“Seriously, I will. It just may not involve a guy for a while yet. I honestly don’t miss being in a relationship, and I don’t feel the need to go seek one out.” I felt a weight lessen in my chest as I realized the words were true. Mostly true, anyway.
“Who said anything about a relationship? I’m talking about a fun night out. Drinks. Dinner. Maybe a tour of his condo. And don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”
I rolled my eyes, simply to be contrary. “I’m not interested in touring real estate.”
“Don’t be dense,” she said.
“I’m not being dense, Gwen. I need time.”
“Do you even have a pulse? You left Greg over eight months ago. Aren’t you climbing the walls?”
“I’m fine,” I said. I didn’t mention that sex had become less and less a part of my marriage as the years went on. As close as we were, I let her believe that he and I had drifted apart, but didn’t make her privy to how cold things had truly been. Countless times, I thought his having an affair would have been worlds easier. People don’t blame women for leaving cheaters. Losing the spark? That was chalked up to laziness. Many more marriages die in the icy chill of lovelessness than in the fire of anger and passion.
“OK, girl. Just don’t waste your life waiting to be ready. Sometimes you have to jump into the fray, you know?”
“What would appease you? Archery? Horseback riding? Kayaking?” I took a tentative sip of the still-steaming coffee from my cup. There was something to be said for adding a pint of milk, sugar, and cocoa to the drink, I supposed. Gwen didn’t have to wait for the coffee to cool down from the temperature of freshly erupted lava.
“I wasn’t thinking you should enroll in summer camp, for God’s sake.” She placed her cup down with enough force that the couple at the next table glanced over at us before resuming their conversation. “I really am trying to be serious with you.”
“I know, Gwen. And I promise I’ll do something outside of work. Something fun.”
“Something social,” she added. “Get out and meet people.”
I nodded, though I was at a loss for something that would be enjoyable for me and wasn’t mostly a solitary endeavor. I’d not been particularly introverted as a kid, but it set in during college and took hold during my marriage with the voracity of kudzu vines.
I feigned a glance at my watch and made an excuse about needing to prepare notes for my next lecture. I was more than prepared, but I’d come to the end of what I could handle of Gwen’s relentless meddling. She accepted my excuse and let me go with her usual bear hug.
Though I loved Gwen like the sister I’d so wished for my entire childhood, her solution to getting over my divorce was simplistic. For some women, a quick roll in the hay would be healing enough, but the thought of opening up to anyone else made me shake.
She didn’t know about the countless nights Greg rolled to his side, rebuffing my touch. She didn’t know about the hundreds of conversations I wanted to have with him that he shut down with generic advice, though I tried to explain to him how I wanted to work through whatever the issue was on my own. He didn’t understand the need for a sounding board and some empathy.
Every time I pictured going out on a first date and the first date progressing to something more, I worried about the inevitable moment when a perfectly nice guy would take me out for an above-average dinner on the third date, ask me back to his place, and look at me with those hopeful eyes. Would I be able to summon the courage to follow him inside and let one thing lead to another, or would those countless rejections from Greg come roaring back to fill my senses and steal my enjoyment? There was only so much no a person could handle before they began to feel something was wrong with them.
I honored my promise to Gwen as I drove up to Encinitas on Saturday and considered what I could do to get out more and meet people. I was an avid swimmer and thought about re-devoting myself to it, but it was really more of an individual sport. Joining a book club was too close to my daily grind to hold much appeal. The opportunities swirled in my head as I went north to help Dad continue wading through all the photos and souvenirs. They were now in a better semblance of order, but there was still plenty of cataloging to be done. The pregnant blond woman came to mind, Dad’s arm wrapped protectively around her. A lot of questions yet to be answered.
Instead of Kimberly, Dad greeted me at the door of the care home. His hands gripped his wheeled walker tightly, but his face was more exuberant than I’d seen since Mom passed. I supposed the prospect of spending some time back in the days of his youth invigorated him.
“We can use the dining room again,” he proclaimed as I leaned in to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to see you, Bethie.”
His voice was stronger and his gait steadier as he ushered me back to the gleaming wooden table where the artifacts of his past were already laid out for us to go over. I took out the album and my notepad to take down his descriptions of all the photos.
“Good heavens but Stu Phillips looks young in that one,” he said, pointing to a rather baby-faced soldier whom Dad had captured in an open-mouthed laugh with a handful of other medics. “I saw him ten years ago at one of the regimental reunions. If it weren’t for the dimples, I’d never have recognized him. He died just a few years back. He was one of the last ones left. We stopped having those get-togethers after that one.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s the price of living to be an old man. You end up outliving almost everyone you ever knew. And it’s a hefty price tag, I’ll say that much.”
“I’m sure it is, Dad. I always found it funny that you’d never talk about the war but would never miss a reunion,” I said.
“Well, the boys knew which subjects to talk about and which ones to avoid. I know it doesn’t make sense if you haven’t been to war. And I’m damn glad you’ll never learn what I mean by it.”
I squeezed his hand and went back to taking notes about the subjects in the seemingly endless pages of photos. After two hours, I felt as though I knew the men from his regiment as well as he’d known them sixty years before. He remembered their names, their professions, and even the names of the women they married and the children they fathered after their service. He was always that way, whether with friends, patients, or family. I remembered the massive stack of holiday cards he and Mom would send each year. They’d sit at our dining room table, not unlike the one where we sat with his photos now, every day after dinner for a full week to get them all written and addressed. No simple “Best wishes from the Blumenthals” would do. Dad insisted on a handwritten note for each person. He would prompt Mom to ask after ailing relatives and new babies as she worked her way down her half of the list. Mom had met most of these people, but Dad knew them.
Mom kept close tabs on who would receive cards with the header Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or the more generic Season’s Greetings in scrawling script letters superimposed above a family photo. Dad’s clients were a diverse lot, and he wanted their cards to honor whatever traditions they celebrated. The photo was the same each year. Mom would shop the sales to get my holiday party clothes in late October, I’d be scrubbed within an inch of my life, and we’d snap the photo even before I’d carved my jack-o’-lantern for Halloween. Mom would always look perfect—straight from the hairdresser and with a fresh coat of lipstick. Dad’s smile would always be toothy and full of sunshine and truth. Either Dad or I would end up displeasing Mom with a less-than-flattering stance or a peculiar expression, but Dad always preferred the outtakes. As soon as I surrendered the holiday clothes to be wrapped back in plastic and hidden in the deepest corners of Mom’s closet for the next two months, she’d have the photos off to the printer to ensure they’d have plenty of time to get them out the week after Thanksgiving. The whole of our acquaintances could have kept their calendars by the regularity of the Blumenthal holiday cards, until the last batch had gone out two years before.