I haven't seen him in eight years. After a chat there on the sidewalk, he is making moves to leave. And then he says it: I'm really busy for the next week or so, but how about I call you after that? We can get together.
I decide I'm not playing. 'Why would you put yourself in that position? We both know you won't call. You are just salving your conscience. In a few days, you'll forget running into me.'
He begins to object, saying something about being busy. I interrupt. 'Oh, come on. It's all about priorities. Things that are important are given higher priority and get done. I have obviously being very low on your list. If it makes you feel better, how often have I called you? See? You are no higher on my list.
So, nice chatting. Take care and perhaps we'll run into each other in another eight or ten years.'
I leave him there, agape.
the dad-shaped hole
in her life