Chapter 25

Tulip tapped me on the shoulder and came tiptoeing around the corner. “Was that him? How’d it go? Did you deliver?” she whispered.

“Well, I feel strangely liberated, Tulip. All I know is that I did it and I think I’m ready for another stack of pancakes.”

“You got it, sweetie,” she said as she trotted off. “And extra strawberries on the house.” Oh, that Tulip.

After the second batch of pancakes, I headed straight to Strawberry to offer myself up to exclusivity, but felt strangely soporific. I sensed the necessity for a little nap. One too many flapjacks, I’m afraid. Best to be perky at our commitment celebration.

Maybe there were some bad eggs in the batter, because I was really feeling woozy. Once home, my feet barely made it to the couch. The bed was way too many paces away. Slumber came quickly. Deep slumber. I felt like I would never wake up.

But I did. To the sounds of a distant loud speaker announcing our descent into Los Angeles.

A large hand was gently stroking my right arm. “We’re about to land. You better fasten your seat belt,” the soothing masculine voice said. My eyes would not open. I could hear the bustle around me, but I was confined to another world. I didn’t know whether I was here or there.

After a long eyelid-opening battle, I saw the light. And it was reflecting off of a wavy lock of red hair. My head was on the shoulder of a stranger. A stranger I had just committed myself to because he was a good miniature golfer.

“Oh, sorry,” I apologized, gazing up at the man I had nicknamed Mr. Strawberry. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.” I tried to straighten up, but my body wouldn’t move. And his didn't seem to want to move either.

“Not at all…but you did toss and turn a bit. Hope it was a good dream,” he said smiling.

Was it a good dream? I don’t know about that, but it sure was elaborate. I took a moment to try to piece it all together. The master tail twirler, my ex—Colin, seemed to be able to reach deep into my psyche whenever I had even a passing thought of another man. This had been going on for years. But was it possible that this time Mr. Strawberry, in some ginger way, help cut Colin’s cord to me? I couldn’t wait to talk to my therapist about this one.

“Ah, yes…it was a dream, all right,” I said to him, laughing and finally being forced into a full upright position. “I mean it was a…it was a good dream…a really sweet dream, thank you.”

And for all you romantics out there, Mr. Strawberry and Me have planned a Starbucks rendezvous for next week. A reminder that a middle seat may just be the saddle you've been looking for.

  The End… or the end of the beginning…

Chapter 24

“Where are you?” I inquired without attitude.

“On the golf course.”

“The golf course? But you were supposed to meet me at IHOP 45 minutes ago.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. But, I got hung up here playing a few extra holes. I lost track of time. I’ll be there in 15 minutes. You’re not mad are you, babe?” Colin asked while twirling his tail.

God bless him. He had so clinched the deal for me. I couldn’t help but smile. Not only because right now everything was so crystal clear, but because Tulip was giving me the encouraging thumbs-up sign from the syrup stand.

“I’m not mad,” I said softly. “However, I won’t be here in 15 minutes, so please take a seat in your cart. I have something to say.” My planned speech went out the IHOP window, and I spoke to him directly from my heart.

“Your resurrection in my life has conjured up a lot of spooky ju-ju, y’know. You’ve been very tempting, I must admit. I was starting to let myself be seduced again. And even though you’re apologetic, really trying hard and criminally handsome...I need to be with someone I can completely trust. And I can't trust you completely, Colin. Too many breaches. Frankly, I’m free of you. I will always care about you, but this relationship must stop dawdling. It’s over. I can’t see you…”

“Babe, I’m losin’ ya…” and his cell went dead.

That was weird.

to be continued…

Chapter 23

Here’s the thing. It’s not easy. It never is. These conversations, while ultimately soul satisfying, made me exhausted in preparation.

My head felt like mango marmalade gone bad. At first, fresh and smooth, then slowly developing into a stale, sticky state of mind.

After days of lively debate with two of my selves, “Should I” and “Shouldn’t I”, and embedding the pros and cons of such a commitment in my journal, I had finally made a decision about Strawberry’s exclusivity offer. I was convinced my decision was the right thing to do, and now I had to report the verdict to the losing candidate. Joyless activity.

Rehearsal for this had gone rather well, I thought, at least the first ten times. Then it became, as I said, the jam that wouldn’t gel. At that point I called Claire and asked if she thought reading a scripted disclosure on his voicemail would be a cop-out. “Brilliant,” she said, “but lacking adulthood.” Right. 

