It seems like this week has gone on for six months.
Everyone remains dazed by the loss of our coworker. I suspect it will take another week for a new normal to begin to settle in. I have started to get phone calls, some related to work and others that are personal, seeking information about the services or whatnot.
I had lunch with a group of friends I used to work with. There are seven of us who get together a few times a year to catch up on things. I like everyone in this group, although to be honest it took about a year to get to that point. My old workplace was quite dysfunctional. By the end bridges were going up in flames right and left. For the first year I made sure I sat far from those I didn’t want to talk to. By the second year I decided to let the hard feelings go. Now I rather enjoy getting updates. Sometimes people are completely different when they’re away from work, and it’s good to be reminded of that.
One person in the group—Nancy—still works with the woman whose retirement party I’m going to on Saturday. She told Nancy about running into me and my boyfriend at the retirement reception I went to with Blaine. “Who is he?” Nancy asked. Everyone seemed to hear her even though no one had been paying attention to our conversation prior. This time I didn’t mind talking about it. It’s no longer new and it isn’t as fragile as it seemed to me to be.
I saw Blaine tonight. He stopped by on his way home from work. We both sort of collapsed in a schlumpy heap on the couch and slowly perked up over the next hour. He’s been telling me about something he’s working on and shared the latest. I talked to him about the things that have been on my mind this week related to my coworker’s death. (At the moment, I don't feel comfortable providing details here.) Just getting the words said aloud helped. I’ve talked to Mica about it but somehow talking to Blaine too brought an added measure of relief.
He listens, which is different from those boyfriends in my past who would have viewed this sort of conversation as a necessary evil to be endured for the shortest period possible. I don’t think Blaine looks at it that way. He engages. He gives thoughtful consideration to what’s said, asks questions that sometimes help him understand the situation and sometimes help me consider another angle.
Tonight when Blaine stopped by I was just starting an episode of the “Great British Baking Show,” a favorite of mine and the only show related to cooking I enjoy. He stayed to watch the episode (pies!) with me after confirming, “There are no costumes, right?” He’s under the impression that the British only export period dramas. (I have a secret plan to get him hooked on “Poldark” this fall. Not a plan as much as a scheme to take advantage of these early days of infatuation.)
“I would offer you supper but the truth is I have nothing.” I haven’t felt like cooking so this week has been all about peanut butter toast and a banana for dessert.
“Should I be worried about you?” he asked.
“Nope. This is normal.”
He made a sound that wasn't exactly a laugh. “‘Normal’ might be a stretch.”
Neither of us felt like going out, and pizza delivery didn’t sound good either, so he left me to have a toasted bagel and he went home to leftover roast.
It’s probably time that I get better at being an adult.
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