There had been no doubt that he had broken things off with me.
So when he showed up at my doorstep with a bottle of wine, it was surprising.
Square jawed and dimpled, he stood a foot taller than me. He had grown well into the fortyish version of himself.
Why are you here? I wanted to ask. Why now? But he walked right past me to the kitchen, opened a cabinet and took two glasses.
I had no idea how she got in, but he sat down across the table, from her, and poured the wine.
They chatted, in hushed tones, drinking, laughing at jokes that they shared between themselves, an extension of some obvious and inherent understanding they had of each other.
I wanted to interrupt, but it wasn’t my place. Their nods, her hand on his, told the story. So, I watched from a distance, this former friend and former boyfriend, until startled.
It was 3 am.
I sat up and propped my head against the pillow, brain searching for the meaning of the two of them meeting in the same room.
In my room.
He didn’t leave me for her. They had never known each other, had lived in my life at different times.
Both had walked away until tonight.
I’ve often asked myself what I could have done differently. Maybe something, maybe nothing at all.
I can only conclude after their rendezvous, that if and when I figure out the reason behind one, I will understand the reason behind the other.
Yet would figuring out change things now?
Would it have changed anything then?
There are people who get you and there are people who don’t get you and there are the people who don’t get you but love you anyway because they understand that you may not see the world through the same eyes they do.
There are the people who take everything you say personally and the people who understand that it’s not about them.
There are the friends that would help you move a body and never question or judge. There are the friends who will always question or judge.
There are people who see you for who they think you are, and the people who see you for who you think you are.
And then, there are the people who see you for who you really are.
I want those to be my people.
When one of them knocks at 3 am, I’d be glad to let them in.
This post is dedicated to my amazing friend Adrienne Bolton, Author of The Mommy Mess and inspired by her post Lost in Translation. Because, “It’s not about the words we say, but how they make others feel.”