At Least They're Committed

He has pushed back a “guest” office chair to accommodate his long legs. I take quick note, unsurprised, and burst into conversation, plop down my bags, slide out of my coat and let it fall to the carpet all before he has the chance to regale me with his brilliant words of wisdom.

“I smell like onions because I ate at Smashburger and I was alone, of course, but really it was a good thing because it was messy and wildly unladylike.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him, so he leans back, folding his arms.

“I got some kind of cool gifts for Maddie and Danny it really helped put me in the spirit for J.C.’s birthday, even though it was really in April. See? I got her one of those neato wall tins, this one!” I hold it up long enough for him to read it. “And I got Danny some wine from the awesome Colorado wine and cigar store on Larimer Square and I can still kind of smell the cigars and it reminds me of my grandfather.” He nods. “That means I’m almost set and now I just have to start wrapping. Ugh. I suck at that, I swear I must have been a man in another life.”

Out of things to say and knowing full well there are men capable of wrapping gifts, I ease into my chair, fake smile and wait for the lecture. He scoots his chair around, leans forward and folds his hands on my desk. I push back, arms crossed and rock to-and-fro.

“First of all, welcome back. I’m glad Leah is in check.”

I sigh. She is pretty wrathful. She wrote the last post. Not me.

“Secondly, it’s understandable that you felt left out again and I’d like to tell you that it’s unintentional on everyone’s part, but I’m not sure that’s accurate. Not after Dec. 20 of last year and not after the ‘close’ comments that have been made since. I know it sucks for you to have to watch your every move and gesture.”

I must be pouting severely because he’s holding back a smile.

“But, to your last post, just because you care about and support someone doesn’t mean that person has to watch out for you or your interests and you know that.”

I roll my eyes. “I am fully aware of that.”

“You are in words, but not in practice. You can say your feelings are unconditional, but maybe this time — just maybe — the feelings are one-sided, not reciprocated. Your loyalty is not being returned and that doesn’t happen to you often. That hasn’t happened to you,” he rolls his eyes up, thinking, “in, what, 35 years? And maybe that’s a little tough to take.”

I sigh, somewhat defensively. “Yup, so I have no right to be butt-hurt, got it. Better?”

He stares at me saying nothing, looking into my eyes in attempt to judge my sincerity, until he’s convinced just enough. “Yes ma’am,” he slaps his thighs as he stands and heads past me to the window. “And for the record, I think it’s fucking hilarious and likely long overdue, spoiled girl . . . and, yes, you do smell like onions.”

“Merry fucking Christmas,” I say to no one.