S is that 13-year relationship from hell that ended in 1999. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. HOW did he get my number? I start having palpitations. I almost go into full-blown panic attack. WTF!? The only thing I can think of to do is text back: “Who?!” This seems to work because I don’t hear from him again. But I know him and I know I’ll hear from him again.
But there’s more!
My ex-husband, father of my son, calls later in the evening to go over our son’s week and weekend plans. He has been in one marriage and two serious relationships after me, but is now going through an extended dry spell. Does he take the time for self-reflection? No. “I need a favor,” he says. He proceeds to ask for relief sex, which is if either of us can’t get laid for whatever reason, the other will fill the void if possible. Neither of us has had to act on this since we split, but now he was asking. I said sure without a thought, but really, it all depends on what mood I’m in when he calls next week.
Then at 4:30 a.m. my phone rings. Shocked awake, I grab it and see A’s face. The arrogant dude from the hot-sheet motel. Incredulous, I answer. “A?”
“Hi.” his voice all low and murmur-y.
“What?” I’m confused.
“How are you?” He asks.
“I’m sleeping, what’s the matter?” I ask.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” he whispers.
“Listen, let me call you back later,” I say. Hurt me? What the hell?
I end the call and fall back into my pillows, thinking this guy gets more like S. every time I talk to him. S too had a penchant for middle of the night calls. Ugh, not this again, I think to myself.
Consumed by curiosity, I call A. back as I’m headed to work later Friday morning. of course he doesn’t pick up the phone or answer a text. Ok I’m done, I decide. I know this road and I’m not doing this.
Later in the day I hear from the Terminator, saying what a great time he had saying he went kind of hard the day before and wondering how I was doing. “Walking like a rag doll,” I replied. He wished me a good day but there was no mention of a repeat performance. We shall see.
Then this morning, two mysterious calls from a blocked number that I happened to miss because I was on the subway. Hmmm. And I finally called S. back later this morning a woman answered the phone. Of course. I pleaded a wrong number and hung up.
Then a couple of hours later, a call from A. “What are you doing now,” he asks.
“I’m picking up my son from soccer practice.”
“When do you drop him off?”
“I don’t drop him off, he lives with me.”
“So what are you doing tonight?”
“I don’t know yet, it’s too early.” Bullshit, I’m coloring my hair and giving myself a mani-pedi while I watch 48 hours Mystery. But that’s none of his business.
“What time will you be free?”
“Maybe after 8 o’clock.”
“I’ll call you and maybe we’ll do something.”
“Yeah. talk to you later.” He hangs up.
Needless to say, I’m not going anywhere with this asshole.
And I’m turning my phone off.
But the question remains, what the heck with all these calls after the Terminator?