So I wrote it out anyway and memorized it. I wondered if this was what some people do when they tell an unsuspecting spouse why they want a divorce. It’s scary stuff. Breaking up is hard to do.

And breaking up was what I was on my way to do right now. I had chosen IHOP for the location of our conversation. Lots of people around, no one could slug me and get away with it, and plus, I get energized after a big stack of pancakes.

I arrived early to guarantee a table of my favorite waitress, Tulip. Yes, it’s true. Whatever possessed her parents, I don’t know, but her name was Tulip. And Tulip always made me feel safe.

As I swung open the double doors to this iconic restaurant, founded in 1958, I saw her twinkling eyes bouncing back at me. Not more than 4’8” tall and just as round, she resembled a munchkin. Tulip grabbed me with one hand, while balancing a tray of French Toast with the other, and led me to her section. “Sit here,” she commanded. “I’ll be right back”.

“Everything ok? You look a little peaked,” Tulip said upon her return.

“Actually, I’m about to break off a relationship right here at IHOP,” I confided.

“Perfect,” she said, squeezing my hand. “People do that here all the time. You’ll be fine. Now, what you need is some courage.” Tulip winked and waddled away.

No sooner had I rehearsed my separation speech one last time, when she plopped a huge pile of strawberry pancakes in front of me. If she only knew…or maybe she did. Whatever, Tulip pointed her stubby finger at the pancakes and simply said, “Courage. Now eat up.”

And so I did, voraciously. Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Where was he? Now that I had consumed gluttonous courage and added a blubber line to my rib cage, I was ready. All rehearsing had ceased. I was experiencing unexpected confidence and an odd sense of peace.

Suddenly my phone rang. It was him.

to be continued…

Chapter 22

Off we went, hand in hand, to the miniature golf course. I hadn’t played this game for nearly a century, and I figured he couldn’t possibly be any worse than he was at baseball. Perhaps he’d even win. Unlikely, but it was possible. Not that I was a star putter, but Strawberry seemed to have a DNA deficiency for gaming. 

We stood on the little green mound that marked the beginning point of Hole #1, both of us holding our clubs like a couple of professional putters. Suddenly Strawberry got very serious. “All right,” he said, “I’d like to wager a bet. If you win, I’ll buy you a whole cheesecake*. If I win, you have to consider the two of us being exclusive.”

Gulp.

I swiveled away from Strawberry, and stared at the drawbridge connecting the manicured mound and the big white castle in front of us. Did he say exclusive?

“OK, c’mon. There’s people waiting behind us,” he pressured. “What’s it gonna be?”

Uh oh, he wasn’t going to give me time to think about this.

“Deal or no deal?”

“Deal,” I must have mumbled.

“Good. You go first,” Strawberry said, taking control.

Following orders, I swung the club, and the ball plopped directly into the stream under the drawbridge, making a big splash. Way to go. I fished it out of the lime-looking water and completed my turn, scoring six on a par-three. I was confused. Was I suppose to win or lose? Strawberry or cheesecake?

He then very confidently laid his ball down, eyed the path to its final destination and swung. I watched as it went over the drawbridge, through the castle, down the steps, across the garden and into the little round cup. Hole in one.

I was gobsmacked.

“You didn’t tell me you were good at golf,” I said astonished.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he quickly responded. “Ready for the next hole?”

Why that sneaky Strawberry. Turns out not only did he play semi-pro golf right after college, but then he moved on to the putt-putt golf circuit and won the Tri-state championship five years in a row. The things they forget to tell you.

I needed to take a nice deep breath. Even though we’d been dating several months I had no clue this new deal was coming. But nothing stays the same, and the only constant is change. I know. I know.

I was wild about Strawberry, adored Charlie, and Natalie had moved clear to Kentucky for a new job raising rabbits. Just kidding. But she did temporarily relocate to Kentucky to work on some big tort case where she could continue to hone her maverick skills. Thank you, Kentucky.

So things were good. Yeah, they were good…just the way they were. Exclusivity with him certainly had its appeal, but I knew it meant relinquishing some freedoms, including my dalliance with Colin. No more tail-twirling or wandering around in the pasture.

Was I going to have to choose?

Evidently. Because Strawberry won with the best putt-putt score this place ever had. Stand by.

to be continued...

