment isn’t real. Goddess, she is beautiful.

She smiles.

Oh ma gawd, she’s wearing red lipstick, like in the picture I’ve seen on Twitter and downloaded to my phone. And mascara too, as if those dark lashes needed it to frame those soulful brown eyes. My heart nearly stops looking into them. The last time I did, she ripped out my soul and held onto it for eight long months with no more than two texts telling me that she wasn’t allowed to talk to me.

She lets me hug her and I do so gingerly, with care not to put my breasts too close to hers, lest she think I am trying to come on to her. I’m supposed to respect that she just wants to be friends. I would do anything for this woman. I’d jump off a bridge (on a bungie cord – I do love myself that much, but I digress). I’m frozen to my spot standing by the table as she slides onto the bench on the other side of the table. She’s wearing all black and of course a V-necked sweater. Mmmm… I let my eyes steal a quick glance at her cleavage. Not as obvious as my wife’s, but delicious, none the less. Her full hips more than make up for it. As if I were judging her anyway. These feelings I have held onto for nearly a year now are more than skin deep. They have nothing to do with physicality. I mean, I usually do have a type. Full bodied brunettes with dark eyes in women, and bigger guys with warmth and intelligence.

She pretends not to notice that I’ve flitted a glance at her chest while she peruses the menu. “Oh,” I say, “Just order food, I got you a bottle of Prosecco again.”

“Well, thank you”, she’s says. “It’s not my favorite, really.”

“No, I know that”, I say. “You like it because it’s lowest in calories.”

She laughs, “No man would have remembered that I was counting calories and brought me a bottle of Prosecco”.

There it is again, that nod to how she likes my being a woman. And she says it with her eyes too. Damn! Why does she torture me so? I remember, the last time we met, she told me that if I “just had a penis, we’d be inseparable.”

Who says that to someone and then tells them, “I don’t have the same romantic feelings for you that you do for me.” I mean, I know she chooses her words carefully, on paper or text, and she didn’t say “I don’t have romantic feelings for you” on purpose because her husband, and probably her counselor too, are reading her texts before she sends them.

“So, what are we doing now?” I ask.

“Ordering”, she replies with a smile.

“Oh, ok, I oblige her avoidance of the elephant in the room.

I get out my menu and on second thought, put it down and pop open her Prosecco to pour her a glass. She glances at the wine being poured into her cup, raises her eyebrows and says, “Yet again. No man would...” her voice trails off.

“Yes, some men would”, I say. “I’ve met a few. I think you’ve just been treated badly by the men you’ve been in relationships with.”

“Probably so”, she agrees.

I pick up my menu. I’m a little perturbed at this turn of conversation. I am a fair person, but I do want her to think that I am better than, or at least as good as, men at this point. Why did I say that? She touches my hand, to get my attention, and a wave rushes over me.

“Do you notice anything different?”

“Well”, I stammer, “You’re wearing makeup. The last time we met you didn’t wear any. I remember it was because you wanted to look as “unattractive” to me as possible”… the dynamics behind that messed with my head and I stopped my brain from going off on another tangent.

“Well, yes, I am wearing makeup”, she agreed, completely ignoring the other part of my statement, “And… I lost 30lbs!”

She’s obviously proud of herself. I smile. “Well, I did notice that you seem a bit slimmer, but honestly Elizabeth, you could have gained 30lbs and I would see you as nothing less than the exquisite beauty you are.”

She blushed and looked down at the table, murmuring under her breath, “NO man… gawd”…

I high five myself. I mean, it’s totally true. She has captured my heart. There is nothing she could do to make me think she was unattractive. My heart feels like it’s gonna beat out of my chest and my ribs feel like they are trying to strangle it. What the hell do I say? What should I say? I am frozen in place.

She looks up. “Well, thank you. And might I say that you look beautiful – as always.” She touches her wavy hair, “you know I like your hair curly”.

This woman is driving me crazy. I can’t stop myself. I ask, despite the consequences, “So how is it that you wanted to meet me now? Before the time was up?”

“I had a weak moment”, she says, looking down at her fingernails.

That was not the answer I was looking for, but she continues.

“I’ve been really lonely lately. No one I can talk to that actually listens, or discusses anything… real.”

My heart sinks a little lower. She didn’t say, “I can’t live without you.”

