She knew he was a good man, for reasons she could probably list if she had the time and inclination to sit and list them, but the reason she could always give if she thought anyone would understand was that he’d once patted her butt and been shocked and dismayed by the action. The look on his face and his stammering were all the proof she needed that he was a good man. Although a bit more explanation could help those who weren’t there and might not otherwise understand.

The thing was: he was her step-dad. Normally you hear of a step-dad patting a teenagers posterior and you think: disgusting, abuser, rapist. And all for good reason. The thing was, he had done it reflexively, out of habit, because that’s what he did to his wife, her mom. It was his silent and gentle, “I love you,” given usually when she was in the act of doing something that showed her love and appreciation for him: making dinner, bringing him a cup of tea, covering him with a blanket when it was chilly. A soft pat, pat, pat on her rump.

The night he patted her they were all three in the kitchen making dinner together. Rather than have one cook in the kitchen responsible for the whole shebang, they’d divvied up the chore such that he was making the main course, her mom was making the salad, and she was making the veggie side dish. They were all talking about their day, and she had gone to fetch her parents each a glass of wine. She gave her mother hers first and earned a “thank you, sweetie,” and hug for her efforts. She’d taken the other glass to her step-dad next and he’d said, “mmm,” taking a sip, “thank you,” and then patted her butt.

Everyone froze. He immediately began to turn red and apologize and then stammer through something that sounded somewhat like, “I didn’t mean…was that…I don’t know….” Before he started sweating too profusely she and her mother, both looking at each other the entire time a question in one another’s eyes, began to smile and laugh. “Was that okay? Is it okay to do that?” he finally asked. Mother and daughter looking at one another still, replied together with identical shrugs. “I guess so,” she said. “I think it’s okay,” her mother said.

Despite their affirmations that they both understood completely that there was nothing sexual or untoward meant by the gesture, despite their affirmations that they both knew he was simply using the only sweet and loving gesture he’d ever learned in a habitual manner on the incorrect recipient. Despite it all, he never once repeated the gesture. It had embarrassed him, shaken him to the core. The very idea of himself being seen or thought of as anything other than a good man was more than he could handle.

And while she was perfectly okay with it, aside from the fact that it was awkward because she understood that the gesture on it’s own could be construed as sexually intimate despite knowing wholeheartedly that it was not meant that way when done to her, she was also sad and relieved that it never happened again. She knew he loved her like a daughter. She knew he would do anything for her, just as he would for his biological children. She knew. And she knew he was a good man. Still. It had been nice for just a moment to know that she had received a token of his affection that his biological children never had. She had been treated extra special, just once. Even if it was comical and accidental.

It was not an event she could tell anyone about though. She knew that without anyone having to tell her. Not that her mother or step-dad would tell her she couldn’t talk about it, or imply that, or in any way ask her to keep it secret. They were good people. And despite it’s lack of sexual meaning, she knew that she could never tell someone “he’s a good man because he once patted my butt and was mortified,” because they wouldn’t understand. They might say, “oh my gosh, that’s too funny,” or they might say, “wait, he did what?” or they might say, “are you sure you’re okay with it?” But what they’d really be saying, what she knew they were really thinking was, “that’s dirty and I bet it’s just a matter of time before he tries something else.”

Which is why when she walked out of her room naked to go to the bathroom on a weekend when she thought she’d heard her parents leave for breakfast, and instead ran into her step-dad fixing the leaky sink faucet she’d been begging him to fix for weeks, and it was her turn to be completely mortified. She was also even more sure that this was a story she could never share either because people would say things like, “oh my god, I would just die of embarrassment,” or maybe, “dude, that’s super awkward, what the hell were you doing walking around the house naked?” or maybe, “wait, you did what?” But what they’d really be saying, what she knew they were really thinking was “that’s dirty and I told you it was a matter of time before he’d try something else.”

It wouldn’t matter that when she realized he was there she immediately “eep”-ed, turned around, and flew back into her room, slamming the door behind her, turning bright red and leaning her back against the door, her head hanging down in shame. It wouldn’t matter that he stood in the bathroom for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to say before walking towards her door (not too close), and saying, “hey, you know, it’s no big deal. I didn’t see anything. I should have warned you I was down here. That faucet is fixed now. I’m going back upstairs. It’s really no big deal,” and then walking up the stairs and away from the red-hot shame she knew could be felt for a mile around her person.

