16

The next Friday morning, Eva drove to Seattle for a playwright’s workshop. Halfway there she called him from her car. He’d seen her the day before and thought something had come up, maybe she was having trouble on the road. She spoke on speaker mode which cut the timbre of her voice and the car noise made it difficult to hear. He told her so.
“Is this better?” she said, speaking with more volume.

“Yeah.” It was, a little. What did she want? He gave her room to tell him what she needed and kept his answers short, but there was nothing, she was just calling to say Hi, but it felt like he was talking to a stranger on the other side of the world. Who are you and why are you calling? He pretended it was lovely to hear from her. They reported the weather, he asked if she slept well, she asked what his plans were – work and maybe a cycle. She said she had stopped for a walk in a park to eat her breakfast, she didn’t need to hurry.

“I guess you are looking forward to it,” he said. “Excited?”

“Yep.” Then it was silent, just the drone of white noise.

“Call me or text when you get there, I’m having trouble hearing you.”

“Okay, I’ll say bye for now, then.”

“Have a great time.”

 

Later, she texted a selfie in front of the Space Needle, pulling a very goofy face, wide-eyed, with her lips askew, showing teeth.

 

Him: 😂All is well? Just got back from a cycle. 🚴‍

 

Her: Yep 😊 Tonight I meet the other attendees.

 

Him: Cool! Have fun!

 

Her: Thanks

 

He didn’t want her to feel like she needed to check in so much, he would rather she told him all about it when she returned, in person, where he could get a real sense of the experience. Texting sucked for anything more than efficient logistics. Late Saturday evening half-way through watching a movie he couldn’t remember if her reading was to have taken place that day or was it for tomorrow, Sunday. She was nervous about her scene being read aloud. He already felt in trouble. He texted:

 

Hey! Did you do your reading? Or is tomorrow?

 

The next morning there was no reply. And nothing all day on Sunday. He texted that evening:

 

Hi! I hope your drive was good. Looking forward to hear about how it all unfolded. My day was good. Had a nice run on the beach. 😘

 

Her: Sounds like a good day! I got back early eve. My body is looking sooo forward to the horizontal of my bed 😴 Meet up for a walk sometime between 3 – 5 tomorrow?

 

Him: Sounds good!

 

When she arrived at the park, her kiss was a reluctant peck on the lips. She was generally non-verbal as they meandered along the path between the trees. She made him do all the work to chat about nothing. He kept leaving open silences, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong, but she took none of them. They sat on the grass. She remained cold and detached.

“So what’s up, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” She pulled in her chin. “I texted you on Saturday, you didn’t respond.”

“I know.” She turned her face away and sighed.

“I forgot when the reading was, I’m sorry.”

She craned her head back and looked at the veiled sky. “I just…I was in a relationship for a year and a half – it ended last summer. A year and a half of my life. And then it ended, all that time wasted. I’m trying to look for things earlier that would show it’s not working out so I can save time.”

His chest tightened.

“We don’t joke around,” she said. “I like joking around, some sarcasm. My friend Stuart will call me a ‘smart ass’ sometimes. And Martin was always joking around, making everyone laugh. I like being silly sometimes.”

She was honest, that was good, but the irony was killing him. He was the youngest of five kids and had grown up making everyone laugh. During elementary school, he cracked the class up regularly and was at times labelled a clown. It was one of the things that made him want to be an actor. As an adult, he was often the one leading the laughs at social occasions. And here he was hearing how he wasn’t very funny or silly. She didn’t know him, but it was his fault, his fear and reticence. Silly? He never would have guessed that about her – in previous relationships, he always felt they tolerated it and more than once his silliness was criticized as being immature. They called him a goof and he hated the idea of them thinking he didn’t take things seriously. He curtailed it and agreed, wasn’t it time stop goofing around? They were nearly sixty! Apparently not. He felt somewhat betrayed, however, as she hadn’t displayed any silly leading behaviour. She was always quite serious.

“Sex changes things,” she went on. “It can get in the way of being friends. We don’t do friend things. Every time we’re together, it always ends with sex.”

“Yeah, life is short,” he said wryly, snapping into gear to offer up some humour.

She smiled at this. “I feel the same way, I do, but I want us to be more friend-like – like how I am with Stuart. I was thinking maybe we could have ‘friend days’ where we don’t kiss or end up having sex so we can become closer.”

“I would love that,” he said sincerely. She looked doubtful. “Really, I would. I could not be happier to hear that you want to be my friend, you want that kind of closeness, I want that too. Friend days – that’s a really good idea.” On the one hand, he was feeling panicked, this was a ‘break-up’ type of conversation, and he would do anything to patch it up, but on the other hand, no girlfriend had ever said she wanted to cultivate a friendship. It had always seemed to be in another category. When couples said they were ‘best friends’ he always doubted it. How can you be having sex with your friend? Your love partner was something else, a far deeper and more viceral connection than mere friends but now, by way of how she presented it, it was indeed next level, deeper – perhaps the very bond he’d never had with his love partner and the answer that would close the awkward distance between them.

She had thawed enough to nod and acknowledge his enthusiasm for the idea.

“I really appreciate you telling me this and the feedback.”

His defenselessness disarmed her enough to soften her tone, but she wasn’t done. “You’re one of those guys who doesn’t text.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s always just practical things with you, never fun stuff.”

“Yeah, texting,” He scratched the back of his neck and swallowed a lump. “I didn’t know it mattered to you.”

“It matters, yeah – it’s part of being friends, being connected.”

He nodded, “Okay, got it. I just didn’t know, that’s all.”

 

The next morning he woke with the feeling he’d dodged another bullet, but he was now running for his life. She’d been very clear. She was on the lookout for indications that things were not going to work out so as to not waste her precious life on another failed relationship. One foot out the door and yet asking him in the same breath to relax and be more playful and be a friend. He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling of nothing. I’m on probation. Was that a good way to build a friendship? It made him angry, it wasn’t nice, but at least she had been clear and honest, at least he knew the score. He shuddered at the notion of her wanting to get away from him. But she was giving him a chance, and he would have to just try harder. Be more aware and attentive and funny and silly. This was just the normal process of two people getting to know each other, everything was fine. Still, the bullet nearly hit him, she had been very cold when they first met at the park, and ending it was on her mind.