I was awake early the next morning, before anyone else in the household. Jim, the senior of our two hosts, had a lifelong habit of being up and preparing for breakfast by five. So it came as something of a surprise to him to find me already in the kitchen with my laptop, especially in light of the fact that on my previous visit, I clung to my usual habit of staying in bed until nearly nine.
Keenly aware that there was something going on between Jonny and I, Jim, without deliberately injecting himself into the situation, had made himself available as a sounding board of sorts.
I’d spoken with him about my interest in Jonny during my previous visit so it wasn’t unexpected, following our “good mornings” and “what are you doing up so early” small talk, that he quickly zeroed in on the ever-so-apparent tension in my remarks the previous evening.
What was surprising was how ready he appeared to be to pour cold water over not only my reasons for this visit but to go right up to–but not over–the edge of suggesting I didn’t really love Jon.
“The sort of anger I heard last night,” he began, “tells me your feelings and motives aren’t what you might like to think they are.”
This did not bode well for my hopes of a fun Thanksgiving weekend in Canadian cottage country.
I couldn’t tell whether Jim’s motivation for trying to dampen my desire to be with Jonny sprang from an instinct to defend and protect the feelings of a friend or if perhaps there was an element of jealousy born out of a fear I might take their new found friend away from he and John.
Either way I couldn’t see the point in belaboring the matter, and after a few quick defensive remarks, I retreated downstairs to my room to “clean up for breakfast.”
Loathing the idea of spending five days, hundreds of kilometers and Christ-only-knows how many miles away from the bright lights and social refuge of Toronto, I stared blankly into space wondering what to do next.
“I suppose I’ll just have to wait,” I said to myself, “and see where the next few days take us.” And, then it hit me.
Weeks earlier, following my acceptance of the fact Jon had, whether consciously or not, said he loved me, I had a video chat with my friend and editor Ken.
“As a devout atheist,” I began, “I don’t believe in ‘divine intervention’ or coincidence but I’ll tell you what I have come to believe, the Universe has one sick sense of humor.”
“What do you mean?” Ken asked.
“I was perusing my Facebook feed this morning,” I responded, “when I came across one of those inspirational memes posted by an old college friend.”
“Well, at your age,” Ken interjected, “your college friends couldn’t be anything else but old.”
…unlike the usual flood of flowery, syrupy slogans flowing out of Facebook on a daily basis, this one struck a chord with me.
“Moving along,” I said after shooting him an irritated look, “it said ‘Waiting is a sign of true love and patience. Anyone can say I love you, but not everyone can wait and prove it’s true.’”
The words had been printed alongside a black and white photo of an empty park bench seemingly set on the shore of an endless beach.
“I don’t know why,” I continued, “but unlike the usual flood of flowery, syrupy slogans flowing out of Facebook on a daily basis, this one struck a chord with me.”
Indeed it had resonated with me during the weeks that I relentlessly pursued rebuilding relations with Jonny. Going back to those words helped me through every interminable delay and emotional setback I experienced on my way to this weekend.
And, once again, this pleasant little wisdom worked.
“Wait,” I said to myself as I brought a copy of the original meme up on my iPhone. As I did, my dread evaporated and my mood lightened.
By the time the time I returned upstairs, the rest of the household was up and stirring. Jim was busily frying bacon and John was making toast. Jonny was in the main room sitting in one of duel recliners watching the morning news.
I walked up behind him and began to rub his shoulders.
“I need to tell you something,” I said softly as he turned to look up at me. “I want to apologize for my behavior last night. I said some things in a nasty tone of voice and I am sorry. It was another long day of travel and another costly rental car battle before driving up here. I was tired and I let it get to me.”
All of which was true, up to a point. Obviously, I omitted the part about being heartbroken we would still be sleeping apart.
After all, the meme didn’t say anything about the whole truth and nothing but.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Jonny said, smiling and patting one of my hands. “I thought you were just being funny like you usually do.”
“Nevertheless,” I said, “it didn’t feel right to me and I wanted you to know I’m sorry for it.”
By now he had gotten out of the recliner and we were on our way to join our hosts at the kitchen breakfast bar, but before heading over to them he gave me a big hug.
I can’t say for certain, but I’ pretty sure I saw Jim casting a disparaging glance in our direction.
Jim left for work and Jonny left for class at the college. This left John and I to forage for the items I needed to make a typical American Thanksgiving meal.
I had an icy turkey to roast and a complete Thanksgiving meal to prepare.
Pro Tip: Unless you’re in one of the larger cities, don’t expect to find turkeys, fresh or frozen, in a typical Canadian supermarket around mid-November. It’s been weeks since Canadian Thanksgiving and it’s still weeks to go before Christmas.
Fortunately, Jim, who loves to bake, had already made pies for our feast. I spent the remainder of the day soaking a frozen 14lb. turkey, the only one to be had in the largest supermarket in Owen Sound, prepping stuffing, yams, and making cranberry sauce.
By the time Jonny returned from his classes and workout, I had things pretty much under control. This left me with plenty of time to spend the evening with Jonny and the boys watching movies on the big screen in the great room.
Jim and John’s dual recliner faced the screen. This left Jonny and I sharing a large Victorian sofa, which was perpendicular to the TV. Jonny sat me in the far corner of the sofa farthest from the screen. Sitting there I would not have to crane my neck to take in the film.
To my very pleasant surprise, he propped a pillow up against my right side and laid down beside me.
The movie, The Hunger Games, which I had absolutely no interest in, had barely begun when I took my right arm off the back of the sofa and placed it against his right shoulder and on his arm. Not sensing any discomfort or displeasure with this classic make-out move, I began gently stroking what I have to admit was one of the largest, if not the largest, upper arms I’d ever had my hands on.
“You have been working out!” I exclaimed in my mind. It didn’t matter though. For the first time since that horrendous August morning in Toronto, we were once again intimately close with one another.
The movie over and the following day not being a holiday in Canada (meaning it was a work day for Jim and a school day for Jonny), we all turned in for the night. Additionally, I had an icy turkey to roast and a complete Thanksgiving meal to prepare.
We held hands as Jonny walked us toward his room where, a few feet from the doorway, he stopped, thanked me for a lovely evening, kissed me, and said; “Goodnight.”
Still buoyed by our time together on the sofa, I watched the door to his room close behind him. I was neither sad nor depressed. In fact, I was quite happy.
As I descended the stairs to the lower level guest room, with a light smile on my face, I said to myself, “Wait.”
Edited by
Kenneth Larsen
Join us again on January 16, 2018 for Hey Siri.
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