The caveman part of me—hell, all of me—loves that she thinks I’m good-looking. I feel a little bit like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer did when Clarice told him he was cute. I could go skipping and jumping and flying into the air. She thinks I’m cute, she thinks I’m cuuuuuuuuuuute.
But I can’t say that aloud, for fuck’s sake.
In fact, I’d like to slap my brain for suggesting that Rudolph the fucking Red-Nosed Reindeer and I have anything in common.
I’m not Rudolph.
I’m Iron Man.
I’m impervious to Lulu.
I’m stoic and tough as motherfucking nails.
Just to prove it, I reply to Dean’s how is Lulu question with a curt great.
I exit the park, slowing to a fast walk as I hit the cobbled sidewalk.
Dean: She’s great, as in a great conversationalist? Great contortionist? Great lady? Great time? Elaborate, mate. You’re killing me.
Leo: Great friend.
As I weave past fellow New Yorkers speed-walking to work, I stare at that lie.
The last time I felt anything for Lulu, there was no one I could turn to, so I choked down all my emotions. I didn’t utter a word of my feelings to anyone until much later on, when I vomited up the pathetic truth to Dean one night over beer at a hockey game.
As that memory rises, another one does too—telling Dean helped me breathe again. To unknot the noose of emotion around my neck.
I want to move forward, not backward.
Reaching the corner, I tap out a text.
Leo: Actually . . . let me be brutally honest. I meant, great in the sense that . . . hell. You know what I mean.
My phone rings instantly.
Dean wastes no time. “Where is this coming from?” His tone is earnest, thoughtful. It reminds me that maybe I don’t need to process these new twists alone.
Besides, just because I once had monster feelings for Lulu doesn’t mean that these new ones are poised to become the same size. Hell, this pitter-patter of emotions is merely a petering-out tropical storm, a category-five hurricane that’s been downgraded multiple times.
“We just . . . we spent a little time together. Had dinner with her mom.”
“Oh. Dinner with the mum.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“But is it? Is it really no big deal? Time hasn’t entirely erased the way you feel for her.”
“It has,” I insist as I try to sort out the remains of the storm. “It’s different now.”
“It’s different because she’s actually single.”
She’s been single for a few years now. She wasn’t always married to Tripp.
16LULU
Three years ago
When I left for work on a warm April morning, I reminded Tripp it was a half day for me. “Don’t forget to meet me at the eye doctor this afternoon for my Lasik appointment.”
“I will be there to service all of your needs, my lady.”
“Mostly you just need to sign me out so I’m not stuck spending the night there.”
“No soon-to-be-eagle-eyed wife of mine will spend the night stuck in a Lasik surgery center.”
Tripp met me in Midtown that afternoon and was with me when I checked in, signing the requisite form that he’d be there to take me home too.
The surgeon was running behind. Tripp said he was going to grab a coffee while they gave me new eyes.
I encouraged him to get a cup. He was antsy and easily distracted. He kissed me goodbye, said he’d be back in no time, and joked that he’d be even better looking when I had my new eyesight.
The procedure began late. It ended after six.
He wasn’t in the waiting room.
Embarrassment clung to me like bad perfume. They wouldn’t let me leave alone. The nurses kept asking if anyone else could take me home.
“I’ll get a cab.”
