asked.
"Uh," I said, caught off guard. Why would she even ask me that? Did she know something I didn't know she knew? I fell back on a safe, "What?"
"Why is it," Linn said, "that guys always have so much trouble talking about whether other guys are hot? You don't ever see women having this problem. I can tell you five gorgeous women I'd go gay for right now."
She reeled off her list, which I could find no fault with.
"Yup," I agreed. "If I were you, I would also have no problem going gay for them."
She frowned at my circumvention attempt. "Do you have a picture of this guy? I will tell you objectively whether he is cute, and then when this comes up again, you can save yourself all that spluttering."
"Linnea," I said, in my most reasonable voice, "you're the only person I know who would ever ask me if some guy I met on vacation and will never see again is cute."
"Then you need better friends in your life," she said, mimicking my tone.
"You're all the friend I need," I said, overflowing with saccharin. "Hey, how's Clark doing?"
"My dearest hubby is great, thanks for asking," she said brightly. "And if he were party to this conversation, I think he'd agree with me that it's so cute how you're obviously trying to change the subject."
I grimaced minutely at the webcam, really not wanting to get into it. "Most people would be polite enough to let the subject change."
"Excuse me, did you just compare me to most people? You take that back," she said.
"Come over here and make me."
Linn snickered. "Okay, look, I'm not going to pry, even though you know I'm dying to. But if, whenever, you want to talk about it, I'm just a Skype button away."
My irritation melted away. I didn't want to talk about it, but it was nice to have the option. "I know," I said.
She smiled, reassuring even from three thousand miles away. "Good. So, what the hell is up with this thing? Are those tentacles?" she said, moving right along to another picture. "Did you actually eat this? It looks awesome."
We finished up the album and talked a little bit more about inconsequential things, my mind only half on the conversation.
I did actually want to tell somebody about Nate, about how crazy and unexpected it had all been, about how well we had seemed to fit together. But what would be the point? Whatever I was feeling now or might feel in the future didn't matter because I was never going to see him again.
And then there was a part of me that was afraid of voicing any of it at all. Once I hung real words on it, I wouldn't be able to take it back. I liked Nate. Some part of me that wasn't occupied with licking my wounds probably still loved Michelle.
Where did that leave me?
***
The remainder of my weekend was spent first calling my parents to assure them that I was alive, and then scrawling as many thank-you cards as I could get through without wanting to throw my fountain pen out the window. It seemed a bit unfair that on top of being the one left, I also had to be the one relegated to the task of writing things like:
Dear Aunt Patty,
Thank you for coming to be a part of what definitely ranks in the top five worst days of my life. While your generosity is much appreciated, I am returning this gift, as forced bachelorhood necessitates total abstinence from bamboo placemats and matching napkin rings in my daily life.
Sincerely, Emory
Too much?
Hal came over to pick up the gifts that could be dropped off locally, and did exactly that, saving me the trouble and embarrassment of showing up at my relatives' houses myself. The rest I had to haul over to the post office, single-handedly saving the United States Postal Service from bankruptcy with the shipping costs alone.
That done, Hal came back with a six-pack, and we watched a soccer match on TV for the rest of the evening. Despite us exchanging probably no more than two nonsoccer-related words, I felt better for having him around.
We had treaded the sticky waters of middle school together, as unlikely of friends as we