A female friend I had known for 21 years called out of the blue to have coffee. We had not seen each other since the pandemic. I was 60, she was 63, her husband was 72. We had worked together in various ways over the years. I had met her husband a few times. We even ran into each other in the Hamptons one summer. Her husband owned a shipping company. We got along fine.
She and I used to talk on the phone about news and movies. I was comfortable with her because she had been with her husband since she was 16.
We met at a bagel deli in Manhattan. We hugged, exchanged pleasantries, asked about each other’s families. She said everyone was fine.
After about 30 minutes she asked, “Why are you still single?”
I thought she knew, but I said it anyway. “I am not going through that again. Women hate men.”
She replied with the standard line, “You just picked the wrong women.”
I told her, “I picked the wrong women. My neighbors picked the wrong women. My family picked the wrong women. My friends, classmates, coworkers, all picked the wrong women. Everyone is picking the wrong women, but the women are never wrong for their actions. Besides, I do not have the money, knowledge, energy, patience, or time to make a woman happy.”
She snickered. “Don’t be silly. You need to open your mind. I heard you are doing well for yourself. It is not hard to make a woman happy.”
I snapped. “I will not provide for and protect another woman who has backstabbed all of her previous men, only to backstab me for doing the same. I will not be used again.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you will find someone you fall in love with. It’s just a matter of time.”
My anger grew. I told her, “I have loved many women and been betrayed every time. I want a woman to pick me because I am the right one. I want her to love me. I want her to reach into her pockets and buy me a car, a watch, and a dinner or two. What woman, with no history of loyalty or respect, should I devote my life and earnings to protect? All I am offered now is a position of servitude as mom’s boyfriend or grandma’s boyfriend. I will not provide for another man’s wife or raise another man’s child.”
She brushed it off. “That’s dumb. You’re paranoid. Not all women are out to get you. You need a loving woman beside you.”
I wondered why she was pushing so hard. I told her bluntly, “Let’s get off the subject. I don’t want to talk about it. If we keep talking about this, I will leave. I don’t want to offend you, but if you continue, I will have no choice.”
She got the message. We changed the subject for about 10 minutes. Then she checked her watch, said she had to go. I walked her to her building, gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and apologized for my tone.
Three weeks later, she called me crying. Her husband was in the hospital and might not make it. I tried to console her. She said he had pancreatic cancer and may not have long. Then she told me he had been admitted to the hospital about a month ago.
In case you missed it, here is the timeline: her husband went into the hospital. Three weeks later she met me, told me everyone was fine, then tried to sell me on getting a companion. One week later she called with the news.
She never realized what she had admitted. That was months ago. I am sure her husband has passed. She has not called me about it since. While he was in the hospital, she was hunting for her next provider. Maybe she found him.
No comments:
Post a Comment