*Check out the divine White Chocolate Cheesecake recipe on the Recipes page.      

                                                                                                        

Chapter 21

Strawberry swung. And missed. He swung again. And missed again. Well, that’s okay. He still looked good in the red helmet.

Another ball. Another swing. Another miss. Well a miss hit, actually. He tipped it. 

“Almost,” I encouraged from the bench.

He failed to acknowledge my comment. In silent prayer, I asked the universe for slugger intervention. I even offered to give up chocolate for a week if he could just hit the ball. I thought that was a pretty good deal.

I was concerned. He now had only 27 more opportunities from the ball machine to make contact. I watched with great apprehension. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come to the batting cages after all.

When we arrived at the park, I had volunteered to go first. Being a decent batter, I hit all 30 pitches that came barreling my way, and fouled only once. The foul popped up, came straight down, and bounced twice off my head. Thank God for that purple sparkly headgear.

Now there he was, taking his turn like a real trooper. My Mr. Strawberry, standing there with such earnestness, such commitment, struggling to connect. Who knew he would suck at baseball?

He did hit ball number 13. Not far, but he did hit it. “Atta boy,” I cheered. This time he turned and winked. At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

By the time it was over, Strawberry connected with a total of five balls. Probably a record of some sort. But he didn’t seem too bothered by his lack of aptitude with a stick and an orb. Instead he took it like a man, dropping his bat and planting a virile kiss upon my lips. He might not be good at baseball, but he was a good sport and a darn good kisser.

“Now let’s hit the putt-putt range,” Strawberry whispered in my ear.

Imagine my shock at this suggestion. He had to be kidding. My heart couldn’t bear it, how could his?

“Ah, no need. Let’s just go get a slice of cheesecake and call it a day,” I said running my hands through his thick, red hair.

“No, let’s give it a go. Are you game?” he asked, gently tapping my tush.

“Well,” I said, a little distracted by the tapping, “I’m a game kind of girl, so yes, let’s go putt-putt.”

He was up to something but I wasn’t sure what.

to be continued...

Chapter 20

 

I knew I was avoiding the topic. They’d say I’m nuts about even entertaining the possibility of dating him again, which I wasn’t. I don’t think. And nothing (much) was really happening anyway. Was it?

So why stir it up? Except...truth is the slope might be getting so slippery that I could actually fall. Again. Maybe I did need additional input from the gang. And Claire’s eyebrow lift was so severe, that I decided to fess up and keep it honest.

“Oh, and Colin called me a few months ago,” I dropped casually.

They stared at me incredulously.

Finally Kate spoke, though briefly.

“And?”

“And I’ve seen him a couple of times,” I reluctantly continued.

“Are you nuts?” Maggie blurted.

 See, told ya.

“Let me finish,” I tried to explain. “He called out of the blue and left a message. That night I dreamt he was at my door with a shrunken torso, a schmushed head and twirling a long thin tail. I woke up in a terrible sweat. And the next day he actually showed up uninvited, with flowers, begging forgiveness, again. No more lost and lonely Lola. He’s changed. So he says. And I’ve had a few lunches with him. OK, and maybe a few dinners. But that’s all. He’s being patient, but persistent. There. That’s it.”

Then the quizzing began. How could I talk to him again? But since I did, what did he say? Where has he been? Where did we go for lunch? How did I feel? Was I out of my mind? What about Strawberry?

Lenny’s only question was—could Colin come to game night again? The women jabbed him with their eyes. Colin, unlike Strawberry, was an excellent game player.

“This reminds me of when I was interrogated while working undercover in Nicaragua,” I said deflecting.

“You worked undercover in Nicaragua?” Kate asked, cupping her chin.

“Maybe,” I teased.

Maggie piped in. “We have a right to protest, you know. We don’t want you hurt again. That big fat cheater.”

“I know.”

Long dissenting pause.

“But, hypothetically, what if it’s suppose to be?” I wondered.

“Hypothetically,” Maggie responded, “What if there was an oversized bull headed your way, would you stand there contemplating if the universe wanted you to take him for a stroll through the pasture, or would you run like hell?”

“Good point.”

I needed a nap.

to be continued…

Chapter 19

“Lemontini please,” I said to the nice waitress with an extra large earring in her nose. I was dying to ask if it hurt, if it ever got infected and what possessed her, but I was exhausted from too much information for one day already and withheld questioning.

