Warm gesture

Y and I were joining our friend BLB and her family for dinner two nights before her wedding, along with the newly arrived groom and his family. Her groom came through the door of her childhood home first, followed closely by his brother and parents. He made the necessary introductions first, then hurried over to where BLB was standing with us. He reached out and handed her a box of heating pads.

"I know how these help when you're stressed out, when your shoulders get tight, so I brought them for you."

She thanked him and leaned in for a kiss. Seeing his thoughtfulness, I had even more confidence that their marriage would work.

Thank heaven for little girls

My friend Y used to love to tease me about my pattern of dating older men. Her favorite line: "Of course you haven't met anyone recently--have you tried nursing homes?"

Mathematically I've actually dated more men my own age than significantly older men, but between having my first relationship with someone much older and my friends' good-natured teasing, I internalized the idea that I had a predilection for older men. That personal expectation explains why I was a little uncomfortable this weekend when we celebrated F's birthday and I was confronted with reminders that he is actually a few months younger than I am.

I realize that a few months is insignificant in the grand scheme of life. Even the year that separates our respective graduations is insignificant at this point. It just grates against my internal expectations to see him get the same birthday greetings I've already received. I'm sure in time my expectations will change and this will all be forgotten. Or maybe I'll heed Y and head to a nursing home to pick up someone new that meets my expectations.

We can't be just friends anymore

My mind raced as I fitfully tried to sleep. There were two girls sleeping on my floor and I was consciously keeping myself from tossing and turning in hopes of allowing them to sleep well. I may have dozed off for a few minutes before the phone rang in the middle of the night. Quickly grabbing it, my adrenaline raced and even once I discovered it was a wrong number, I knew that my attempts to sleep were done because my mind kept returning to the email from PJ I’d read before my abortive attempts at sleep.

We were nineteen and both fairly new to love on that day before that Valentines Day. PJ sent up a trial balloon, which might've been made of lead for how well I took it. All these years later I can still remember the pivotal line, "Unless we try dating, I can't be your friend anymore."

I sat up all night, quietly at first, staring blankly at the teen fluff movie that my roommate and her boyfriend were finishing, then discussing the whirling thoughts in my head with my roommate's boyfriend after she fell asleep. He offered me valuable insights, but I was still reeling when he fell asleep on the couch with her. I recorded that confusion in my journal but, beyond recording it for painful recollection later, the exercise served no purpose.

It didn't matter that I never came to a conclusion about his email. The grapevine between friends had given me a coward's exit--letting PJ know that his gambit was unsuccessful--and I was greeted the next afternoon with another email apologizing for the impression of an ultimatum. It turned out in the end that his unsuccessful email had opened the door and within days we were on our way to dating. But I can't think of Valentine's Day without remembering that long sleepless night.

What can I say?

There were a dozen white roses on my desk when PJ arrived to walk me to dinner that night. After I turned to grab my ID and keys, I caught him covertly staring at them. I looked away when he met my eyes and those flowers became the silent elephant that followed us to dinner.

I felt hopeful that night when he and his two guy friends left and I stayed behind with the two girls in his group of his friends. I thought that this was the sign that I was becoming accepted as their friend, and not just that girl their friend liked. But the conversation paused and their eyes met. They way they held each other's stare froze my blood.

Y was direct. "I hear you got some flowers today."

I could've lied. D knew that PJ was a young man trying to impress me in way that was more than friendly and, honoring our agreement we could see other people, he sent my flowers to my roommate's mailbox. This was clearly a sign he'd been out of college for a while--the package slip was the best part of receiving any gift.

But I didn't lie. "I did."

The silence from the other side of the table was deafening and my words tumbled over another to fill it. "You see, I'm dating this guy, and so he sent me those flowers, but it's okay because we agreed that we can see other people."

They looked at each other again and this time JA took the lead. "PJ really likes you. You need to tell him about your boyfriend, or we'll have to."

There wasn't anything more to say.