Chapter 66: My Second Dinner With Andrea, Part 3

“Lemme have it. After ‘gay first husband,’ I’m prepared for the rest.”                    

            “Ok. Try ‘perfect, beautiful, understanding, great father, accomplished attentive second husband,’” She paused. I waited for the shoe to drop.

            “And?”

            “And, that’s it.”

            “What did I miss? So far, so good. What happened?”           

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened. And that, my friend, is the problem.”

            Our server, with impeccable timing, swooped in and silently cleared our table. "Dessert?”

            Without asking what the menu held, Andrea answered an immediate, “Yes, please. Whatever has the most sugar and highest fat content. And please bring extra forks. I’ll be having the lion’s share of his.”

            “Like hell you will.” And to our server, “Can you possibly bring her two of whatever she’s having. I’ll have the alternate choice. Anything lemon.”

            “Southern Lemon Chess Pie. Very good.” Our server smiled knowingly, nodded and disappeared.

            “I’m on the Over-60 Diet. Heard of it? You’re allowed to gain up to 60 pounds over your ideal weight.”

            “Sounds wonderful. Let me know when you actually start, Drew. You look just like you did at graduation.”

            “Liar. But I appreciate the lie.” Coffee appeared. I stirred in cream and sugar.

            “I suppose I shouldn’t leave you hanging. About my husband.”

            “Burt.”

            “Yeah, Burt. You know on paper, it all looks so good, Drew. We’ve got good kids who turned into amazing adults. Aside from my appendectomy and Burt’s lousy knees, we’ve had our health. We’ve got the friends, the house I’d wanted since I escaped my Pepto-pink frilly childhood bedroom, the right cars, yard, dogs, the whole bit.”

            “Add a picket fence and you’d have my original plan.”

            “Why Drew Carter. Don’t tell me you had a plan? Not you, free-spirited, devil-may-care Drew?”            

            “Ok. Enough of the sarcasm. I wasn’t that rigid. I just followed the rules. Most of the time.” I smiled. “And yes I had a plan. The one I fought with for years. It had all the ‘stuff’ you’re talking about.”

            “Except for one thing.”

            “One big thing.”

            “Let me guess. The Plan didn’t allow for gay boys.”

            “Or gay girls for that matter.”

            “Heavens no. That would be unthinkable.” We both laughed this time.

            Andrea sighed. “And then you went and blew the whole thing out of the water by falling in love.”

            “Yeah.”

            “With yourself.”

            “Oh, yeah. And, by the way, that was a biggie.”

            “Lucky guy.”

            “I hope he thinks so.”

            “I meant you, Drew. Do you know what most people would give to even like themselves? I know I wrestle with that one. Especially lately.”

            “So you’re not feeling it so much these days?”                    

            Andrea smiled over her coffee cup. “Don’t play therapist with me, Drew. I’m too smart. I’ve had five years and counting of weekly sessions. I know therapy when I hear it.”

            “Damn. Busted. So, how ‘bout those Sonics? Think they have any chance for the championship this year?”

            “I actually follow the Sonics, so don’t drag them into this.” After signaling our server for more coffee, she continued. “I just wanted to take the temperature of this conversation. Too heavy?”

            “Are you kidding? This is a typical Tuesday session for me. Keep going.”

            “Ok. But you asked for it. So. The answer to your question is, no, I’m not liking myself so much these days.” Andrea paused, then forged ahead. “I moved out three months ago. Talk about a ‘plan.’ That was so not in my plan. Not in our plan. Drew, I hurt him so much.”

            “Go on.”

            “That’s all you’ve got, Drew? ‘Go on?’”

            Worried that I might be in over my head, and with Amelia’s lashing still fresh in my ears, I backed away. “Andy, look, I’m sorry. Maybe it’s force of habit. I respect that there’s so much I don’t know. Really difficult stuff for you to talk about. And, I’m speaking as your friend here—your old friend. I’m just sorry when life hands people—especially people I care about—the hard stuff. I don’t for one minute pretend that I can fix it. But if talking would help.”

            Dessert arrived.

            “Saved by the Belle.”

            “What?” Andy’s laugh broke the tension.

            “My dessert. It’s called the ‘Bama Belle,’ the chef’s version of lemon cheesecake. See?” I said, handing her the miniature desert menu.

            “We’re taking a sugar break. And then I intend to finish this absurd conversation. That is, if you can stand it.” And, true to form, she extended a fork toward the whipped cream border of my pie plate and asked, “Are you gonna eat that?”