She knew he was a good man. She knew she could explain how she knew that if she was given enough time, but it would be things like, “he’s thoughtful about birthday and Christmas gifts,” and “he always asks if I need any money when I go out with friends,” and “he says I can call anytime for anything if I don’t feel safe or I need help,” and everyone would nod at those things and think “yeah, he’s a good guy, I guess. I mean, those are things a good guy would do.” But they wouldn’t really get it. They wouldn’t really know deep in their bones that he was a good guy. Because she’d never be able to explain it. No one would understand. But he was a good guy.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

She was so in love with him. It had only been a few months, but she’d fallen hard. She had all these rules in her head that she tried to live by when it came to love, rules created from past experiences where things had gone wrong and she’d decided to learn from her mistakes rather than repeat them. So even though it had only been a few months, and even though she’d fallen hard, she tried to keep perspective. She told her best friend all about him, of course. “Have you told him you loved him?” her friend asked.

Rule #1: Never Fall In Love Before Dating a Minimum of Six Months

She knew within two weeks that this man would be trouble for her rules. He was all the things she’d decided she needed in a man, and so many things she wasn’t sure she could handle. They met every single evening for dinner and drinks, their dogs by their sides on the patio. They discussed everything from religion and politics to children and retirement. They were so in sync with one another, even when they disagreed, that she began to understand why people wanted to marry their best friends. In a way, he was her new best friend. But not really, because she still went home and told her actual best friend more about him. “When are you moving in together?” her friend asked.

Rule #2: Never Think You Know a Man Before Living With Him a Minimum of Six Months

They decided to move in together, why not? They spent so much time together anyway, it was a logical next step. They discussed their respective separate spaces and chose to live in hers. They went through their respective separate spaces and decided which of their things they’d live with and which of their things they’d put in storage (they kept his bed, her couch, his coffee table, and her dishes). They were now able to have even more sex, which they both considered a bonus. Now there were opportunities in the morning upon waking, at lunch time if they could both make it home in time, the regular pre-bed sex, and of course all kinds of extra sex on the weekends and in the occasional middle of the night when one or the other had gotten up to pee in the freezing cold and they snuggled up together to warm back up. They were madly in love and after only four months felt they’d lived together forever and also like they’d wasted so much time not moving in sooner. “When are you getting married?” her friend asked.

Rule #3: Never Get Married

Every married couple she knew was miserable with very few exceptions and she could count those on one hand. She came from a “broken home” and so did he. They agreed neither one had any intention to get married. And that was that. But as the years passed and their love only deepened one or the other would occasionally remark upon why they weren’t married. The idea that getting married would automatically mean they’d begin to take one another for granted, or that their sex life would immediately cease, began to seem ridiculous. Marriage as an institution doesn’t mean any of those things, it’s the people behind the marriage and whether or not they can maintain appreciation for one another. They were married a month later. “When are you having kids?” her friend asked.

Rule #4: Never Have Children

They’d discussed kids enough times while dating. They both wanted them but were also afraid. Everyone they knew with kids never slept, had sex, or seemed to love each other anymore; their lives were all about their kids. And maybe that’s how it has to be in the beginning especially, with young children, but they didn’t want that. They debated and decided to leave it up to nature to decide. They stopped using protection and were pregnant within a month. It was fast. Perhaps a bit too fast. But they were both thrilled, reveling in the idea of a family, old traditions they could continue, new traditions they could create, the type of parents they wanted to be, the possibilities for who their child would be. They were confident they would do things better, different, they wouldn’t let their relationship fall to the child executioner. “Are you going to have time for me?” her friend asked.

