I pull my hands onto my lap and link them together. I've prepared a few words for Dan, and it's time to deliver them.
"I get it, you want someone new so you can see lacy underwear again, not the stained, worn-out granny panties your wife probably wears during her period. News flash: we all have that underwear. You just won't see it until we're in a committed relationship with you. You've never had to buy me tampons or see me clip my toenails, that's why the fantasy of me is so enticing."
"That's not true."
"It is! You're obsessing about me because you're bored with real life. Guess what? I'm real, too, and if you were with me, you'd find that out eventually."
Dan covers his face with both hands. When he takes them away, he looks like he has aged five years.
"My wife doesn't even take her clothes off during sex anymore. She's so tired, it's just, 'let's get this over with as fast as possible so I can go to sleep.' There's nothing there. We're just co-parents who happen to share a bed at this point."
"I think that's monogamy, Dan, and parenting, from what people tell me. It gets boring. You're both exhausted. You have to actually make an effort. What have you done to get her excited for sexy times?" I hold up my hand to stop him, realizing we've wandered into inappropriate territory again. "Wait, don't tell me. I don't want to know. All I'm going to say is that I hope you and your wife can work things out."
"Come on," he says, "you can't deny we have amazing chemistry."
I did think that about Dan at one time. Compared to the guys I met in bars, he seemed fantastic. He was cute, funny and grounded, and I remember wishing I'd met him when he was single. All those feelings seem like a lifetime ago.
"I'm sure you and your wife had great chemistry when you first met," I say. "You can work on getting that back. This thing with me? It isn't going to happen."
Even though everything I've said has pointed in this direction, Dan looks shocked when I get up from the table.
"You're seriously going? This is it?"
"This is it, my friend. I wish you the very best, but please do not contact me again."
Dan stands up then, too, seeming shaken. "Can I at least give you a hug?"
"I think a handshake is more appropriate."
I extend my hand, and he takes it in his. Dan's hand is so much smaller and softer than Seth's, and there's a pain in my chest at the thought of never touching Seth again. I have to expunge that thought from my mind before I start crying. I don't want Dan to think all these feelings are for him.
"Goodbye, Dan.” I force a cheery smile.
I squeeze his hand then pull away, hoping this is the last time we'll speak, but knowing that I'm totally going to have to block him on my phone.
* * *
Prospect Park isone of the best things about living in Brooklyn. Just like on any September Saturday, there are plenty of Brooklynites here, soaking up the last pleasant weather of the year before gray, bitter winter blows in. Today is particularly beautiful, and I'm a little sad that I have to go to work in a couple of hours.
Weekends are busy for caterers, and LaTonya has put me in charge of the wedding we're doing tonight. She was thrilled when I said I wanted to work for her full time, since her business has expanded exponentially. Now she can play more of an admin role and send me out to manage some of the events instead of overseeing every one of them herself. When I told her I wanted to start my own events business down at the goat farm, she said she'd mentor me so that I'd be ready to go out on my own whenever the time is right. The fact that Seth lives at the farm complicates my business plans, but I'm not going to let him stand in the way of my dreams.
It's still strange to sleep in on weekdays and work late into the night on weekends, but I'm enjoying the change. In my off hours, there's no grading, no planning, no meetings, and no parent contacts to make. My free time is really my own. Being busy on weekend nights leaves little time for dating or socializing in general, but that's fine for now. I'm focused on my career, and I'm saving more money than ever before. I still get in the occasional pool game on a weeknight, and Hugh's schedule is flexible so I see him much more frequently than I did when I was teaching. We're meeting today for a walk in the park and maybe a movie afterwards.
I walk through the grass, past frisbee games, soccer matches, and blankets full of people eating salads out of Tupperware containers. Hugh lives on the other side of the park from me in a brownstone where he and Raymond own the bottom floor. They're planning to sublet it when they move to Chicago in a few days. We've discovered a spot in the park that's about equidistant from both of our places, and we made it our meeting spot.
I know Hugh by his gait before I can see his face clearly. He kind of bounces slightly up and down on the balls of his feet which I find endearing. When we're about fifty yards apart, I throw my arms wide like Fraulein Maria on the mountaintop and gallop toward him. He mirrors me, and we meet in middle in the most gloriously goofy hug. I want to squeeze the life out of him, or at least his will to get in a car and drive to Chicago. They won't fly because Hugh is afraid of what the changes in air pressure will do to Norman the cat.
"Hey, sweetie," he says, crushing me in his arms.
Hugh is a champion hugger. It's one of the things I love about him. I'm the kind of hugger who bends to the will of the other person—if they give a tight squeeze I reciprocate in kind. If it's a tentative stiff-armed embrace with a little back patting at the end, I can do that, too. Whatever you give, you'll get. But not Hugh. He commits to the hug every time, with everybody.
"Wanna walk a bit?" I ask.
"Sure," he says. "Let's take a stroll around the park. Maybe we'll see the guy who sells lemon ices."
Hugh and I walk to the paved street that circles all of Prospect Park and link arms as we walk, leaving the inside lane to the runners, bikers and roller bladers whizzing past us. It's like old times, as if Dad weren't gone and Hugh weren't leaving. For a minute, I want to pretend that life is as it always was, not that it was perfect, but it was good. Then again, I'm excited for the new life ahead of me, the one that I'm carefully planning piece by piece. Being excited for the future feels like an accomplishment in itself.
"Are you ready for the big move?" I ask, determined to be happy for them.
