"You should go, if not for anyone but yourself", Frederic said in his thick Montréal accent. We were sitting at an empty blackjack table at the Palms, out of the smoke and away from the noise of the bar where everyone was gathered. We'd been talking first about my meeting with the owner of his company, about the fact that he and his girlfriend were expecting and then the conversation shifted to discussions of where we were, if I'd seen her, if I planned to. He's smart, successful, kind and I have the utmost respect for his opinion and his advice. I'd already been leaning toward going regardless of the outcome, but he gave me the final push that I needed to make up my mind, see it through.
I travelled to San Francisco unsure if I would or should visit with her; it was an uncertainty compounded by the fact that when I'd mentioned the idea to her in the past she'd responded favorably but always got skittish and became suddenly unavailable when it came time to actually plan things (she's since admitted that nervousness has often been a huge factor in this).
Frederic had suggested I see her because at very least I'll have been able to say that I tried to bridge the cavernous gap between us, whether it actually happened or not. I'd sort of felt like as a matter of principal I should try too, so I went but made alternate plans for the free time that I'd have while I was there, just in case.
She texted me with the address of a bar; someplace between where she lived and where I was staying. I went outside and found the street but with no cabs available in the first few blocks, I just decided to walk. It was just brisk enough that I was thankful for the velvet coat, but not cold enough for the leather gloves. I walked at a fast pace, feeling like I was cutting through the night on a collision course with something big but unknown. We exchanged messages back and forth while I made my way there and I saw her standing outside when I was half a block away. She walked to the corner and met me; we hugged for a long time. It been the first we'd seen of each other in half a year, parting just after the divorce.
She looked good. For a while after the divorce I'd worried awfully about her because I knew she wasn't taking very good care of herself, but she looked good when I saw her, like herself again. We walked inside and ordered drinks, taking a seat in the window while complimenting each other on how we looked.
We spent hours together, talking about our lives as they are now, the relationships we've had since, trying to right a few wrongs and close some of the distance that had grown between us. She admitted that being frightened that things would be worse had caused her to sabotage some of my previous efforts to see her this way. We promised each other we'd try harder.
The next day I was booked out on a late flight and when it was cancelled, it caused me to have to spend another day in San Francisco. We went out to dinner and for a drink again that night and it was lovely; spending time together that wasn't overwrought as the last few times we saw each other were.
I'm happy I made the trip, took the time, saw her again. I'm happy that we could look each other in the eye and part ways better than the way we had the last time. I'm glad that we are on good terms for the first time in ages. I really, really hope that it stays this way.
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