Rule #5: Never Lose Sight of Your Friends

Anytime people start new relationships they seem to lose their friendships. It’s the excitement of someone new, the thrill of spending as much time as possible with this new potential mate, friends tend to fall by the wayside. It happens. But she’d refused to let it happen to her after it happened that first time. She’d learned her lesson. She always had time for her best friend, or made time. With the birth of her first child she completely lost track of days, weeks, months, a year. Her time was taken entirely by the little life she’d created and now nourished and bathed and clothed and held. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d seen her bestie, hadn’t even considered that it had been a year, until she realized it had. She celebrated her child’s first birthday and the very next day called her friend. “You’ve survived! Are you divorced yet?” she asked.

Rule #6: If You Have to Separate Keep it Amicable

They wanted different things. He wanted sex every day and weekends with his buddies down at the lake. She wanted someone to take the baby for an hour everyday and someone to share the cooking. They’d fought about these things multiple times and finally decided they didn’t want to reconcile. They preferred to go their separate ways rather than try to repair the road they’d been travelling together. And so they got divorced. The most amicable divorce anyone had ever heard of: they treated one another the way they wanted to be treated, splitting custody fairly down the middle, splitting their assets fairly down the middle, agreeing to an every-other-holiday schedule rather than trying to split holidays in half. They’d long ago sold everything they had in storage so they decided who would take what (he kept the bed, she kept the couch, he kept the coffee table, and she kept the dishes). They sold the house. “Let’s go out this weekend,” her friend said.

Rule #7: Never Go Back

Their separation was so well executed that they began to wonder why they separated at all. They still loved each other, especially as they spent time apart, and time with their child who was so much each of them it was maddening. Perhaps they’d rushed into the divorce. But she’d learned from the past: never go back because there’s a reason it didn’t work the first time and that reason is still there. When it was her weekend without their child she spent time with her bestie. When it was her weekend with her child she spent time being the best parent she could be. She began meeting new people by virtue of her new free half-time, new parents, new single parents, new single men. She even dated a few times, but no one that measured up to her ex-husband, no one who could be half the father to her child that he was. “You just need to sleep with someone else,” her friend said.

Rule #8: Never Sleep With Someone To Get Over Someone

She was wrong. All wrong about rule #8. She ended up having a few too many drinks with a single dad friend and one thing led to another. The next thing she knew she’d had sex. With someone other than her husband. For the first time in years. It was a revelation. It was also awkward, and sloppy, and not actually the best ever, but it was also different and freeing and somehow snapped the anchor keeping her from moving on. She was suddenly free to see all the ways that her new life afforded her the things she’d been wanting or needing but hadn’t been able to vocalize. She saw clearly that what she wanted was exactly what she now had: half-time freedom. She could be the very best parent she could possibly be for half the time and the other half of the time she could read with abandon, fix popcorn and a glass of wine for dinner, and binge watch television, all with no repercussions. This was the life she’d never knew she always wanted, and now she had it.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

The invitation could not have arrived at a worse time, or a better time, depending on how you looked at it. It marked one year since she’d left a nearly ten-year relationship, with a mound of debt (now paid off in full with the exception of her car payment), turned thirty, and moved in with her parents (how else could she have paid off a mound of debt in a year?). In the meantime, she’d made absolutely no progress on buying a house, and no progress on finding a new mate. Receiving an invitation to a wedding was a kick in the teeth, an invite to a destination wedding meant it was slightly less-so.

It was odd to receive the invitation at all. Since they’d been roommates in college, the ladies hadn’t connected more than once in real life and rarely spoke on social media or via text or email. At first she felt it was a pretty clear case of being invited to ensure another item on the registry was purchased. The more she thought about it though, the more she decided that perhaps this was her feeling sorry for herself and not the truth of the matter which is that they had been relatively close in college, they had tried to keep in touch, and they’d been close during a pretty traumatic event which tends to breed a closeness that otherwise wouldn’t exist. She took the invitation in hand, re-read it, and decided to sleep on it.

The next morning she woke to the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the wall: her parents were awake. The reminder that she was once again living with her parents was all she needed to pick up the invitation and check the yes box. If nothing else it would be a weekend away from her life in a state she’d never been to and maybe she’d even get laid (that happened at weddings, right?). She dropped the accepted invitation in the mail on her way to work and bought a gift online during her lunch break, that night after work she went online and arranged her flight and her hotel room. Then she settled in to wait the four months until the wedding.

