She’s still in Florida.” He turned to Web. “She sends her sympathy.”
Web responded with a nod. “And how’s the vacation going?” Web asked carefully. Gillian’s ex-husband was celebrating the holidays with her and their children—under the same roof—at her parents’ condo in Boca Raton. When they’d spoken about it last week, Tim had tried to downplay his concern about this arrangement, but Web knew his friend well enough to know he was troubled by it.
“I trust her,” Tim shrugged.
Web could hear both uncertainty and wistfulness in his friend’s voice, an indication that Tim wasn’t as blasé about the relationship as he tried to appear. In spite of Tim’s intention to forever remain a bachelor, over the past few months, Web had witnessed the growing love and longing in his friend’s face whenever he talked about Gillian. He’d been wondering whose wedding he’d attend next, Tim’s or Beth’s.
“But you wish you didn’t have to,” Web observed. He waited a beat before adding, “Sounds like you feel a little more than you’re admitting.”
Tim let out a gruff laugh. “You may be right. But it’s way too early for me to even think about where this relationship might be headed,” he said, in an effort to change the direction of the conversation.
“I heard from Justine this morning,” Web said, pulling his wallet from his pocket to retrieve a couple of quarters for the parking meter. They were almost at the restaurant.
“Oh, God,” Tim said. “What now?”
Web laughed. Since the breakup two months ago, he and Tim had been referring to Web’s ex-girlfriend as “The one that wouldn’t go away.” Web had made it clear that their relationship was over and that there was no chance his feelings would ever change, but Justine was still calling and e-mailing him weekly, insisting they could make it work. Web had responded by screening his calls and deleting her emails, but occasionally he found himself running into her at a restaurant or club. This was especially awkward when he happened to be on a date. Their most recent encounter had been downright embarrassing. Justine had approached his table and after he’d introduced her to his date as his “friend,” Justine had sneered that Web had a lot of friends. That night he found a sobbing voice mail message from her apologizing. Lotta of good that had done. His date hadn’t returned any of his calls.
“This time she was just calling to offer her condolences,” he told Tim. “She heard about the”—it was so hard for him to say the word—“ murders on the news.”
Tim paused. “That’s all?” he said, after a moment. “She didn’t remind you that life is short and beg you to get back together and give her a baby?”
“Ah, but life is short,” Web said, looking away.
“I’m sorry, Buddy, I didn’t mean to put it that way,” Tim said apologetically. “I was just making a joke. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay, Tim,” Web said. “I know what you meant.” A moment later, he began chuckling. “Maybe you should consider stand-up,” he told Tim. “You sounded exactly like Justine.”
Even as he laughed, Web cringed at the memory of how the relationship had ended. He and Justine had been dating for four or five months, and one Sunday she’d come over to his apartment after having spent the weekend in Connecticut with her sister, who was married with three kids under the age of ten. “I’m exhausted,” she’d said, throwing her coat over a chair and plopping down on the couch. But her eyes were alive with excitement, belying her claims of fatigue. She added, “But I had such an amazing time!”
“Tell me about it,” Web had encouraged, bringing her a glass of wine and joining her on the couch. He’d been happy to see her. He’d worked all weekend to close a high-stakes deal and was badly in need of some female attention.
She’d tucked her feet under her body and taken a sip of wine. “On
Web responded with a nod. “And how’s the vacation going?” Web asked carefully. Gillian’s ex-husband was celebrating the holidays with her and their children—under the same roof—at her parents’ condo in Boca Raton. When they’d spoken about it last week, Tim had tried to downplay his concern about this arrangement, but Web knew his friend well enough to know he was troubled by it.
“I trust her,” Tim shrugged.
Web could hear both uncertainty and wistfulness in his friend’s voice, an indication that Tim wasn’t as blasé about the relationship as he tried to appear. In spite of Tim’s intention to forever remain a bachelor, over the past few months, Web had witnessed the growing love and longing in his friend’s face whenever he talked about Gillian. He’d been wondering whose wedding he’d attend next, Tim’s or Beth’s.
“But you wish you didn’t have to,” Web observed. He waited a beat before adding, “Sounds like you feel a little more than you’re admitting.”
Tim let out a gruff laugh. “You may be right. But it’s way too early for me to even think about where this relationship might be headed,” he said, in an effort to change the direction of the conversation.
“I heard from Justine this morning,” Web said, pulling his wallet from his pocket to retrieve a couple of quarters for the parking meter. They were almost at the restaurant.
“Oh, God,” Tim said. “What now?”
Web laughed. Since the breakup two months ago, he and Tim had been referring to Web’s ex-girlfriend as “The one that wouldn’t go away.” Web had made it clear that their relationship was over and that there was no chance his feelings would ever change, but Justine was still calling and e-mailing him weekly, insisting they could make it work. Web had responded by screening his calls and deleting her emails, but occasionally he found himself running into her at a restaurant or club. This was especially awkward when he happened to be on a date. Their most recent encounter had been downright embarrassing. Justine had approached his table and after he’d introduced her to his date as his “friend,” Justine had sneered that Web had a lot of friends. That night he found a sobbing voice mail message from her apologizing. Lotta of good that had done. His date hadn’t returned any of his calls.
“This time she was just calling to offer her condolences,” he told Tim. “She heard about the”—it was so hard for him to say the word—“ murders on the news.”
Tim paused. “That’s all?” he said, after a moment. “She didn’t remind you that life is short and beg you to get back together and give her a baby?”
“Ah, but life is short,” Web said, looking away.
“I’m sorry, Buddy, I didn’t mean to put it that way,” Tim said apologetically. “I was just making a joke. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay, Tim,” Web said. “I know what you meant.” A moment later, he began chuckling. “Maybe you should consider stand-up,” he told Tim. “You sounded exactly like Justine.”
Even as he laughed, Web cringed at the memory of how the relationship had ended. He and Justine had been dating for four or five months, and one Sunday she’d come over to his apartment after having spent the weekend in Connecticut with her sister, who was married with three kids under the age of ten. “I’m exhausted,” she’d said, throwing her coat over a chair and plopping down on the couch. But her eyes were alive with excitement, belying her claims of fatigue. She added, “But I had such an amazing time!”
“Tell me about it,” Web had encouraged, bringing her a glass of wine and joining her on the couch. He’d been happy to see her. He’d worked all weekend to close a high-stakes deal and was badly in need of some female attention.
She’d tucked her feet under her body and taken a sip of wine. “On