It had been a long day and I was looking forward to this evening with my friends. We hadn’t seen each other for a while, and the gathering was overdue. These were my game night people and comrades to count on, Maggie, Kate, Claire and our token male, Lenny.

For the first twenty minutes we discussed the audacious blemish that had crept onto Kate’s chin. Where did it come from? How to get rid of it? And why humans, no matter what age, have to put up with pimples? None of us had definitive answers, but Lenny told us “zit” in German is “pickel.” I’d been waiting my whole life to know that.

At some point during these nights, everybody gets a talking shift. We do a quick rotation on current events in our lives. My turn arrived in conjunction with the dessert menu. Though the ‘Death by Chocolate’ was devilishly tempting, I selected a berry bowl after another peek at Kate’s swelled chin.

I told them work was going well, that finally, after all these years, I’d found a bra that fit, and Strawberry was sweeter than ever.

Strawberry had attended a game night once, so they all knew him. It’s not that he’s bad at games, he’s just not good. Everybody liked him a lot but didn’t really want him on their team. Frankly, he didn’t seem to care much that he was so God-awful, and we laughed about it later.

After I told them about our romantic getaway to the mountains for Valentine’s day, Claire looked at me funny. She gave me the eyebrow lift, and I knew what it meant. Was I going to tell the others that Colin had reemerged?

To tell you the truth, I hadn’t planned on it.

to be continued…

Chapter 18

And so…that year Colin asked to celebrate an early Valentine’s Day. The next week he would be crazed and working late. So we did. Extraordinary evening. Very romantic, very smokey.

Valentine’s Day came and I received two dozen roses from Colin. Felt special. And was bringing in the love, friendship-style, with a gang of girls at an Italian bistro. Laughed, conversed and was served penne with pesto by a very entertaining waiter. Felt cheerful. While dabbing the corners of my mouth with my napkin, I casually gazed out the restaurant window. My jaw dropped, and a piece of penne followed. Colin was walking by, hand-in-hand, with Lola. Felt sick.

Losing my cool, I bludgeoned down the aisle and out the door, braced for battle. I was on fire. Liars and cheaters and bears. Oh my. But, I couldn’t see them anywhere. They’d vanished. I called his cell. He didn’t answer. I left a blasphemous message.

In some areas of the planet he might be stoned or maybe thrown off a cliff for his infidelity. But a more civilized form of revenge might be sending him Spanish Stoppers. You know, the flowers that smell like skunk.

So there I was standing in the middle of the road, absolutely seething, when suddenly my brain wattage went from dim to bright. I got it. This relationship was never going to work. The moment had come when you know. You just know.

Colin told me it was all very innocent. Begged forgiveness. Blah. Blah. Blah. I suppose he thought what I didn’t know wouldn’t matter. If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? If I bake a cake and eat it all alone, does that mean the calories don’t count? Of course they count.

The truth was important to me and it had all become too hard. I was done. Finished. Twirl your tail in a different direction.

That was five years ago. I’d let go, yet never stopped caring. Now Colin has returned and is performing great acts of atonement. I’ve forgiven him (mostly). I’m still intrigued, but confused and wary of the truth/trust element. He says he’s changed, Lola is lost in his past, and he wants back into my life. In the moment, however, he remains the forbidden fruit. Strawberry has become the nectar.

So this Valentine’s Day, there’ll be no blubber bath for me. I’ll lather elsewhere. Colin is on his own, and Strawberry is taking me away to an undisclosed location.

to be continued...

Chapter 17

Uh oh. Valentine’s Day approaches.

For some, this is a good day. A day of love, to love and be loved. For others, they’d rather bolt the doors and bathe in a bowl of blubber than be out where couples contour the streets.

I was more in the blubber bath these past few years. Though I didn’t exactly soak in it, I consciously chose to avoid the lover’s assembly outside. And it was all Colin’s fault. He was such a feckless Tail-Twirler.

I sobbed in memoriam.

I was so in love with this guy, and he with me. Or so he said. When we were together, it was magic. Problem was, Colin was also under a commitment phobia spell. It’s the age-old story. You’ve heard it before. And though stale, it continues to mature.

Here’s how it went.

It took us (him) a while, but after a year and a half of dating, we agreed to see one another exclusively. His caveat was Lola. That’s right, Lo-la. Poor depressed Lola. She was an ex-girlfriend, worked at his production company and a woman who needed constant care. Trouble, indeed.