When she arrived at the airport four months later there was a shuttle waiting to take her to the hotel. She collected her bag and enjoyed the absolutely gorgeous scenery along the ride. She’d never been out east in the fall and the foliage was astounding. She’d seen pictures of course all the reds and yellows and oranges, but in person it was just breathtaking. When she arrived at the hotel she checked in, put her bag in her room, grabbed the wedding itinerary from the desk top, and went right back outside again to continue marveling at the mountains and the leaves.

After about twenty minutes in the chilly air she was ready to return inside. She found the bar, ordered a beer, and began perusing the itinerary. There were all sorts of moments where she was expected to assist the bride in this or that task, and it was only then that she realized she had no idea how to do any of it. For example, assist the bride in getting ready for brunch…what in the world did that mean? Was she no longer able to dress herself? Had something happened that she was unaware of, something that prevented her friend, the bride, from performing her own dressing or grooming functions? There was a moment of panic as she read just how many of these moments there were over the next 36 hours.

“Hey, you made it!” said a familiar voice behind her as she felt a hand come down on her shoulder.

“Hi! It’s so good to see you, it’s been so long. You look great! Still doing stand-up?” she asked as they came out of the obligatory hug. It was the bride’s brother, Jordan, and you couldn’t ask for a man more adorable, kind, or talented.

“Yup, sure am. I’m getting to where I’m booking some pretty big places with it, too, which feels nice. I’m not saying I’ll be getting my own HBO Special anytime soon, but it’s getting big and that feels good.”

“I’m so happy for you, you deserve it,” she said smiling and thinking about nothing but his smile and also how good he smelled and also how there was absolutely no way anything was ever going to happen between them and how that made it both sad and safe.

“How about you? I heard you were buying a house?”

“Yeah, well, trying to. Ha! That’s been an ordeal. There’s a lot out there, but not that I can afford or can afford to fix, so” she laughed and took a deep breath, “still living with my parents,” she finished sighing.

“I hear ya, I had to move back in with mine, too. It’s not the greatest. But, it’s also not forever and totally worth it in the long run. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself,” he laughed. “So, Tracy is going to be crazy busy all weekend and I’m not really sure how much of her you’ll get to see, but the rest of the bridal party really wants to meet you and we’re hoping you’ll spend your free time with us?”

“Oh, wow, the bridal party? I hadn’t expected,” she began before realizing that she didn’t actually have any plans except the wedding itself, “sure, that’d be great,” she said.

“Want to come now? We’re all supposed to be getting together for dinner and drinks in about five minutes in the lobby.”

“Great,” she said, “I’m all paid up here,” she finished her beer, and left a couple bucks on the bar under the bottle, then followed him out to the lobby.

She met the entire wedding party, minus the bride and groom. Some of them she’d actually met once before at an event they’d all attended, one of Jordan’s first stand-up gigs if she remembered correctly, but the rest were all brand new faces and not exactly friendly. She was introduced all around and did her best to remembers the names that went with the faces, but that had never been her strong suit. She was grateful when they all determined it was time to head over to eat and the attention shifted away from her arrival.

At dinner she mostly sat quietly listening to everyone else banter. It was clear this group was pretty close. She laughed here and there but mostly she just listened, and in listening realized, she did not like these people. They were shallow, self-absorbed, and had way too much money. How had they all become Tara’s friends? Or Jordan’s for that matter. He seemed to be getting along just fine, not finding any of it awkward or distasteful. She realized they were all looking at her and that she’d been too busy in her own head to notice what had just been aimed at her.

“I’m sorry, I was in my head for a moment, could you repeat that?” she asked with a slight abashed smile.

“I was wondering why you came when it was an out-of-town wedding and you haven’t seen the bride in years,” said the woman with the indescribably long black hair, perfect figure, and cat eyes that were as much due to her snarky nature as her make-up talent.

“Tara invited me,” she stammered, shocked at being asked something so rude, and surprised that everyone at the table appeared to be waiting for an answer rather than looking in their laps or away or feigning any sort of understanding about just how rude the question had been. She looked to Jordan and saw that he too was looking at her, although he had the grace to look down when she caught his eye.

