So, you would not be coming to dinner? Seriously? Wow. But why? And you text me this, now? And here I am, literally, at the table. The one readied for the candle, the wine, and the basted chicken. Cozy two-seater with checkered tablecloth, at the corner of cooktop and pantry. Almost done. Is it the traffic? Why cancel then, ‘coz I don’t mind the wait.
See, you promised you'd drop by. I am now going ahead with heating up the entrée. I have one of those heat-and-hold thingies; should be just right when you reach. It’s all hands here, and I happen to be the only one.
You ought to make it. I have been setting this table since the day you accepted.
You have not responded to any of my messages. By the way, did I misread your texts? I didn't realize the "Ok, will do" from you last week was polite-speak for a No. “Non”, to the you-know-who who took French through High School.
How about spelling out today’s “cannot make it, sorry” perhaps a day or three earlier? Before all the thyme and the bastard chicken. C'est possible, non? Weren’t you always the “punctuality is respect” sloganeer? Punctuality don’t apply once you decide to bail, huh?
I know I got us here. I own all credit, as you once said. But is it that I do not get to fix anything? Did I break every damned sacred thing we ever had?
No second acts. No second helpings for petit Olivier?
___
Sorry, forget I ever said that. I did not mean to shout.
You might have a few things to say to all that. And honestly, I don't have the courage to face them. Apologies. You know me; I try to jest my way out of awkwardness. And bad fights, you might add.
Well, then how about later tomorrow? Or even later, like next week? You haven't responded to that message either. It would not be the same chicken, I promise. The wine would be long gone too, I am afraid. Yes, I would be mindful not to have it all in one go.
Or, forget making it an occasion. Let’s not do it at all if you're not in. This is my bad. Let's just meet. Rendezvous à la Jason Bourne. Again, pardon the accent, no offence. Maybe the pop-up Saturday market? Out in the open and don’t bring backup!
___
I'm not complaining. I know what you're thinking. That I should have known better. But I thought I was quite convincing when we spoke last month. When you, let’s say, seemed to initially agree to the meet.
What more could I say to convince you. I mistake politeness for affection, friendship for love, a 'how's your day' for a question and woods for trees. An affliction from childhood, sure to be cured by the end.
I keep flailing at keeping our friendship, or connection, going. I know it has dropped many a notch below the love we once had. I regularly attend the Program; evidently, some way away from managing my triggers.
Yup. We are not kids anymore. What I might still be imagining in my bubble, quite likely passed away a long while ago.
I indeed misread your text.
So, you would not be coming to dinner. This is not good. But that's ok. We could always do it another time. If you are in this part of town, you know whom to hit up. I am always good for a dinner and a show!
Trust me, the spread sure looks yum. I don't mean to brag, but you would have loved it. Well, joke’s on you, it’s all for me now. I may have misjudged the portion sizes though.
Might have to toss the leftovers, but then we'd have the furry Magi to worry about. You might remember. Rat, wildcat, and my leery Association Secretary. All three are unwelcome on my property, yet they manage to scratch around the bins and snoop into the odd window.
But only one has opposable thumbs and tapes another notice to my door.
See, made you laugh. Isn't that what you want in a date?
Adieu.
