Touching base w an old friend that you suddenly stopped talking too for no apparent reason is fucking awkward. No matter what you say, there really is no good excuse for being a lame ass and disappearing. Harley has made me an expert of sorts on lame ass boyfriends who disappear. Harley is always the lame ass getting into the “Vanishing Cabinet” and I am always the confused girlfriend left behind wondering what she had done wrong. Since I pulled a Harley, it only seems fitting that I use his method of returning – namely, I completely ignore that I was ever gone. Okay, stop throwing things at your computer, I mean only that I will ignore my disappearing act FOR NOW. I want to talk about the past – but at another time. And maybe not all at once. There is some great stuff that I am excited to share. And there is some bad stuff that I am not so excited to talk about. I am always so fucking angry w Harley when he reappears. At the same time, my heart is about to burst because it feels good to just see him again. That’s me, for right now, I want to just enjoy feeling good because I am back and talking again here w y’all.
And none of that was actually the awkward I was talking about for this post!!!
I am dying to tell someone about what happened last night.
I knew Daddy had been dating again. It was not something we talked about. Mom has been gone ("gone" - I notice that I use almost every euphemism there is rather than say "Mom died" - and yes, it hurt to write it just now) for a while now and, well, Daddy is still pretty young and in awesome shape in my biased opinion. Never the less, my naive brain had not imagined bumping into an over-night guest . . . literally.
It was the middle of the night. I only woke up because I had to pee. I had no desire to get out of my bed, but there was no ignoring my bladder and going back to sleep. No lights. Just run to the bathroom, pee, then race back to bed before I was officially wide awake. But then I wanted a drink too. Okay, no worries, just a quick detour to the kitchen after peeing before returning to my nice bid warm comfortable bed. I run into the kitchen and run right into Mrs. Smith (obviously not her real name).
We crashed into one another at the kitchen counter. Apparently, both of us had wanted a quick drink. I turned on a small light. She was wearing one of Daddy’s dress shirts . . . the one I recalled watching him leave the house wearing earlier that evening. It looked different on her. Her husband had died as well four to five years ago and I had known her long before then. She leaned back against the counter while we each tried to pretend this was completely normal. I was not sure the protocol. What does a daughter do when she bumps into the half-dressed woman who's been banging her father; do we hug, shake hands, what. I opted for the hand shake. And that’s when I realized she was holding Daddy’s shirt closed w her hands because it was still unbuttoned . . . making us more familiar w each other than we had ever planned.
She got a glass of wine before returning w it to Daddy’s room. She had been getting water when I walked into her. I'm thinking she needed something stronger after we met.
It was a bit funny I can say now in hindsight.
It is not like I am a stranger to the ‘walk of shame’.