“I think what Tammy means is that it costs a lot of money to go to a destination wedding, and you and Tara aren’t really as close as you used to be,” Jordan said starting out sounding like he was defending her but mumbling by the end as he realized he was just stoking Tammy’s fire.

“Clearly this is a small, intimate wedding for the closest family and friends, and it just seems odd that you came,” Tammy said, “I’m not trying to be mean, I’m trying to understand why you said you’d come.”

Not trying to be mean my ass, she thought, “I just thought Tara wanted me here, hence the invitation. If that’s not the case I had no way of knowing that and it’s a little late for me to change my RSVP,” she said, as she picked her napkin up out of her lap, “at any rate,” she continued, “I think I’ll head back now. Thank you for a lovely meal.” She grabbed her purse, opened it and took out forty dollars, leaving it on the table by her plate and walking out.

She was mortified. And livid. And reminded once again that she had no place. She didn’t belong at home with her parents. She didn’t belong at this wedding. She didn’t have a home of her own, or a lover, or a pet, or a child. She was just herself, unmoored.

Why did Tara invite me, she wondered. Was she hoping I’d say I couldn’t come and send a gift? Why risk that I’d say yes, which I did, and now here we are. Had she counted on the fact that we hadn’t seen each other in so long, had she banked on it? If that’s the case she should have been too embarrassed to send me an invite. If you don’t want to risk me attending you shouldn’t risk inviting me. It made no sense.

She figured things would be better the next day, the day of the wedding. By then she’d see the bride, actually get to see Tara, and she was confident that in seeing her she’d understand everything. All would be revealed. She returned to the hotel and her bed and slept with the conviction that tomorrow would be better.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

She was worried their friendship wouldn’t last much longer. It had always depended upon one of them needing the other: a broken love relationship, a lost job, a death in the family. Whatever it was it was always one of them being a rock for the other one and then switching, or not, sometimes the rock was the strong one for a few events in a row before slipping into the role of the weak one. At any rate, they always went back and forth, they were never both rocks and they were never both weak. Perhaps things would be different if they’d ever been able to occupy the same role comfortably. Perhaps.

As it stood they’d both been in a place of strength for months. They’d texted less and less often, seen each other in person fewer times each month, and stopped making future plans to see each other. There was something about them not needing one another to lean on that caused them to also not need one another at all, for anything. It was sad and inexplicable. Did they really have nothing to say to one another unless one of them was falling apart?

She’d considered creating some drama, a fake spiritual crisis, they were approaching forty after all. She considered pretending that forty was a terrifying prospect for her. She didn’t think she could pull it off. And she also realized that if she had to lie to her friend to keep her friend, perhaps the friendship wasn’t worth keeping. She finally decided she’d set a date to see her friend again and explain that she’d always be there for her, but that she no longer wanted to limp along pretending they were more to each other than a crutch. The prospect of the conversation saddened her and relieved her.

The day they’d set to meet up dawned like any other: stunningly beautiful sunrise, she got ready to leave like always, and everything was just so. They arrived at the restaurant within moments of one another, hugged in the parking lot on the way in, and then entered together getting seated right away. They made small talk while they waited to place their drink and food orders, then sat in an awkward and fidgety silence waiting for their coffees to arrive.

The coffee arrived hot and beautiful: little foam and espresso artwork on top. They admired each others foam for a moment before clinking mugs in a cheers and taking their first sips. Their collective “ah’s” of appreciation drew a few stares from neighboring tables and they laughed at themselves. Surely they could save this friendship.

“So, I wanted to get together today because,” she cleared her throat, “well, it seems like things have really been going well for both of us and for whatever reason we aren’t really talking anymore,” she laughed and took a sip of her coffee.

Her friend took the opportunity to jump in, “yeah, I’ve totally noticed that too. It’s strange, right? I mean, I love hearing about how happy you are and I love being happy, but I feel like our happy’s don’t mesh,” she shrugged, unable to express exactly what she meant.

