You Say it Best When You Say Nothing At All

So, the phone rings and I pick up to the sound of male static.  A slightly familiar voice asks, “Is Eva there?” Helpful Mom that I am I say,

“Oh Hi Marc, I’ll check.” I hear the thunder of footsteps coming upstairs and suddenly a frantic mime bursts into the living room gesticulating in an obvious “I’m not here” poise. I stare at her and then look at the number on the caller ID. Her acting skills and the absence of Marc’s name in the message window of the land line bring me to the realization that the person I have just spoken to is assuredly not Marc but some love struck male whose ardor is not reciprocated.  I sit frozen with the phone pressed against my chest watching her as she parodies various excuses. That one must be she’s at the gym, and I think that one is washing her hair, and that one, wait, we don’t even have a dog.

Two can play this game and I indicate in sign language that I know how to handle it.  I put the receiver back to my ear, “Oh, I’m sorry, who am I talking to?”

“This is Adam,” says the artificially cheerful voice on the phone.

“Oh, Hi Adam, so nice to hear from you. Let me go downstairs and check on her.” I muffle the phone on my chest again as she dances in front of me with excuses. I have not been the mother of a beautiful daughter all these years for nothing.  I count to 100 and then with that fake smile in my voice I lie to the nice young man who brought my daughter flowers in 10^th grade, got teased for the pairing of their names together (look, it’s Adam and Eva! Giggle giggle), and apparently never got over his first love.

“Adam,” I say to the man who knows I’m lying, “ I checked downstairs and she’s not there (of course that is true because she’s standing right in front of me). She may have gone to the gym. I saw her about an hour ago (again, true).  I know my husband went this evening. I should be there myself, but I was feeling lazy. “ Adam laughs uncomfortably right along with me.  “I’ll have her call you.” Now, it’s not really a lie if both people know it, right?

We say our goodbyes and the girl says to me, “I felt like I was running in a movie slow motion up the steps to tell you not to answer the phone,” There were a few explanation points in her sentence too. It was very well punctuated in fact.

“Maybe you should tell him you’re just not that into him,” I suggest.  She laughs with me at the Sex in the City reference and then she sinks down on the sofa with a sigh. “This has been the most awful day,” says the girl. I know how her day went and she’s right.  We have become unusually close this year, both working for the same company. We talk about the politics of our jobs too much, but we have already agreed that there will be no more shoptalk today.

“Well, It’s going to get better soon. If he calls back I will tell him you’re away for Valentine’s weekend with your new boyfriend.  That should take care of things.”

She takes a minute for regret, for youthful heartaches, for the ones she left behind, but only a minute. “That might be best. I just don’t want to have to explain it to him again.”

I should not be partner in her deception but I know too much not to sympathize. She ran into her high school crush last year, between trains. She was in pain and she clung to him very briefly, cried tears over the recent loss in her life, and then she moved on. She tried to tell him, but he only heard what he wanted to hear.  So here it is, Valentine’s Day upon us with Adam’s heart broken and Eva’s totally mended.

It has been a long time since I was puppy dog in love, but I remember it very well. It tastes like chocolate mixed with rainbow and it is as rare as a total eclipse of the sun. Even though you know the feeling is transient, you want to keep gazing into it until it burns your eyes out with its fury. Sometimes we’re lucky that when the world grows light again and the chickens come down off their perches, the feeling grows into something less exhilarating, but more solid and lasting.  For all of you in any stage of love today consider yourself blessed. For those of you who like Adam are nursing a broken heart on this bittersweet red-letter day, my momentary condolences. I have no advice for you except to remember that reason and love are natural adversaries and it’s a good day to do something stupid. If it doesn’t work out there will still be half price heart shaped boxes of chocolate tomorrow. XOXOXO