At first, I consented to the Lola component. I’m all for men having female friends. But it didn’t take an omniscient force to warn me that little Lola was unfulfilled just being Colin’s buddy. She’d cooed at him one too many times, and in my presence. Then I swear I heard Colin humming, “Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.” That did it. Time to pull over and put the brakes on the Lola factor.

Colin wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the Lola boundaries request, but he promised to keep their relationship strictly about and at work. “Because you mean everything to me, babe” he said. Really, Tail-Twirler? Really?

to be continued...

Chapter 16

Not so much in the mood for this.

“I was invited,” she stated with a defiant tone.

“But I thought you were up north until the third.”

“Changed my mind.”

“Who’s watching Charlie?” he asked.

I was learning so much.

“Sam and Harry,” she answered firmly.

Strawberry looked at me with apologetic eyes and introduced us.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said.

She responded with a mini-nod.

Her name was Natalie, which somehow I knew meant “born at Christmas.” Well, Feliz Navidad, Natalie. And though I’d never heard her name spoken aloud, I knew it was his ex-wife. One whose acquaintance I was hoping to avoid.

Feeling uncomfortable, I excused myself to the ladies room. No sooner had I refreshed with blush, gloss and a spicy breath mint, than darling Natalie came craftily through the door, still looking beautiful with that sour puss grin.

She crossed into my personal grooming space and whispered, “I’m not done with him yet.”

What did I do? Leave me alone. What is this, a Glenn Close movie?

She appeared fierce and looked a little like the actress, so I refrained from debate. Instead, exposing my intelligence, I did a quick hand-jive and said, “Alrighty then,” and slipped out the door.

Strawberry was waiting for me. “I am so sorry. I had no idea she would be here.”

“I know. Who’s Charlie?”

“Our dog. We raised a golden retriever together. She got custody.”

“Oh.”

His freckled hand took mine and he led me to the dance floor. We knew we were having a moment. Not sure what kind of moment it was, but it was sure was a moment.

We didn’t talk about the situation again that night, nor did I glimpse Natalie prowling about with any rabbits. This was Sir Strawberry’s battle, not mine.  My theory is that I shall not judge one’s relationship vault, lest they look into mine and find some real doozies.

The next day I met up with good friends at our annual New Year's resolutions eat-all-the-pie-you-can party. I was pleased with the previous year and the resolutions I'd kept. But I was even happier to welcome in a new year, because for some auspicious reason I felt it was one not to be missed.

 to be continued…

*Check out the Factoids Page for lucky foods to eat on New Years. 

Mr. Strawberry and Me will be back in January. Happy Holidays!

Chapter 15

Thank God that’s over.

Y’know it was one of those nights better to have never happened. Let’s call it a never-happened night. Poof…never happened. Better to have sat around in loose pants, watching old movies with plenty of chocolate at your fingertips. Possibly practicing darts for future Olympic competition. Anything but this.

The evening started out lovely. It was New Year’s Eve, and I was feeling fancy. Mr. Strawberry arrived for our date rather resembling the crowned Prince of Dashingness. Oh, this man. I don't mind saying that I'd become quite partial to his ginger effect. We were off to his friend’s black-tie cocktail party. The night was young and so were we. Well, relatively.

I opted for New Year’s Eve with Strawberry, not only because it was what I wanted, but because I thought it was best. I turned down Colin, not because I wanted to, but because I thought I better. He still smelled of trouble with a capital T, and that stands for Tail-Twirler. Like it or not, that’s my current reasoning.

The party was operating full-throttle by the time we got there. Busy servers were offering the likes of exotic caviar, tomato tarts and assorted martinis. There was a full orchestra swing band and fountains of champagne. It’s a good thing I was feeling fancy, because these were fancy folks with fancy things to say.

 

Lost in my martini and reveling in all the festivity, I was unprepared for what, or who, was coming next. As I saw her loftily saunter across the crowded room, Strawberry placed a soft kiss on my forehead. Nice. When I realized that this curiously attractive woman was headed directly for us, I smiled a friendly smile. No return smile from her. What an odd approach, I thought, as she tapped Strawberry on the shoulder.

Shock saturated his face when he turned and saw who was tapping.

“What are you doing here?” he asked without humor.

Uh oh. It can’t be.

