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Brown Eggs & the Moon

March 2, 2015

“Are brown eggs from a duck or a chicken?” Z asked me.

He was in the grocery store. I was at my Dad’s with my little brother, my son, my niece and my nephew. We were having fun being silly and watching movies. It had been a long time since we were all together at home.

“What?” I asked. “Uh, eggs can be different colors because of what the bird eats. Wait, no that’s right. I don’t know why they’re different colors. What are you doing?”

“Ok. I got it. I’ll call you later.”

“You don’t have to call me later,” I laughed.

I let go of my anger at Z not long after bitching about him in a blog. The other day he randomly texted, “the Noah one.”

It took me a few seconds to get it. Months ago we had an argument about how many movies we had seen together. I said two. He said three but he couldn’t name them all. The third was “Noah.” I laughed when I realized what he was talking about.

“You’re right,” I answered.

“Always” he replied.

“I miss you,” I wrote.

“I know,” he said.

That’s my Z. Cocky, goofy, sometimes an asshole. But forever in my heart. One of a kind.

Mr. Moon was pissed at me. I intimated that I had discussed his personal life with Liz. He said I broke a promise to him, not to tell anyone.

We argued through texts over lunch on Friday. I thought it was pretty silly to expect me to keep the most basic of facts from my confident, my best friend, my trusted counsel. It left a bad taste in my mouth. Liz has been with me at my worst. She’ll be there long after all the Mr. Moon’s and other players come and go. If I ever do find someone to love and be with for the rest of my life, it’s very likely she’ll still be the one I trust, the one I turn to for perspective. You don’t mess with that relationship.

So I let him be pissed. I kind of hoped that it would cause a drift.

We discussed other things that were causing tension in our “friendship.” Through texting, which is dangerous. He’s different in person. I can’t hear that little accent or watch his face or see his body language. I’m just reading the words that seem short and cold.

There were long pauses on my end. I was confused. He said we had choices about our friendship. He asked me what I wanted. I told him I needed time.

I emailed him that night, after a shower and a glass of wine at Dad’s. We continued our little argument through emails, drawn out by hours of tense waiting, drinking and laughing with my family. By Saturday night I was determined that I needed to stop seeing him.

“I think we need to stop hanging out for a while, ” I wrote.

He asked if we could still talk and dance at the Moon. He asked if after some time, he could still come over for a salad or tea.

“Maybe so.”

It felt good at first. I felt in control. Like I was actually doing the right thing. I felt confident. I got home Sunday morning. He tried to chat with me. I blew him off. I got groceries and paid bills and tried to steer my thoughts away from him.

When I was walking I texted Z. “brown eggs?” He called to explain. “In India, brown eggs come from ducks. I didn’t want to buy duck eggs.”

I told him that my new friend was angry with me because I confided in Liz. Before I could finish the sentence he blurted, “Of course you’re going to tell Liz everything. What kind of man doesn’t understand that every woman has a best friend that she tells everything to?”

“Thank you,” I laughed. How does he always know just what to say?

That evening, Mr. Moon started pecking away at the wall I was trying to build between my heart and his existence, just a few blocks away from me.

“Can I ask you a question?” he wrote. “Why can’t we be friends now and we could before?”

The wall started buckling. I wasn’t going to sit there and text a conversation with him on my phone. I thought I had made myself clear. I told him how I felt about him. That it was too hard for me to be friends.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Maybe so. If we talk I’m going to be honest and you might not like it.”

“That’s what I want,” he said.

“I know this great place with a nice atmosphere and art all over the walls.”

I picked him up in the rain and we sat on my sofa. I told him everything. That I had feelings for him and he was leading me on. That it felt like he was using me. I told him about Z and why I didn’t want that kind of relationship again. I told him he was hurting me. I questioned him. If I had pissed him off, why did he need to keep this friendship? How could he claim to want to be only friends after his behavior? If he didn’t want me to have a crush on him, why did he encourage it from that first night at Pamplona’s?

He had explanations. He had plans. He had confessions.

He talked his way through the wall and back into my heart.

What a fucking bastard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the crushes, the dates, the non-dates, the flirting, the one-night-stands and missed opportunities…..the flings and feathers and I can tells. The friends with benefits and romantic love affairs……this one……….this one is bad. This one is really stupid.

This one is going to sting.

 

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