Be calm, Eva, I tell myself. You can’t always have everything you want. What you want doesn’t always align with what others want. I try to convince myself, but it is really difficult. I want what I want.

“I see”, I say as I pull myself back to the present moment. This is part of my problem. I stay in my damn head too much.

“Are you glad I’m here, though?” She asks. “Definitely,” I reply. “Most definitely.”

I am afraid to ask if I won’t see her again for another 6 months, remembering how last summer she said, “I’m a runner. I get scared and I run, but I always come back. Believe me. I’ll be back.” And she is back.

My heart screams, “But I want her at my beck and call! I NEED her to text or call frequently”….

I take a deep breath and ask, “So what’s new?

“Well, Josh and I are doing well… for us… he’s helping with the house stuff a bit more often and the kids are doing well. My dad, however, is slipping. He’s not been feeling well lately and I’m worried about him. He’s been staying at our house for a while now. He helps with the kids after school, while Josh and I are at work, so that’s been helpful. Oh, and Amy had her baby. She’s living with us too. It’s a full house.”

Wow! I said, that’s a lot going on, but it is nice to have family that is close knit. I know Dot and I enjoy having all the kids home when they come over.

“How’s the grandbaby?” she asks.

“He’s doing real well, walking now. And I’ve got him nearly potty trained.”

“Isn’t he only like a year old?” She exclaims. “That’s pretty early!”

“Yeah, he is”, I replied, “but I learned about this method called Elimination Communication. Basically it’s just paying attention to the baby’s body signals and keeping them on a schedule as well. Take him to the bathroom in the morning, before bed and after meals. Then any other time if he seems to be grunting or letting gas, take the opportunity to put him over the potty. I use the same phrase each time. “Poo poo in the potty, Yes, Yes! Poo poo in the diaper, No, NO!” I say in a playful sing-song voice.

She laughs.” You never cease to amaze me. I’m always learning from you.”

I bask in the glory of that for a moment. “Well, It’s good for my thighs! I say, I have to squat and put him against my knees, so there’s that!”

She laughs again.” You don’t need to worry about fitness. It comes naturally to you.”

I think to myself, this is a typical girly conversation. Discuss our weight, our fitness, our families…. Where’s the soul stuff? I search her eyes. So, what really made you meet me at risk of losing your license?

She looks down at her nails again. “I missed you.”

My heart thuds. I think she could probably hear it. “Really?”, I ask.

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t have said it if it weren’t true.”

I press on. “So, is this, I missed you, as in, your words meant a lot to me because they came from you, kind of missed me?”

“Well, I know you’re referring to the journal with your beautiful writing in it, that got fucking stolen, gawd damn it, and yes. Yes it’s that kind of missed you. To be honest, I know I have feelings for you, I just don’t understand them, or know what to do about them.”

I swallow hard. This is what I have wanted to hear. My eyes well up again. “Elizabeth. You don’t have to know what to do about them.” I don’t expect anything from you. Hell, just sitting here being able to actually lay eyes on you and feel your presence is nearly overwhelming.”

Her eyes glaze over a bit. “Really?” She asks, as if this is too incredulous to believe.

“Really.” I say.

“How? She asks. There’s nothing special about me.”

I reach toward her hand to hold it, think better of it, and pull it back. She notices, but stays in place. Silent.

How do I say this? I ask myself. So I don’t scare her off again.

“Since the moment we met, I felt comfortable around you. You listened to me. You obviously cared.”

“But I’m a therapist, that’s my job,” she said.

“I know. But I have seen more than one therapist, about six to be exact, and I can tell when someone is genuine. You are genuine. You did a tarot reading with me. What therapist does that? It was great. But I’m not answering this question right. And I’m afraid to tell you how I really feel because the last time I did, you ran. For 8 months.”

“I know. I’m sorry, she said. But I’m here now. Tell me. I’ve always told you that I don’t want you to hold back the content of your thoughts. I want you to be fully yourself. Your unique amazing self.”

That gave me the courage to go on. “When I’m around you I feel lightheaded. Like my head is just going to fill up with air and float off the top of my body… and I know that that could be NRE and would fade with time spent together, but there’s more. Your eyes look deep into my soul. I feel like you would always care about me, no matter what I did.

“I would.” She said.

“And… and you just grab my heart and pull it out through my eyes. You claim it as yours and there’s nothing I can do about it.” I feel like a blithering idiot here. Is this making any sense?”