Oh yes, it can.

to be continued...

Chapter 14

While Strawberry was helping me do the dishes that Thanksgiving night, I finally got the courage to confront him about his lack of jello consumption. Not to seem overly concerned, I asked in a half-teasing kind of way. He smiled at my inquiry. It was a smile that had begun to cause my knees to weaken.

Then taking the dishtowel from my sopping hands, he rested his forearms on my shoulders and said, “You are a wonderful cook, and I loved everything you made. But I distrust jello.”

I needed to delve deeper.

He proceeded to explain that his well-intentioned mother, a nurse, was convinced that jello, particularly lime, was a cure-all. Whenever he was sick, she forced him to eat it. But eating it never made him feel better. It made him feel sicker. So now, he consciously avoids even the sight of the rubbery substance, or he becomes less than lucid.

I wonder if he’d feel differently if he knew that a bowl of wiggly lime jello, when hooked up to an EEG machine, shows brain waves identical to those of adult men and women. Just a thought.

To be fair, I must admit that when he nearly drooled describing the cranberry sauce his mother makes, I politely kept my mouth shut. However, I did turn my head and release a mute gag. Thank goodness he arrived with wine, and not the cranberry thing. Yuck! I’m a non-cranberry sauce eater, and it would have slyly found its way into my napkin.

In the end, jello was not a deal-breaker. I was slowly reincorporating a man into my life, and this situation had given me further insight into my sweet Mr. Strawberry. It also reminded me not to rush to judgment, nor to assume a prejudice against a side salad until I’d heard all the facts.

Speaking of judgment, or the absence of it, Colin was still bobbing his tail-twirling self in my vicinity. After managing to dodge dinner for several weeks, I finally stopped resisting. I decided that brunch the Sunday after Thanksgiving would be harmless. But it wasn’t and I reluctantly had a good time. Truth is, Strawberry weakens my knees, but Colin makes them knock. I wish they didn’t, but they do. And that seems so wrong.

I am flattered to have two gentlemen callers, but it gets so complicated. And the big holiday dilemma is that they’ve both expressed interest in my whereabouts for New Year’s Eve. Oh Holy Night! Naughty or nice?

                                                       

        to be continued...                    

Chapter 13

Strawberry and me. Has a nice ring to it. Sounds…sweet. And that’s exactly what the last few months, our getting-to-know-you period, has been. Sweet.

Our biggest quarrel was on Thanksgiving over a seven-layer jello mold*. Most people are absolute about jello on Thanksgiving Day. There are the jello eaters on one side of the table and the definitely non-jello eaters on the other. There’s no jello in-between. 

Once a year I break down and make a traditional jello recipe handed down from my great aunt. Let me be perfectly clear. This is the only time I ever eat jello. It is minus any floating fruit, devoid of stringy carrots, and deliciously picture perfect for the palate. Except, Strawberry’s palate, that is.

What bothered me most was his disdain for the product. As he handsomely headed down the buffet, I noticed a slight nostril expansion when he spotted and detoured away from the attractive jello. I considered, foolishly, that maybe he’d have it for dessert. Then again, that nose action was telling me otherwise. 

You know, when you cook with reckless abandon, even if it is just jello, you like people to eat and enjoy it. And I was sensing an arrogance from Mr. Strawberry. Like he was above jello. I thought, “No one is above jello.” They may not like it, but they’re not superior to it.

Even my sister-in-law whispered, “He didn’t eat the jello.”

“I know.” Don’t remind me.

“Colin ate the jello.”

“I know.” Don’t remind me.

“But he was also a big fat cheater, right?”

“That’s right…don’t remind me.”

to be continued...

*Check out the jello recipe on the Recipes Page, just in case you get the urge.

Chapter 12

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, as we uncomfortably entered my place. “I was anxious to see you.”

He was so close behind me that I felt a little claustrophobic. His big feet took this extra step and removed the heel of my right shoe in the process. This, for whatever reason, made me itch. And sneeze. Then I remembered I was allergic to his soap.

“Oh. Sorry, babe,” he apologized.

I reached down to recover the loss of my sneaker and tried to breathe. “Could you give me a moment, please?” I demanded, hobbling off to my bathroom.

“Okay, but you look great,” I heard from a distance.

