Post-Constance, everything that happens to me is filtered through the lens of me losing her. Time and everything that happens has either a pre or post-Constance tint. I don’t imagine this makes me endearing. The past is a porcelain glass destined to break. The present is the shards I’m brushing together, trying not to harm others with my fallout.
I had the opportunity to go out with two of my dear friends, Emmy and Rob. They’re a hysterical comedy team. Emmy always finds brilliant new places to visit to eat. She really should be working for Zagat or Time Out Chicago. We enjoyed a lovely lunch and caught up. When the waitress brought the check, Emmy did what she always does, which is try to steal it away and pay for it. Civility be damned, I yelled, “Oh no, I’m not letting you buy me a pity lunch!” Emmy pled, “It’s not pity. I’m just trying to be nice.” That was true; she always offers to buy my food. Rob said, “I like everything about eating with both of you except the fight about who’s going to pay.” The waitress and the gawkers at the adjacent table seemed to be taking Rob’s side. In retrospect, what I should have said was, “Thank you for the generous offer but I insist on paying for myself.”