Windsurfing

On Saturday, Jim and I went windsurfing in Half Moon Bay, about 20 miles south of San Francisco. The water is colder than on the bay and the wind is weaker, but I just couldn’t get myself to surf on the bay. I need to plan a trip to Maui.

The day turned out to be pretty decent - temperatures in the low 50s, with winds and clouds as the afternoon progressed, but winds are a good thing when windsurfing. Better than a typical December day. I decided to pack the dry-suit and fleece. It would be hot if I stayed up the entire day – that’s pretty unlikely. The water off Half Moon Bay runs about 52 degrees (F)this time of year.

I loaded up the windsurfer and a couple bottles of a Sterling Merlot into the truck. (I’d be having dinner at Jim and Lynn’s and I did not want to arrive empty handed.) And I headed out to pick up Jim.

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I guess I really do like windsurfing. If I can do it in December in Northern California – and really enjoy it – I’m either crazy or a real fanatic. Possibly both. We finished up at about 3:00 and hosed ourselves and our equipment off and packed up the truck again. I drove back to Milpitas. We got to Jim’s place about 4:30. It was staring to get dusky and cold. There we did a more thorough cleaning of the windsurfers and dry suit (Jim took a wet suit – big mistake today) out on the back deck.

I went inside to take a shower. Lynn was working on linguine with clam sauce. I’m not a big fan of mollusks, but Lynn does make a really good clam sauce. The smell was delicious. When I finished my shower and put my things away I sat at the counter between the kitchen and the dining room and watched Lynn finish cooking.

Jim opened a bottle of wine – an Antinori Chianti – and poured us all a glass. Then he threw me a "Victoria’s Secret" catalog. "Here Rich," he said a little too loudly, "see if there is something you’d like to order." I could feel myself blushing – a terrible result of a catholic up bringing (and having no tan whatsoever). "And that’s a nice shade of red." Jim quipped. I flipped through the catalog.

Just before dinner I went out to the truck to get the bottles of wine. I handed them to Jim. "Here, I brought these. They should go well with dinner." I said. Jim looked at them and then at Lynn. "Oh look," he said, "some Merlot." He pronounced it mer-LOT with an emphasis on the "t". "OK, how long have you and Lynn been having an affair?" he asked.

"Huh" I said, somewhat stunned. Of course, I should have said, "I can’t remember when we started, but it’s been a while." Or something witty like that Jim smiled.

"This is Lynn’s favorite wine."

"Yeah, I know." I smiled back. I happened to know that his favorite drink was bud light. I guess I’m getting paranoid. His affair remark took me by surprise.

After dinner, we sat in the living room and I started a fire in the fireplace. Jim sat on the couch with a beer and promptly fell asleep. Being in the water without sufficient thermal protection can drain a lot of energy out of you. Lynn and I sat on the floor on a sheepskin rug that they had bought on a trip to Australia a couple of year’s back. Max, their dog, lay down in front of the fire and sighed heavily. I had a wonderful feeling of contentment.

Lynn and I finished one bottle of Merlot and started into the second. We talked about nothing in particular. Jim woke up and kissed Lynn, he apologized to me for nodding off. Then he went off to bed.

"It’s gone" Lynn said

"What?" I answered quickly – still thinking about the affair remark (this was sticking in my head far too long)

"I’m not sure." She said. "For the first time since your break-up I think you seem… I don’t know, relaxed. No that’s not right." She paused, searching for the right words. "You’re over her, aren’t you?" I considered this and thought about how I felt. I wasn’t over Sarah (girl that left me at the altar). Lynn laughed, she pushed me on the arm. "I’m sorry." She said. "Now it’s back again." Now, more seriously she said, "I didn’t mean to bring it back up."

"Is it really that obvious?" I asked

"I can see right through you." She said, lapsing into a strong pidgin accent – which she often did after about a bottle of wine. "What really happened with her?" She asked. I gazed into the fire. Silent. "It’ll help to get it out" I sat up and reached for the bottle and poured the remainder into our glasses. Hers first, so she wouldn’t get the dregs (even though this was filtered wine – it was red). "Is it that good?" she asked.

"No, not really." I replied. "The really sad thing is that I don’t know what ended it. You know, there was no fight. No big disagreement. Nothing. It just ended."

"Oh come on. You were engaged. You have to know something."

"Yeah. Well, we had decided to get married. I bought the ring and did the ‘down on one knee’ thing and properly proposed. She said that I needed to talk to her father. So we flew to Hawaii and I asked her father for permission to marry her. Funny, a nice Japanese girl with proper European traditions. He is a great guy. I would have liked to have him for a father-in law. We sat out on his back patio and talked about a lot of things, and then he gets out this bottle of ‘royal salute’ you know, 21 year old Crown Royal. This thing is so old that the cork crumbles when he takes it out."

