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Authors: Dana Cameron
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seventeenth-century, the photographer did a good job on them…
“No, I mean, really talk. About…about what’s bothering you.”
I kept focusing on the slides, each tinny little click as they fit into the slots a small victory for me and my composure. “What’s bothering me . ” I shook my head. “What do you want, Duncan?”
That was a mistake. “I want you to talk to me like I’m a person. We can’t go on this way forever, can we?”
I shrugged. “It’s worked okay so far.” Even as I spoke, I could feel my face growing hotter and hotter.
He shrugged. “We don’t run into each other all that often. The big conferences are so big we don’t meet. The little ones…I’m not usually at.”
Duncan never bothered with the regional meetings. Not a big enough audience for him.
“But I don’t want it to be like that,” he was saying. “I mean, doesn’t this feel bad to you?”
“It’s small potatoes compared to how I felt when you dumped me on my ass!” I hadn’t meant for it to come out like that—I hadn’t meant for it to come out at all.
He moved back, surprised by my anger. “That was a long time ago. Can’t we even talk to each other? Can’t we be civil?”
I sat back and looked at him closely for the first time: Yes, he had aged, but the lines in his face added character. He was tanned, but not the same way I remembered: this was more an expensive winter vacation tan than a fieldwork brown. He’d always been a little proud of his hair, and so he still hadn’t cut it short, though I noticed there was a skillful part that might just disguise a receding hairline. A little bit of grey in the beard, now carefully and closely trimmed. Gray eyes, still no need of glasses. Damn his eyes.
“Hmmm. I say hello, I nod, I keep out of your way. No firearms, no knives. Civility city.”
“Not my definition of civility, but I can see that it’s been an effort for you.”
There was the first sign of his temper. Good—why? Why does he care?
I took a deep breath, and the words came out like soda rushing from a shaken bottle. “Yeah, an effort. Why shouldn’t it be? We had a lot of plans and you changed your mind all of a sudden, and I was left looking like an idiot.”
There was the faintest flicker of satisfaction across Duncan’s face: I’d revealed a weakness. “And you’ve always hated looking like—”
My face went warm again and I tried to unclench my teeth. “You don’t have the right to psychoanalyze me, Duncan. You never said goodbye, you never had anything to say for yourself, so don’t start now. You don’t have the right.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m going about thisthe wrong way. I didn’t handle things well when we ended. Then it was, what…another two years before we saw each other? Not much had changed, I was still figuring things out. Then another five years, and then you were married, and I was married and we never sorted it all out, the way I should have when we broke up.”
“Let’s get the semantics right, shall we?” I jabbed a finger at him. “You split.”
“Fine, okay,” he said quickly. “I apologize for not being a better human being then, for not knowing better how to do things.”
I looked at him, disbelieving. If there were words I’d ever wanted to hear, it was these, but they were nearly twenty years too late.
“I’m serious, I mean it. But I’m glad I did it; it worked out better in the long run. I’m just sorry you’re still hurt.” Duncan shifted and sighed. “I miss you—!”
I threw the slide carousel down onto the table.
“Wait! I don’t mean it like that! Jesus, I forgot what your temper could be like!”
“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t stick around then, isn’t it?” My temper’s only getting worse as I get older. He didn’t do anything to improve it. I never let myself go like this. I could barely contain myself and I hated it.
“Emma, it would have been a mistake! I thought it was
“No, I mean, really talk. About…about what’s bothering you.”
I kept focusing on the slides, each tinny little click as they fit into the slots a small victory for me and my composure. “What’s bothering me . ” I shook my head. “What do you want, Duncan?”
That was a mistake. “I want you to talk to me like I’m a person. We can’t go on this way forever, can we?”
I shrugged. “It’s worked okay so far.” Even as I spoke, I could feel my face growing hotter and hotter.
He shrugged. “We don’t run into each other all that often. The big conferences are so big we don’t meet. The little ones…I’m not usually at.”
Duncan never bothered with the regional meetings. Not a big enough audience for him.
“But I don’t want it to be like that,” he was saying. “I mean, doesn’t this feel bad to you?”
“It’s small potatoes compared to how I felt when you dumped me on my ass!” I hadn’t meant for it to come out like that—I hadn’t meant for it to come out at all.
He moved back, surprised by my anger. “That was a long time ago. Can’t we even talk to each other? Can’t we be civil?”
I sat back and looked at him closely for the first time: Yes, he had aged, but the lines in his face added character. He was tanned, but not the same way I remembered: this was more an expensive winter vacation tan than a fieldwork brown. He’d always been a little proud of his hair, and so he still hadn’t cut it short, though I noticed there was a skillful part that might just disguise a receding hairline. A little bit of grey in the beard, now carefully and closely trimmed. Gray eyes, still no need of glasses. Damn his eyes.
“Hmmm. I say hello, I nod, I keep out of your way. No firearms, no knives. Civility city.”
“Not my definition of civility, but I can see that it’s been an effort for you.”
There was the first sign of his temper. Good—why? Why does he care?
I took a deep breath, and the words came out like soda rushing from a shaken bottle. “Yeah, an effort. Why shouldn’t it be? We had a lot of plans and you changed your mind all of a sudden, and I was left looking like an idiot.”
There was the faintest flicker of satisfaction across Duncan’s face: I’d revealed a weakness. “And you’ve always hated looking like—”
My face went warm again and I tried to unclench my teeth. “You don’t have the right to psychoanalyze me, Duncan. You never said goodbye, you never had anything to say for yourself, so don’t start now. You don’t have the right.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m going about thisthe wrong way. I didn’t handle things well when we ended. Then it was, what…another two years before we saw each other? Not much had changed, I was still figuring things out. Then another five years, and then you were married, and I was married and we never sorted it all out, the way I should have when we broke up.”
“Let’s get the semantics right, shall we?” I jabbed a finger at him. “You split.”
“Fine, okay,” he said quickly. “I apologize for not being a better human being then, for not knowing better how to do things.”
I looked at him, disbelieving. If there were words I’d ever wanted to hear, it was these, but they were nearly twenty years too late.
“I’m serious, I mean it. But I’m glad I did it; it worked out better in the long run. I’m just sorry you’re still hurt.” Duncan shifted and sighed. “I miss you—!”
I threw the slide carousel down onto the table.
“Wait! I don’t mean it like that! Jesus, I forgot what your temper could be like!”
“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t stick around then, isn’t it?” My temper’s only getting worse as I get older. He didn’t do anything to improve it. I never let myself go like this. I could barely contain myself and I hated it.
“Emma, it would have been a mistake! I thought it was
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