people love me, I hope that would mean more than being nice and not throwing bombs at me. How much do you really love me, if you don’t actually care what the hell I do or think, even if it’s harmful? How much do I really love you, if I don’t care what the hell you do or think, even if it hurts you? Is that really love I’m feeling for you, or is it just…just…”
“Fondness,” interrupted Daniel, “for someone who indulges your self-love without giving you any trouble.” It would be hard to say whose mouth fell open the hardest—maybe a three-way tie between Joanie, Michelle, and me. Briefly his eyes met mine, and I couldn’t read his expression.
Michelle was done. “All I meant was I think it’s possible as a race to be humane and compassionate and loving without all the religious baggage,” she snapped.
“That would be a lovely development,” Joanie mused. “And since religion and old ways of thinking haven’t changed much about us as a race, I sure hope your stained glass will do the trick.”
“Should we get started on the cheesecake?” Phyl piped up hurriedly, when Michelle looked ready to blow. “I’ll get a pot of decaf on.”
Dessert marked a philosophical truce, and deliverance came shortly after: Dave and Sandy invoked the twelve-year-old babysitter and left at 8:30, with vague assurances on both sides to get together again soon; Roy and Joanie plopped on the couch to watch a movie; Phyl and I got the Scrabble board out; and Daniel and Michelle left to enjoy what Joanie called “second helpings of cheesecake.”
“I don’t think she liked getting into it with me,” Joanie remarked, trying to skip through the movie previews.
“Joanie, no one likes wrestling with their foundational beliefs like you do,” I said. “You thought you were having an intellectual discussion, but I think Michelle thought you were trying to attack her. You make everything a contact sport.”
“Oh!” Joanie exclaimed, genuinely surprised. “Well, it’ll be a good opportunity for her to practice her compassion and tolerance for me, then. I mean her love for me. It’ll make for better stained glass in the atrium.”
“I wanted to hear more about the stained glass, like what on earth transcendence looks like,” Phyl mourned, “but now it’ll be such a touchy subject I can’t bring it up anymore.”
“We’ll just have to go see it when it’s done,” Joanie said unfeelingly, “A little transcendence field trip.”
I couldn’t resist. “A—a—secular spirituality spree.”
“An out-of-body outing,” threw in Roy, to our delight.
“Think of the upside,” Joanie said, when we stopped laughing. “Maybe I’ve irritated her so much that she’ll dump Daniel before he can dump her.”
Chapter Eight: Icebreakers
A dog fell in our laps over the weekend.
When Phyl and her husband Jason divorced, there were no children to fight over, so they fought for custody of their apricot Labradoodle puppy, Benny. Like many a child of divorce, Benny shuttled back and forth, bewildered, alternate Saturdays, ears drooping as he listened to his “parents” argue over how best to raise him. Because Phyl and Jason wouldn’t bend to each other, Benny was faced with learning completely separate sets of commands, all of which he now obeyed imperfectly. With time their acrimony faded, however, and Phyl was willing to give up shared custody to move into the no-pets-allowed Palace, with the understanding that Benny could make the occasional brief visit.
Joanie and I cordially hated Jason for how he had treated Phyl, and I suspect the feeling was mutual, but we all managed polite small talk when he came by with the dog. Benny fell on the bigger, fleecier end of the Labradoodle spectrum, and he vaulted out of Jason’s sedan to leap up on each of us in turn, trying and mostly succeeding in getting in a good face lick.
“Down!” yelled Phyl. “Off!” barked Jason. Benny ignored both and wriggled and
“Fondness,” interrupted Daniel, “for someone who indulges your self-love without giving you any trouble.” It would be hard to say whose mouth fell open the hardest—maybe a three-way tie between Joanie, Michelle, and me. Briefly his eyes met mine, and I couldn’t read his expression.
Michelle was done. “All I meant was I think it’s possible as a race to be humane and compassionate and loving without all the religious baggage,” she snapped.
“That would be a lovely development,” Joanie mused. “And since religion and old ways of thinking haven’t changed much about us as a race, I sure hope your stained glass will do the trick.”
“Should we get started on the cheesecake?” Phyl piped up hurriedly, when Michelle looked ready to blow. “I’ll get a pot of decaf on.”
Dessert marked a philosophical truce, and deliverance came shortly after: Dave and Sandy invoked the twelve-year-old babysitter and left at 8:30, with vague assurances on both sides to get together again soon; Roy and Joanie plopped on the couch to watch a movie; Phyl and I got the Scrabble board out; and Daniel and Michelle left to enjoy what Joanie called “second helpings of cheesecake.”
“I don’t think she liked getting into it with me,” Joanie remarked, trying to skip through the movie previews.
“Joanie, no one likes wrestling with their foundational beliefs like you do,” I said. “You thought you were having an intellectual discussion, but I think Michelle thought you were trying to attack her. You make everything a contact sport.”
“Oh!” Joanie exclaimed, genuinely surprised. “Well, it’ll be a good opportunity for her to practice her compassion and tolerance for me, then. I mean her love for me. It’ll make for better stained glass in the atrium.”
“I wanted to hear more about the stained glass, like what on earth transcendence looks like,” Phyl mourned, “but now it’ll be such a touchy subject I can’t bring it up anymore.”
“We’ll just have to go see it when it’s done,” Joanie said unfeelingly, “A little transcendence field trip.”
I couldn’t resist. “A—a—secular spirituality spree.”
“An out-of-body outing,” threw in Roy, to our delight.
“Think of the upside,” Joanie said, when we stopped laughing. “Maybe I’ve irritated her so much that she’ll dump Daniel before he can dump her.”
Chapter Eight: Icebreakers
A dog fell in our laps over the weekend.
When Phyl and her husband Jason divorced, there were no children to fight over, so they fought for custody of their apricot Labradoodle puppy, Benny. Like many a child of divorce, Benny shuttled back and forth, bewildered, alternate Saturdays, ears drooping as he listened to his “parents” argue over how best to raise him. Because Phyl and Jason wouldn’t bend to each other, Benny was faced with learning completely separate sets of commands, all of which he now obeyed imperfectly. With time their acrimony faded, however, and Phyl was willing to give up shared custody to move into the no-pets-allowed Palace, with the understanding that Benny could make the occasional brief visit.
Joanie and I cordially hated Jason for how he had treated Phyl, and I suspect the feeling was mutual, but we all managed polite small talk when he came by with the dog. Benny fell on the bigger, fleecier end of the Labradoodle spectrum, and he vaulted out of Jason’s sedan to leap up on each of us in turn, trying and mostly succeeding in getting in a good face lick.
“Down!” yelled Phyl. “Off!” barked Jason. Benny ignored both and wriggled and
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