"Was it any good?"

"It was great. He said he had it for about 20 years. I never had 40-something year old scotch before. Although, I’m told that scotch doesn’t age in the bottle. Still, it was cool of him. "I get his blessing and we come back to Mountain View. We’re making plans for the wedding, about 500 people from her side and about 20 from mine. She’s getting the dress made and dealing with everything."

"Are you helping?"

"Yeah, I mean I’m trying. It’s hard for guys to get into weddings and all, but I’m involved in the planning and supporting her through it. I’m not dragging my feet. Anyway, about a week before we are supposed to get married, she kinda flips out. She goes back to Hawaii to talk to some girlfriends – and I can’t come. I talked one of her friends later. She told me that Sarah was really torn about what to do. Sarah really liked that I love her just for her – this is the first relationship where she felt unconditional love, but that her heart wasn’t in it any more. Is it better to be with someone who loves you, or someone you love?"

"Hold out for both."

"Yeah, if you’re really lucky." I scoffed. "Well, she comes back to Mountain View and tells me that she doesn’t want to get married. This is 2 days before the wedding, I’m supposed to leave that day for Honolulu on non-refundable tickets. We’ve got thousands in deposits at caterers, the church, the hotel. Ugh!"

"What reason does she give you?"

"She doesn’t say. She tells me how she was feeling less and less in love with me over the past year and how she doesn’t care anymore. She wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me."

"It was cold feet. You got left at the altar." Lynn laughed.

"Do you see some cosmic justice in that?" I asked

"Yes! For the longest time she wanted to get married and you kept dragging your feet. You finally come around, and she’s lost interest." Lynn laughed again. "I think Shakespeare wrote a play on this."

"I don’t know. I really was ready to get married. I loved her."

"I remember how much she wanted to get married. I think sometimes women keep pushing to get married and they get caught up in the fight. You know, trying so hard to make it happen, that once they get there they wonder why they worked so hard. What was so important?"

"No, then there is the push to have kids."

"You were probably lucky. She figured it out before you said ‘I do’."

"I don’t feel lucky." I finished the wine in my glass.

"Have you called her since? It doesn’t make sense that that would be the end without a reason."

"I’ve written to her a few times. Voice-mail, e-mail. No reply. I want her to know that we could talk, but I don’t want her to think that I’m stalking her." I watched Lynn twist the (huge) diamond ring on the finger of her left hand. "How about you?"

Lynn never seemed to me the ‘desperate to get married’ type. "No date set, it doesn’t bother me. I never wanted to get a ring. I’d rather just get married – if you’re going to do it, do it. If you’re not, don’t. We won’t have a big wedding any way"

"You? Don’t you have the big family back home?"

"Yeah, but the folks can’t take Jim. They’ll never hold a wedding for me and him. It’s not worth the fight."

"Too old?" I asked. Jim is 40 something (and looks a bit older, balding with gray hair and a bit of a middle age spread) and can be a bit of an asshole at times. Lynn is 29. I could see how her family wouldn’t be thrilled. Here eyes widened.

"You used the past tense," she said. "Huh?"

"You said ‘loved’ – past tense. That’s the first time, a few minutes ago. It just clicked – God, I’ve had too much wine." She paused. "Good night. You’ll be over it soon."

I spread out the embers in the fireplace and showed myself to the guest bedroom. Max followed me.

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Sunday morning I got up fairly early. I rummaged through the kitchen for some food and started the coffee. I don’t know if it’s Jim or Lynn, but there is always a fresh pint of buttermilk and a pound of bacon in the fridge whenever I am planning to stay overnight here. As usual, I made up a batch of buttermilk pancakes from scratch. The smell of bacon seemed to rouse them from their sleep. Jim came out first and scarfed down a stack of pancakes.

"How’d you sleep" he asked.

"Max needs some flea powder or something. He kept scratching and jiggling his dog tags – it kept waking me up." I complained. Max, their dog, slept at the foot of the bed in the guest bedroom last night.

"Why didn’t you take his collar off?"

"I don’t know"

"What’s the matter, you never undressed a dog in the dark before?" He laughed at his own joke.

A bit later Lynn came out. "Good morning" she chirped. "How’d you sleep?"

"He was a little too shy to get a good night’s rest" Jim reported, and then he retold his joke.

I cleaned up the kitchen, Lynn helped. Then I read the Sunday morning paper. I left for home about noon and promptly took a nap for most of the afternoon.