“Oh my gosh, yes! I agree! It’s just like that. When I’m having a hard time there is no one in the world I need so much as I need you. But when things are going well, it’s like I tell you but I don’t get that same feeling of connection as I do when it’s something bad. It doesn’t make sense and it just leaves me feeling…” she waved her hand in circles, looking for the description of her feelings.

“Empty? Like, it takes away your good feelings to tell me about your good feelings, whereas when you tell me about your bad feelings you feel lighter but also fuller?” her friend interjected.

“Yes! That’s exactly it. Feeling bad, I have to talk to you to feel better. Feeling good, I talk to you and I feel worse. But I don’t understand why. You’re amazing. You’re absolutely my very best friend ever. I don’t understand why I can’t share good and bad with you equally.”

“No, I get it, because I feel exactly the same way. When something major amazing happens, of course I want to tell you right away because I share everything with you, but then somehow the awesome starts to wear a little the moment I share it,” her friend concurred.

“So what do we do? I don’t want to lose you as a friend,” she said, reaching out across the table and holding her friends hands in hers.

They looked into each others eyes for a moment and then laughed, separating their hands and drinking from their coffees. Their food arrived and they began eating.

“This place is the best,” she said, licking some Hollandaise sauce off her lower lip.

“Definitely the best,” her friend agreed. “Okay, so how about if we continue to meet once a month for breakfast, like this. If things are going great, we just have breakfast, the end. If things aren’t going great we can still start the day over breakfast but then rather than ending the day, we continue it to lean on one another. Does that work? I mean, coffee and breakfast once a month even when our lives are fabulous only makes our lives more fabulous, right?”

“That’s true. I like the way you’re thinking,” she said, “and maybe, even if things are good we can still continue our day after breakfast by going to a movie or an event or something? Just because our fabulous lives and our fabulous breakfasts are over it doesn’t mean we can’t do other fabulous things together, it just means we can’t talk about our fabulous lives,” she laughed and drained the last of her coffee.

“Yes! I love it! I love this plan!” her friend exclaimed. “And I have to say, I’m so glad. I was really worried about today. I came here this morning expecting to have to friendship break up with you and it was making me miserable.”

“Me too!” she said, her right hand going to her chest. “I’ve been a bit miserable about it and was trying to figure out how I could spin that unhappiness into something more, something that would allow us to continue on as before.”

They laughed at each other and themselves.

“And also, I’m really happy for you. I hope you know that. I’ve been so glad you finally got all the good things you’ve earned in this life coming to you,” she said.

“Thank you. I agree. I mean, I agree the same thing about you. I’ve always felt you got dealt some pretty crap cards and you’ve managed to play them beautifully and come out on top,” her friend said, smiling.

“So, do we want to start today? Go somewhere after breakfast?”

“Definitely. Do you have anything in mind?” her friend asked.

“Well I was thinking I’d head over to the garden show over at the stadium today. Does that sound fun?”

“Absolutely! That sounds perfect. And I’m in this awesome walking challenge on my step counter so that would help me get in the steps I need to crush my competitors,” her friend laughed.

“You have a step counter? Me too! I just got one to track my sleep, which it turns out I’m getting even less of than I’d thought, so that’s not cool. But otherwise I love it. I’m surprised by how much I enjoy all the bits of info it tells me about how I spend my day. And the reminders to move when I’ve been sedentary for too long.”

“Isn’t that the best?” her friend agreed. “You should join my challenges, if you’re into that kind of thing. I usually go up against a couple ladies from work. They really keep me on my toes.”

“I’d love to!” she said, “want to carpool to the garden show and you can make us friends on the app while I drive?”

“Excellent. Yes.”

“And it’s my treat for breakfast,” she said, “you bought last time.”

“Okay, but then I get entrance fee to the garden show,” her friend said.

“Fine by me,” she laughed, “it’s free.”

The check arrived, she pulled out some cash and left it in the book. They smiled at each other, and simultaneously asked, “shall we?”

“This,” she said, catching her breath between laughter, “this is what I was hoping to save.”

They hugged and walked out, chatting about what they hoped to find at the garden show and whether or not they thought the step counter craze would last. And I’m so bored by this story that I can only say thank goodness:

~~~That’s one hour~~~