Caller ID

On Saturday, less than an hour after I'd gotten the text that Michael had let go, my phone rang. Shivering a little in the drizzle and wide eyed in the middle of an epic craft fair I stared at the screen trying to place the phone number. It looked so very familiar and yet I couldn't force my brain to give up the connection. Worried that it was someone long lost who wanted to tell me something in relation to Michael I hit the green button instead of the red.

"Hello?"

"Hey hey," said the brushed velvet voice of my on and off and off and on again ex, a man I have loved deep and wide and far, far too long. When last we spoke, about a year and a half ago, I threw him out of my home then texted him to please return a book he'd borrowed. This past November, standing in a favorite bookshop with Misti on the occasion of her 40th birthday, I pointed to a gently used copy of the book and told her how angry I was not to have it and how defeating it would feel to buy another. So she bought it for me. On her birthday. Because she's a problem-solver, that one.

"Wh-whaaat's up?" I faltered.

"Nada mucho," he replied, apparently still unafraid to kick off a conversation with a whale of a fib. After some dissatisfying chat about mutual friends and families he got to a point. I was later to find it was one of two. "So, I wanted to return your book."

As we get older we make peace with the fact that our physical reflexes become slower. I was surprised to find that age had quickened my emotional ones. I have always known that "return your book" meant "get together and eat a meal pretending that's all we're doing then get naked briefly before I leave for another unspecified period of time" but usually I'd still agree to it. Not so this rainy, emotionally raw Saturday in Hipsterville.

"Oh, well, I've already replaced it...but thanks." I even managed to brighten the tone at the end.

I heard him swallow quietly on the other end. Ever the gazelle, though, he moved on to his second point.

He's getting divorced. A skillfully buried lede, I'll give him that. I offered condolences and thoughts and asked a few questions. My favorite was, "Why did you choose that?" given the infinite number of conversations we've had about life choices.

This conversation fizzled quite quickly after that. I don't think we can blame it on the rain.