I got home late from work, hot, sticky and hungry. My phone lit up when I pulled it out of my apron pocket. The need for a brisk and clean shower was more powerful than the pull of the vibrating phone. I threw on my coolest cotton p.j.s, made some nachos and settled on the couch with my latest Prey novel by John Sandford. This is one of my favorite times of the day. My husband is asleep, work is over and I can stay up late, with nowhere to go in the morning.
The renewed vibrating of my phone reminded me I needed to check in; a little alarmed because no one texts me after eleven pm. It’s an old friend from high school- both times. He is letting me know that he will be in my area on vacation with his family. They will be here in a few weeks, maybe we could get together. I have not seen Joe for over twenty years, could be fun.
Texting about three times a week, I find out that he does not love his wife. He has two children, a boy, and a girl, grown. The daughter lives in the same house with Joe and his wife. The daughter, a single mom, also has her ten-year-old daughter living in the family home. He does not mention his son. He works nights and would like to call me on the way to work. For the first time, a faint, almost not there alarm goes off. Why can’t he call me during the day on a day off?
The first phone call came about nine o’clock one night, my husband was home and I cajoled him into talking too. See we all went to the same high-school. It was awkward, my old high-school buddy referred to his wife alternately as the “old battle-ax,” and “the old ball and chain.” Who talks like that? He made a point of telling us that his wife would not join us for dinner but that he would like to meet up for some seafood. After a bit of bragging about the famous people he rubs elbows with through his work we hung up.
He called me three more times, I answered the first and dodged the last two. The first call was enough. It began innocently enough remembering old times. We had several classes together our senior year. It ended with him telling me that I was “the one that got away.” Nervously laughing I pointed out that we never even went on a date. I don’t know this guy anymore. He said he never had enough nerve to ask me out, but if he did and now I quote, “It would not have been our last date you wouldn’t have wanted to date anyone else ever again if you know what I mean.” No, I don’t know what you mean. I hung up soon after.
For the next week, I could not stop thinking that I was “the one that got away.” Even if I might have got away from a jerk, I decided I was flattered. I imagined showing up for dinner looking pretty hot for a fifty-four-year-old. I also imagined wearing a mu-mu and no make-up. I debated cutting my hair, what color would I paint my nails? Should I tell my husband that he said I was the one who got away? I imagined being terribly witty and extremely interesting. I thought about what it would feel like to sit across the table from someone besides my husband who might like me “that way.” I was giddy and disgusted.
The day of the dinner date arrived. My husband and I were looking forward to a night out with grown-ups that weren’t our family. I never shared my private musings with my husband or what Joe had told me. I was a little nervous, but I had decided it would be fun to go out on a date with another man, my husband in tow. Really what is wrong with me? I was on a big high. Three hours before our dinner, I received this text from Joe, “Change of plans we are heading home now, hope to see you next time, will call soon.” Well huh!
My husband and I went to dinner anyway. I was terribly witty and extremely interesting. My husband was thoughtful, laughed at the right times, and he held my hand. I gave a little thanks that we did not get away from each other.