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I’m Not Going to Write About Pumpkin Patch Again

October 5, 2015

He went on a trip and I watched and commented on facebook as he posted panoramas and selfies. Beautiful landscapes and trails he and his father had conquered. I was happy to see him happy. I saved some of the selfies. I missed him, still.

I offered to meet him when he got back so he could tell me all about his adventure. “Ok,” he said.

I told him that I wanted to get his opinion about a proposition I had been offered. (A job offer.) I made a couple of date and time suggestions and was met with hemming and hawing. Not this weekend and maybe this week and such. I stopped trying to set up a time. I stopped commenting on his posts. I pulled back.

“Have you been busy or are you just ignoring me,” he asked, unexpectantly. I told him I was waiting for him to tell me when he was free. He offered a day and place. I said, “I’m free any time after 8,” trying to be strong and sticking to my walking schedule. He didn’t reply.

On the day he had suggested, I was out delivering sponsor thank you gifts for work, a shameful waste of my time considering my to-do list. The company he worked for was on the list. I thought I might see him there, though it was unlikely. Nevertheless I made it my first stop so I would be morning-fresh. I recognized the receptionist. He had gone out with her and taken her to a wedding just after we met. It was a post-break-up fling for him. She wanted more. Little did I know I would be next on the list of rejections.

His boss was gracious and polite. I mentioned his name. “Tell him I said hi,” or something like that, I said. “Oh, well come tell him yourself,” he said. He showed me into the big, open space with lots of desks and computers with triple monitors. Natural light flooded the room and the colors were pleasing. We walked up to his desk. There was an open container of yogurt next to his keyboard. He was dressed surprisingly casual. “Hey, Pumpkin Patch,” I said, not actually using his nickname. He turned around. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I’m delivering gifts,” I said, holding up the little white gift bag with our company logo on a sticker. “I don’t get one?” he asked. “No,” I said. I was nervous. “You did throw a baseball at me.”

“That is true. That did happen.” I said. We lingered awkwardly. I complimented the office and colors. His boss showed me around the room and I left.

As I was driving to get coffee I expected a text from him. “It was nice to see you,” maybe.

Nothing.

Of course the overly romantic, foolish corner of my brain hoped that seeing me would have triggered something. That maybe he might have missed me. Maybe he would want to see me again. As that little corner of my brain often is, it was wrong.

Later in the day, I caved and messaged him.

“Your boss said nice things about you.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, but the receptionist called you a man whore.”

“HAHAHAHA,” he replied.

“To which I replied, ‘Honey, you don’t need to tell me,'” I wrote back.

He replied with a sad face. Maybe he didn’t think it was funny.

“Are we still meeting this evening?” I asked.

“Eight is too late for me,” he said.

Why didn’t he say that when I offered that time in the first place? I wavered and offered to meet earlier, “or we can raincheck it,” I said.

When I got no answer I gave us both the out. “Don’t sweat it. Another time perhaps.”

“Yeah, I’m exhausted,” he said.

“Got it.” I wrote.

He doesn’t give two shits about me.

I don’t know if he ever did. I guess he was lying when he whispered all those sweet things to me in my ear. Is that what they all do, just lie until they get bored or stop getting what they want? I still don’t understand. I guess I never will.

This is it, Pumpkin Patch. This is your last blog.

 

Who’s turn is it now?

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From → Rantings

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