Reluctantly, I looked in the mirror and let out a silent scream. Not just at the reflection, but at my current predicament. No time for processing. Only solution was muscle up and confront. So, I pulled my hair into a ponytail, brushed my teeth and feasted my face with cover-up.

When I returned, Colin was standing in the same spot. However, he was now holding two bouquets of calla lilies. “There was a knock at your door. Delivery guy. Got something goin’ babe?”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.” I said, amusing myself, thinking of Strawberry.

He laughed. So did I. And a thaw began. Colin probed no further about the possible other admirer, but I could tell he was wildly curious. And I was okay with that.

Taking both bouquets from Colin, I put them in separate, but equal, vases. He watched me. Then he began to talk. And talk. And talk. It was a heartfelt, verbal vomit of extraordinary proportions. Perhaps he’d sought advice from Clementia, Roman Goddess of forgiveness and mercy. Whoever he chatted with, there were more tender apologies than a girl could ever dream of. 

Finally, he dribbled out a courageous last plea for absolution and softly said, “That’s a wrap, babe.”

Long pause. He was waiting.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s so unexpected. I need to absorb this.”

“I understand,” he said respectfully. He came over, took my hand and whispered, “Maybe you’d have dinner with me? Casual.”

Oh, Colin. “All right, but just because I’ll dine with you, doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

“Yeah, but you’re thinking about it.” He did that tilt and lift thing again, and away he went.

Time heals all things, or so they say. All things except maybe trust. I knew I could forgive this repentant tail-twirler I was once in love with. But truthfully, I didn’t know how to trust him again. Trust. It’s a very good thing and a hard thing to come by, let alone regain.

TRUST
      
     to be continued...

Chapter 11

Antsy universe. Hello? In a hurry much? Could you not have given me some time to respond before throwing this cadlike creature on my doorstep?

I couldn’t believe it. I just stared at him incredulously. Never mind what the universe was thinking. It deserves an obedient curtsy, I suppose. But what was he thinking? The ultimate cojones of it all. 

Smiling, he tilted his head to the right, lifting one eyebrow. Hmmm. The tilt and lift action was his way of investigating his approval rating. Not so fast, hot stuff. You got some work to do. Settle in. This is gonna be a bumpy ride.

There’d been a five-year absence since I’d last heard from this big fat cheater. And I wasn’t about to make it easy on him.

Irksome as he was, he still charmed me. Dang it. But, I wasn’t going to let him know that. At least not right away.

Colin, whose jet-black hair had turned shades of grey, started walking toward the car, holding long-stem calla lilies as a truce tool.

“Hi babe,” he said. No answer from me.

“Is it okay if I still call you babe?” Still no answer.

“You look great.” Oh brother.

“Babe??” He offered the flowers.

“I do not look great, Colin.” I wanted to call him Tail-Twirler, but refrained. “My hair’s underwashed, my dark circles are overexposed, and I have revealing chocolate at the corners of my mouth.”

“No, you look great. You look….you look like you.” I could only sigh.

“Well now that you’re here…would you like to come in?” I asked without encouragement.

“Love to,” he joyfully replied, still holding out my favorite flowers that I refused to accept. 

to be continued...

Chapter 10

The next day I went over to Claire’s for consultation. I needed perspective. She listened as I recapped the previous evening. Since I played back Colin’s message 14 times, I was able to repeat it verbatim. We were both truly awed at Colin’s timing, and frankly, his everlasting balls.

“You know, when it rains, it pours. And it usually pours in three’s. So beware of one more,” Claire warned smiling.

I was already soaked and did not need a third.

Many questions still remained. Do I call him back? Do I let it go? Do I send him a ribbon for his tail? I mean, what does he really want anyway? 

Then my friend calmly asked, “Well, do you want to call him back?”

Life can be so simple. Naturally, I wanted to call him back. I am curious. And maybe it’s the universe giving me the opportunity for completion. But this time it would be at my pace, and in my moment.

I decided three things by the time I left Claire’s. I would call Tail-Twirler back. He would have to wait a week. (Don’t want to rush that completion.) And I would follow my current bliss and see Mr. Strawberry before the week concluded.

Having made those decisions, I felt like celebrating. So on my way home I munched on some secret chocolate stash that I carry in my glove compartment for special occasions. Then I checked for messages. There were two. One work related, and one from Strawberry. The sound of his voice made me blush. He told me he had a great time last night and hoped I liked the flowers.

Flowers? Really? Sweet.

