The Third heart
She crossed the street and there he was. All dressed up, here on business, out with work, doing his thing, glad handing, networking, seeing and being seen. All the way from the other side of the country, he appears. No note, no text, no call. It was last minute, he says. I had no plans until I had plans. Plans that glaringly lacked inclusion of her on any level. They're not friends. Barely acquaintances. They were lovers; complicated emotionally, different levels of involvement and ability, desire to engage. She says hello. He's affable, his polite self, distant and guarded but never leads the conversation, remains firmly in response mode so in effect, unaccountable. Controlling, in his way. Wouldn't want to get emotional. Doesn't offer himself up nor make an effort to make time or space for her while he's here. Clear as a bell. She gathered he wasn't planning a call, she says. He counters with I figured you'd gather that. He offers up aphorisms of do yourse...