November 17th, 1990

November 17th, 1990

At home, England

Just got off the phone with David and I wish he hadn’t called.

He’s been gung-ho about me spending Thanksgiving with his family and we’ve discussed the details over and over, but then tonight, he had the audacity to say, “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

Uh-oh, I thought. In my experience, those words are usually followed by words that bring tears, not necessarily in a joyous way.

“I think it’s too soon.”

“What is?” I asked, fearing I already knew the answer.

“Too soon for you to spend the holiday with my family.”

“Oh,” I uttered, a lump quickly forming in my throat. “You mean Thanksgiving?”

He mumbled a sound of agreement. “What are your thoughts?”

“Ehm, I mean, we’ve talked about-”

“So, you’re good with it? If you don’t come, you’re good with it? Cool.”

Absolutely not cool!

“I wouldn’t go that far-”

“Listen, I gotta go, but we can follow up when you get here.”

“Follow up?” I hissed, the reality of what he was saying beginning to seep in.

“Sorry, I mean we can discuss it more, when you get here.”

I’d much prefer to know before we touch down in LA.

“Ok, I’ll ring you when I get to my room, should be just after four.” Curt tone. Fully intentional.

“No need,” he said, sounding more than a little distracted. “Just meet me in the lobby. I’ll be there at eight. Maybe nine. I’ll leave a message.”
“Nine? Why so late?”

“I don’t have time to get into it right now!” His tone was so abrupt that I actually held the receiver away from my ear and by the time I put it back, he was gone.

Something about his tone has left me feeling uneasy. I know he has a stressful job and I know he has a tendency to allow the demands of it to affect him but usually when that happens, we talk about it and he says doing so makes him feel much better.

I’m sorely tempted to ring him back but with the mood I’m in, that’s probably not the best idea. I’ll wait for him to contact me to apologize, which hopefully will happen sooner, rather than later.


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