W Is for Wasted

that isn’t past its sell-by date. While I sat, Ed allowed me the incredible privilege of giving his head a scratch.
    There was a tap at the door. I left Ed where he was while I looked out the porthole. There stood Dietz.
    When I opened the door, he said, “Can I come in?”
    Oh, sure. Like I might refuse. I stepped back. His manner was tentative and I will promise you in that split second, I knew he was leaving. In my view, it’s a hell of a thing when one’s intuition about a guy is solely tied to his departure. “Let me guess,” I said.
    “Don’t guess. Let me say this my way.”
    “How about coffee first?”
    “How about after I get this out?”
    “By all means.”
    I kept my expression neutral. I disengaged my emotional gears. We hadn’t connected at a deep level this time around. He’d been in town for three days yet here it was again. The perpetual bye-bye that seemed central to our entire relationship. I was thinking, thank god I didn’t sleep with the man or I’d have been in real pain. Even so, I was already suffering the loss of him, which I covered at no small cost to myself.
    Dietz said, “Nick’s taken a leave of absence from work. I thought he was here to discuss the plan, but turns out it’s a done deal. He wants us to travel together and get to know each other. What was I supposed to say?”
    “You say yes, of course.” I won’t say I sounded chipper, but anyone who didn’t know me well would have thought I was fine.
    “It wasn’t my idea,” he said.
    “Oh, come on. I’m not chiding you. Plan or no plan, he’s your kid.”
    “Well, I appreciate that. I didn’t think you’d take it this well.”
    “There you have it. Grown-up at last. So when do you go?”
    “Nick’s not awake yet. We settled this last night and I said I’d have to talk to you first before we hit the road.”
    Now,
that
hurt my feelings. There was something about the stinginess of the condition he’d laid out to his son. Yes, he’d take off with Nick. But no, he insisted on giving me my five minutes first.
    I moved into the kitchenette and poured him a cup of coffee. I put the mug on the counter and pushed it in his direction.
    “Thanks,” he said. He took a sip, watching me over the rim of the mug. He made a face and looked down. “How long has this been sitting?”
    “I don’t want to make small talk.”
    He set the coffee cup on the counter. “You’re not taking it well,” he said.
    “Not taking it well at all,” I replied. “And I don’t want a hug. That makes you feel better and makes me feel like shit.”
    “I’m not doing this to make you feel bad.”
    “But that’s the effect it has on me anyway, okay? I feel like a whiny baby. I can live without the blow to my dignity.”
    “You want me to go through the other boxes with you?”
    “Like my consolation prize? No, thanks. I did that. I returned them to Ruthie and had a nice chat about Pete, whom she adored for the better part of forty years.”
    “What do you want me to do?” he said. “I can’t change it now. I had no idea Nick would show up. How was I to know he’d want to go off on this
field
trip?”
    “You couldn’t. Not your fault. It’s always going to be like this. I keep thinking I’ll learn to handle it, but I don’t.”
    “Would it have been better if I never showed up at all?”
    “It would be better if I didn’t care one way or the other.”
    “But you do.”
    “Yes.”
    “Now, you see, that’s nice. I like it that you care.” He smiled and folded me into his arms, which of course made my face heat, my nose swell, and my eyes sting with tears.
    I laughed. “Damn it. Now I’ll be ugly at the same time I’m feeling stupid.”
    “You’re not stupid. You’re adorable. You make lousy coffee, but I’ll try not to blame you for that.”
    “Quit saying nice things.”
    He swayed, holding me in his arms. It was like dancing in place; the first time he’d actually touched me since he’d been back. That first night, he’d declined to kiss my cheek. At that point, he was still half mad at me and I was still indignant that he’d accused me of recommending him to Pete. I could feel the whisper of sexuality rising up along my frame.
    I stepped back. “Let’s don’t do this. It makes no sense.”
    “Does everything have to make sense?”
    “Yes, it does and I’ll tell you why. I’m the one being left behind. And I understand why and I wish you well, but I don’t see any reason to put my