I love flowers. Unless, of course, they’re delivered inverted…in which case, as in Victorian times, means you’ve just been dumped. I was hoping mine would be upright.

As I drove into my parking space, I noticed a tall man standing outside my door. Though his back was to me, I could see he was holding a bouquet of calla lilies. Delivery guy, I thought. But when the man heard me pull in, he turned and looked right at me. And I freaked! May I have my moment please!?!

 to be continued...

Chapter 9

He knocked at my door, or rather tapped. Tap-tap-tap. And I tiptoed, tip-tip-tip, down the looming dark hallway to let him in. Carrying a flaming cinnamon scented candle, I could feel my blood speed up as I got closer.

Once at the door, I abruptly halted. My heart was ready to lunge, but my head needed a preliminary peek before I opened. So raising the candle, Winkie style, I laid a single eye over the peephole. “OHMYGOD,” I screamed indiscreetly. 

The landscape of his face was schmushed and in terrible error. He’d shrunk. And he’d grown a tail, which he was twirling profusely.

I woke up gagging. Sweat dripping everywhere. I should never eat before I go to bed…especially a whole pint of strawberries.

Drifting into the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of water. Oh yeah, now I remember. Colin called. That cad. That cockalorum. That cause of my nasty nightmare. It’s just like him to know precisely when I might be interested in somebody else. And come lurking about, twirling his tail. 

Actually, he wasn’t a cad. I shouldn’t say that. He had many lovely qualities.

In fact with Colin, everything seemed perfect. Except for one small issue. He was clinically uncommitted. His motto was “live in the moment.” And my response to his motto… “whose moment are we living in, yours or mine?”

Of course, the relationship was complicated. All are. I know it takes two to tango. I’m aware of the dance. And I honestly thought we could work it out. But the deal breaker came, the final memo reached my blocked brain, and I ended it. Kerplunk.

Though labor intensive, my heart healed and I moved on. Now, out of the blue, five years later, Mr. Tail-Twirler resurfaces. And on the very same evening I have a romantic dinner with the sweetest man I’ve met since. C’mon.

I felt sick. I had a bauble in my stomach, besides that entire pint of strawberries. And now I had to decide if I would call him back. Geez. 

to be continued...

Chapter 8

Billy, the inspired host, had sat us in a darkish corner of the restaurant, one seemingly reserved for a tryst of sorts. The evening was so far, very good. Three weeks had passed since our Starbucks rendezvous. Our busy schedules had prohibited an earlier follow-up. We’d texted, talked a few times, but nary a word regarding ex-wife issues.

Frankly, I was okay with that.

Several years ago, an ex-girlfriend of a guy I was dating called threatening to barbeque her bird if he didn’t come over immediately. Naturally I was not eager to be responsible for the passing of her pet parakeet, so I shoved him out the door to prevent this casualty. Since then, I decided early boundaries are the way to go. 

And that’s what I told Strawberry when halfway through my arugula and goat cheese salad he cautiously broached the forbidden subject. I quickly advised him against any specifics, and he agreed. Not that I wasn’t curious. That dang wind had seen to that. Maybe later.

Still, I liked him. And he seemed to like me. Therefore, it was no surprise as we walked toward my car at evening’s end that my heart pulsated. The time had arrived. Will he or won’t he? There was excessive walking traffic and I wasn’t sure how he felt about our privacy becoming public. Apparently it wasn’t a problem. 

Strawberry chose his moment while I searched for my keys. As he swung my body around, I was relieved to have forsaken my flippers for a more stylish, superior sandal, one that guaranteed solid footing. My pivot was as smooth as that martini. And the kiss was even better, ranking a very high score in kiss craft.

Once we came up for air, I said, “I’d better go.” Lest I lose the grip I’d gained.

“Okay. I’ll call you.” And I knew he, too, kept his promises.

Evidently Strawberry was not the only one with issues. There was one waiting for me on my home phone.

“Hi sweetie, it’s Colin. Remember me?” he uncomfortably giggled. “I know. I know. It’s been awhile, but I was thinking about you and thought I’d call…”

Is five years awhile?

Colin had unbelievable timing.

I spread my hands across my face and said a very unladylike word. Several times. Driven to the fridge, I opened it with defiance. Then, spotting my weapon, I reached in and slid my teeth into a nice plump strawberry, letting the juice drizzle down my chin. 

to be continued...