“All the sense it needs to.” She reaches across the table and touches my fingertips. Electricity dances off her. “I’ve never had feelings for a woman, like I have for you”. I don’t know what to do about it.

“Enjoy it,” I whisper, as she slides her fingers down mine and allows them to rest on my open palm. She closes her eyes. I swear to gawd if I could freeze time and freeze this feeling and bottle it up, I would. Never mind the hard wooden bench I am stuck to. Her hand is on mine! I lower my thumb and rub her fingers, like I did that first night while we talked over wine.

“Oh how I missed that,” she says, nearly under her breath. “I never knew I needed it, and now, now… I don’t know. It just feels so damn good. I could sit like this forever.”

“Me too.”

She starts again, “I mean..”, she stops, clearing her throat as I swallow past the lump in mine.

“When Jack touches me, I feel nothing like this at all. It’s barren of any of this.. this.. feeling. The closest I’ve come to it is with…”,

“Chris”, I interrupt her.” The guy you have loved for four, no, it’d be five years now, since he went off to the Special Forces.”

“Yes.” She says with pain in her eyes. “Yes. With him. And honestly, I think that’s part of the reason I haven’t seen you in so long. I try to tell myself it’s the best thing because of my job, and because my husband gets so jealous of how I talk about you, but it’s not that. It’s that I don’t want to lose this feeling again. I’m afraid to experience it fully. I just got a little taste of it last summer and it reminded me so much of how I felt with him, and then I remembered how badly it hurt when he left and… and you’re married. I was your marriage counselor for gawd’s sake. Your wife is amazing.”

“And we are poly,” I said. “Don’t forget that. No, I’m not leaving her, but we love others besides each other. It’s just natural for us. For a lot of people I think, but we as a society just don’t allow that kind of thing. You stay with Jack for more than just financial purposes, right? Don’t you have a sort of love for him?”

“Well, at this point I think it’s more like pity. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d be with him if I thought he could live on his own and still keep his job. He’s such a slob!”

I try again. “OK, would you still have these feelings for me if Chris came back?”

“Now that I don’t know. That’s another confusing thing. I worry that I miss him so much that I am transferring my feelings for him to you, but… But that’s not true. You aren’t him. You are different. Softer. More understanding. More like me. Hell, we write in the same way. We just click on different levels… I don’t know how to explain it”.

“And that’s why I’m poly”, I say. “People click on different levels with some than they do with others. Look, I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I just want you to know how much I care about you and how much you mean to me. That might be redundant, but it’s important.”

“Thanks”, She says, straightening. Her hand pulls back from mine. “Let’s order some food. We’ve been putting it off.”

“Yes, I agree. I think the wine on an empty stomach is a bit strong. But I’m paying. It’s such a pleasure to see you. I couldn’t let you pay.”

She smiles and cocks her head to one side, saying, “Well, if you pay here, I’m paying the next time, or the next place.”

“Oh?” I ask. Remembering how the first time we met, our three hour visit at the winery ended in three more hours at two other bars in the gay district.

“Sounds like a plan to me!” I’d do anything to extend this time with her.

“Yep, who knows? Maybe we’ll end up somewhere else after this like the last time.”

“I remember asking you if you had a curfew, and I was so elated when you said no.”

“Yes, I had told Jack not to wait up for me, that I was finally going to do something for myself.”

“I remember,” I replied. I started feeling a sinking in my chest remembering how elated I was to sit on the concrete against the brick wall in the alley, how my fingers intertwined with hers and she asked, “This is kind of like a date, isn’t it?” I’d told her it was. She’d replied, “I kind of like it.” My heart had melted. “Me too.” I felt the lump start to rise in my throat again. I reached for my glass and noticed her staring at me.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Nothing.” I glanced at the menu. “I think I’m gonna go with the flat crust pizza again. It was so good the last time.”

“I’m not going to leave you hanging, if that’s what you are worried about,” she said.

“How can I be sure?” I asked.

“I guess you are just going to have to trust me.”

She looked into my eyes and I felt her reaching straight into my chest again. “How does she do that?!” I felt peace, acceptance, joy and gratitude. I felt love. We have this connection that surpasses anything I have experienced before. It felt like falling into her arms without even touching her.

I broke her gaze and looked away. “I want to trust you”, I said. “I do.”

“Well, that’s as good a place as any to start”, she said. “Let’s eat, I’m famished!”