January to January: A Journal

August

August 3

Yesterday, I received a call from Darcy. He wanted to meet up over lunch. He sounded unlike his usual perky, loquacious self that it caused me to ponder possibilities in the interim before the lunch date. Imagine my surprise, Journal, when I saw Hen waiting with a nervous Darcy in the outdoor bistro where we had one of our past dates in what seemed like a long time ago. I hesitated. They hadn't seen me yet so I could cut and run. I was seriously contemplating this thought (since I sensed another karmic curveball about to happen) when my ice queen of a sister spotted me and said in a voice that carried across the distance and brooked no argument.

"Harry. Come, sit." Made me feel like a dog.

I managed an innocent and pleasant, though slightly surprised, look (I'd like to nominate myself for an Oscar) as I said, "Hen, what a surp..." I didn't get to finish as my sister took control over the entire situation (And the Oscar nomination vanished).

Hen spoke as if I hadn't spoken at all, "Darcy called you over to discuss something important, and I'm here to facilitate. Stay calm and listen to what he has to say first. You'll have your turn to ask questions and react. Understood?"

"Oookaaayyy," I said, becoming warier by the second. Honestly the first thing that came to mind was that Darcy had decided he was straight and was leaving me for Hen. I was contemplating possible reactions if Darcy would spring the ever-nauseating line of, "It's not you, it's me." Maybe psychotic raging bitch fit, but we're out in the open, filled with bystanders. No doubt orchestrated by the calculating Dr. Henrietta Lee.

Hen spoke crisply, "Great. Let's start. Darcy?"

Darcy was uneasy, rubbing his hands together before clasping it, and doing it all over again. He had his shoulders hunched and a facial expression that could only be described as constipated. I couldn't take the suspense anymore so I started, "Darcy? What's going on?" I asked with rising panic that was becoming increasingly difficult to hide from my voice.

He saw my distress and grasped my hands on the table. His words spilled out like a burst dam, "Please don't be mad. I went to see Terrence."

"I still don't understand...," I said, looking at both Hen and Darcy.

Hen spoke up with exasperation, while literally throwing up her hands in the air, "Oh for chrissakes! Cut the drama. Your boyfriend over here went to your other boyfriend to act as mediator so you and boyfriend #2 can stop avoiding each other, making everybody uncomfortable. Now, do you understand? Goodness sakes!"

Relief and curiosity warred with annoyance.

"You promised to let me handle this, Henny!" Darcy grumbled while pouting.

"Well, you were taking too long," Hen replied in a scarily monotonous voice.

"Gee thanks for your concern, sister dear," I said through gritted teeth while shooting eye daggers at her.

"My pleasure," she smirked. "Now, questions?"

I deliberately ignored Hen, focusing on Darcy. Our fingers were still intertwined on the table. "Why would you go see Terry? Didn't we discuss this before? You could have been hurt! You know how he feels about you." Mutual dislike it might be, but Terrence's dislike can be volcanic in manifestation.

"I know, I know!" Darcy sighed. "I'm sorry. But you've been so miserable lately and I had to do something. So I asked Hen's help to leave an urgent message for Terrence in his work phone (most likely managed by an official secretary or whatnot, and how Hen managed to get the number is a mystery best not delved into unless the whole conversation would be rerouted to the amazing powers of manipulation of one Dr. Lee) and Hen arranged a meet-up between us."