Tild Does It Again

It was New Year's Eve and Tild had been busy. She had spent the day reviewing the year's accomplishments according to Corporate America. After twenty-five years of playing the game, it had become a lot less stressful. It was a matter of going back to her mid-year results and then based on how things looked in December, she would spin a tale of hope. It was a curious art form and one that takes a certain amount of courage and wit. Tild had spent the first few hours running a myriad of year-end HR reports for the current as well as the prior period. She then spun each set into organized analytical tables. Once these were neatly set against each other in a summary file, she had paused for lunch. This consisted of fresh Naan bread suitably microwaved, upon which she dumped dollops of Cajun Crab dip; this was accompanied by a freshly cored crisp red apple that had been very thinly sliced. She needed an interesting tea to stimulate what could become an ominous task. She reached into her work backpack and pulled out the gift she had received from her favorite administrative assistant. Tild pulled out three of the lemongrass ginger-flavored tea pouches from the neatly packaged set and then began the aged ritual of brewing the perfect pot. Once the tea was safely steeping inside the large blue patterned teapot she reached for another one of her interesting experiments to finalize the process. It had started as a knitted hat which through a strike of complete genius she had morphed into the perfect tea cozy.

As usual, Tild had set up her desk for Round Two of her task. She was the sort of person that had to have things arranged to accommodate whatever activity she was set. Her two fountain pens sat next to her work journal that sat open at two stark white lined pages with the book ribbon draped down through the middle. The calculator, her safety aid, lay on the other side of the computer and two scented candles completed the set. She sat down and interlocked her fingers then pushed them out straightening her arms in a full stretch. "Right", she said. "Now for something completely different," she thought.

After about an hour she was deep within discovery, spinning a web to surround the combination of conflicting numbers. What would impress her boss the most? She knew that a sure way of securing a favorable year-end rating was to provide the type of information that could be easily cut and pasted into the Results of Management. And then her phone pinged. Annoying, because her mind was tangled up in thoughtful analysis.

It was a text that read "I'll be over at about 7 and I'll take you out for a crab dinner". It was from an ex-boyfriend who she had recently begun to see again.

"Oh God," she thought. "I'll cook for you here if you can pick up food on the way over here" she sent back.

"Can you go get the food because I am working" came the response.

"I started with a very early call with the U.K. this morning and am knee-deep in analytics" she spat back. Then, "and I'm struggling with the visit to your sister's on New Year's Day. I really don't want to go out. You can come here and I'll cook for you. If you need to stay over you can sleep on the couch".

She was now thoroughly distracted. It had been a few months since she had started seeing him again. In her mind, they were NOT dating, even though she had tangled the sheets with him a couple of times. He was the sweetest of men. A very fit body for a 60+-year-old man. Short and neat. She had still been drinking wine when they had initially rekindled their friendship, and it was this beverage that had facilitated the mundane sex. But, in the dog days of sobriety, the need to engage in physical contact was very far removed indeed. In fact, she had told him this on more than one occasion.

Tild had been traveling for work for quite a few weeks in the months leading up to Christmas and thought that she had aptly addressed his belief that the physical urge would come back in time. Over the holiday period she had taken two weeks off to completely unwind from the year. She did this most years as it was necessary to recoup and then return to the madness refreshed and ready for the next array of Company challenges. It was a wonderful time for Tild as she became herself.

Creativity abounded as she danced into days of making Amber Oatmeal soap and sugar scrub. The herbs that had been drying from her garden were blissfully stripped of their leaves and crushed together in witchy cooking mixtures. Tild also carved small wood creatures which she would mount and give out to unsuspecting friends. And then there was that book of hers that she would spend precious mornings attending to. All of this, and no time for a man.

"I'll be over at 7 and we can talk then" he pinged.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, he is annoying me again. I just don't want to see him, she said to herself. But as he was on his way she made the effort to shower and dress. It was New Year's Eve after all. But she didn't want to go out and sit at a bar and eat food surrounded by flat-screen televisions and mindless conversations. It wasn't that she was a snob. No, she was just over the scene and the desire to make small talk with people who didn't matter to her. Tild had grown wise and as she had kissed a very fond farewell to alcoholic beverages, she was no longer tolerant of mindless chat. In fact, she had become a bit of a hermit in her spare time and she had become completely satisfied with her own company, and that of her three dogs.

Tild was ready for her visitor and she sat down at the kitchen table. She had felt the urge to calm her nerves by pulling out her quill pen and writing down whatever came into her mind before he arrived. She had set a peaceful stage. The fire burned bright and warm and the scent of winter milled about the house. The inevitable knock at the door soon came.

Tild didn't get up. Rather, she allowed him to enter and greet the yapping 'doglets' as she smiled passively and said "here we go again" in her head.

"So I received a disturbing text from you earlier," he said taking off his coat.

"I don't think you should be surprised at anything that was in it" she offered. "I agree I think we do need to talk as it appears as if you are wanting things that I just can't offer you right now. I just have no desire to go out and sobriety helps me keep my clothes on. I am honestly begging for a friend. I just ..".

"I want more. I can't be just a friend. I want more. I would do anything for you and I am a very good guy." he said reaching down into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve his beeping phone.

"And I would like it if you would stop looking at your phone and talk to me," Tild said. "I know you deserve so much more, but I am in a very selfish mode right now. I want to become the best I have ever been. I only have one more dangerous vice to take on in the New Year and that's smoking. I've been planning it and it will take allot of strength, self-focus and a strong will. In the little free time I do have I have so much I want to do and it doesn't involve spending time with anyone other than the few I chose to. I like spending time with you, and only you; not your family, not your friends, not going out into the madding crowd". She stopped to breathe and was quite surprised that he was still looking at her.

"I'm a really good catch you know. A really good catch. I want more and I think, Matilda, that we should stop seeing each other. I can't just be your friend. I'm going to go right now". And without any further comment, he did.

Tild crossed her arms on her bosom and huffed. He bent down to kiss her on her cheek on his way out and offered a paltry "you have my number if you need to reach me".

Hang on one mind-blowing bogus minute Mister, she thought. "I'm a really good catch" she mouthed with her eyes raised up to the heavens. That's not the fucking point, her mind screamed as she couldn't even fathom how or why he had openly spoken these words.

Tild smiled and shook her head. It was all for the best. As she began to replay the previous few minutes of conversation she realized that she had been very neatly "dumped". In fact, it was a little too neat. Half of her encouraged the thought that she had purposefully engineered this. The other half held the belief that this very good catch would have had a backup readily available. After all, it was New Year's Eve.