I’m speechless and find myself staring at him, his long legs covered with bushy blond hair so easily maneuvering through the course.
“Do you think the universe is friendly?” he asks.
“Ugh, you sound like my therapist.”
“Oh, no. Do I?”
“Yes. But to answer your question: The universe feels friendly right now,” I say, locking eyes.
Reid smiles. “I agree,” he says. He stares at me, making a point, I think. “The universe was friendly to release me from a job I hated, friendly to help me find a new one, and friendly to teach me the lesson that I don’t ever again want to stay in a situation that doesn’t bring me joy.”
“Friendly to invite me here today.” I smile back, giving him a little nod.
“Are you done with mini-golf?” he asks.
I consider. We have only a few more putts to go, but I’m just standing there, holding my ball and putter like a dope, like a drunk smitten by the grace and beauty of another human being, by a sweet moment shared between two people—even if nothing more ever comes of it. Perhaps this date has been the universe’s friendly learning experience for me.
“Yeah. I feel done,” I say. “Any chance you want to grab lunch? Maybe a salad or something?”
“How about we have some happiness?”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Pizza,” he says, reaching out his hand. I grab it, and we walk in lockstep to his lovely little Volkswagen Beetle, continuing our afternoon and eventually sharing a sweet kiss, tasting in each other the cheese and tomato sauce and longing that made the entire afternoon and evening so delicious.
That night, my level of job satisfaction aside, I text Kathi, “I think I met my husband.”
Kathi texts back, “Orion just watched me puke.”
* * *
I’m not exactly on vacation. Kathi still has her cell phone. So while she’s getting well, I’m getting called, and called frequently.
I bring her various treats, mostly banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery on West Third Street.
Kathi and I eat together, providing Orion an opportunity to shower and take a few moments to himself.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Fine,” Kathi says. “He’s not ugly.”
“As long as it helps. Is he gay?”
“I think he’s multi-sexual,” she says. “He’ll probably fuck anything. Roger starts foaming at the mouth every time he sees him. Poor Roger. So depressed. Glad Orion is helping him feel alive again.”
“You think Roger is depressed?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” she says. “Working for my mother all day, every day, forever.”
And I wonder, Am I depressed? And I wonder, Am I not a facsimile of Roger to Kathi, as actual Roger is to Miss Gracie? I recall Reid’s question about my job: How do I like it? Is Kathi Kannon my passion?
* * *
I’m at The Farm of Beverly Hills getting dinner for Kathi because “someone” left the refrigerator door open overnight and all her food spoiled. I’m at Target getting bath towels because “someone” spilled nail polish on the entire stack of old ones. I’m rushing to the bank to get cash before they close because Kathi’s credit card is frozen because “someone” bought a life-sized neon palm tree from China and the bank thought it was fraud.
And now I’m rushing home.
Reid and I are supposed to go to dinner and watch some Netflix, but I’m exhausted from a long day running errands for Kathi—she also needed a bicycle, baking supplies, a dildo to send Tom Cruise for his birthday even though I think he has a restraining order against her. I think it’s going to take the whole night to wash the day off. And I’m hungry in the kind of way that can only be quenched by having ice cream for dinner, like a ravenous animal—something I do occasionally but only alone; no one should have to witness that.
I don’t know what to do—calling Reid and canceling at the last minute is a dick move. The alternative is taking care of myself and my needs, but isn’t that a slippery slope toward being alone the rest of my life, a perpetual state of self-care, a perpetual state of aloneness?
I draft a text but delete it.
I draft another and delete it.
Therapista says the only way through the fire is through the fire.
I pull Reid’s number up on my phone.
I take a deep breath, searching inside for some guidance, for some signal of what I should do. But it’s hard to compete with a quiet, solitary night of rest and an ice-cream-induced coma. I call him, trying to sound weary and worn. “I’m kinda stressed,” I say, “because I could use a night in and I’m not sure I’m up for hanging out but I feel bad canceling on you.”
As soon as the words tumble out of my mouth, I’m still and quiet and regretful. I’m bracing for his reply, his reaction of inconvenience after this, the first real reveal to him that a good partner I might not make.
“Who cares?” Reid says. “Let’s cancel. It’s okay. I’m here to make your life better, not more stressful.”
I’m silent on the phone for a moment, not exactly stunned as much as turned on—what a perfect response, a blend of caring and concern.
“So, wait?” I ask. “You don’t mind if we cancel?”
“Not at all. Let’s skip tonight and you can stay in and recharge your batteries. I’ll watch TV and get some rest, too.”
The pressure is immediately off. What a wonderful way to look at dating: someone who wants to make my life better, not more stressful. Maybe that’s something I can apply to every relationship. Do the other people in my life make it better or make it more stressful?
I say, “Never mind. That was a test. Please come over immediately.”
“Okay. On my way. Mind if I bring some happiness?”
“Pizza?” I ask.
He says, “Tonight I’m thinking happiness is ice cream.”
* * *
My early weeks of dating Reid are punctuated by the milestones of Kathi Kannon’s recovery.
Our first two dates are during Kathi’s first week of her self-imposed home-institutionalization, check-in, and observation with Orion.
Our third date is Kathi’s second week, while she’s subjected to evaluation and stabilization and Orion’s insistence on healthy lifestyle choices—eating healthier, taking long walks, going to psychiatrist appointments, AA meetings, bathing regularly.
Then there’s the week Reid and I have dinner at the Magic Castle, around the time Kathi is feeling her best, wondering aloud and negotiating with Orion just how many more weeks he’ll be with her.
There’s the week Reid and I take early-morning walks together while Kathi relapses a bit, which Orion says is normal. The week Kathi refuses to do family therapy with Miss Gracie gifts Reid and me with time to cook each other our favorite dinners—I make us nachos, burritos, veggie burgers. Reid makes us salmon with ginger reduction, roasted chicken and potatoes, rosemary-and-feta-stuffed turkey breasts. The week Reid and I do a push-up challenge is the week Kathi calls Orion a “cunt fester” and he threatens to quit, until Miss Gracie and I calm him down, me with compliments and Miss Gracie with cash.