Yesterday I was without hot water for a few hours, set off the smoke alarm repeatedly while roasting lemon potatoes, couldn't put together an outfit and lost my cell phone, twice, before having to venture to the far east side of the city to celebrate Valentine's day with three other single women. I was not exactly a bucket full of cheer.
Lisa invited me to join her for dinner with one of her running buddies on Sunday night. I hesitated about going, first because I wasn't sure if I was going to be working on my novel still that night, and secondly because I wanted to ignore V-day this year in favour of watching the Olympics, washing my hair, scrubbing the bathtub and alphabetizing my soup cans. I've done the single girls' support session thing and I've done the sweetheart thing. The only things I really love about Love Day in February are the pink and red hearts. I used to decorate my cubicle at work with them but I've heard this is forbidden in the place I'm at now, so grey padded walls, 365 it is. But some other force won out against my hesitation and I found myself assigned to bring roasted lemon potatoes for the Greek dinner.
My dad came over in the afternoon to flush out my hot water tank. It's been rather unreliable lately so we thought we'd try to get the crud out of it in hopes of improving its performance. Sunday really didn't seem like a good day for him to do this--Dad was watching the Daytona 500 and I needed to be showered and out the door at a specific time to make it to dinner. But he came anyway, showing up as I was reorganizing my linen closet. While he did his thing I worked on laundry and the pucker up potatoes.
I had asked my dad if I was going to have hot water by five, when I would need to be in the shower. Yes, he said. I had some concern when after the first flushing he ran the water and decided it needed more work. He went back to the basement while I folded clothes and watched speed skating.
Just before five I took the potatoes out. I had lined my glass baking dish with foil to make the clean up easier. I was foiled alright, the roasting juices bubbled over and got in-between the foil and the glass and burned black. The potatoes were fine, great actually, but the burning lemon juice and olive oil was what kept setting the smoke alarm off and resulted in a black mess in the pan. I transferred the potatoes to another dish for transport and quickly put the glass pan in the sink. I squeezed in some dish soap and cranked on the hot water to let the pan soak. The water felt barely warm.
"This is ridiculous!" I yelled. "I need to have a shower now and there is no hot water!" I knew it wasn't my dad's fault, I knew there was nothing he could really do. I was just mad. He left and I said I would be following close behind to shower and change at his place. I grabbed, and stuffed into a duffle bag, every pink or black top I had that, in combination with my new black skirt, might form an outfit that was pretty yet not overly formal. I figured that likely the other girls would be in their jeans but if I was going to be going out and celebrating this day, damn it, I was going to feel like a million bucks. I was running late and went to grab my cell phone to let Lisa know. I couldn't find it. I looked all over the house, tore apart my bed, searched through my purse, my gym bag and my work bag but couldn't find it. So I pulled out Mac and went online to send myself a text message.
I heard the phone vibrate and chime. It sounded to be coming from the kitchen so I went back there and sent another message to myself. It wasn't coming from my purse (though I checked it, again) and it didn't seem to be coming from the counter or the table. I went back to my bedroom, sent another message and listened. It still couldn't place it but then the bell went off in my head and I flung open the linen closet. There it was, on the shelf, with the towels. One of these days it will end up in the freezer. Remind me to make a donation to the Alzheimer's society, for me it would be an investment.
I went into the bathroom to wash my hands and noticed that the water felt a little warmer now. I decided to try the tap in the shower. Hot, steamy water droplets soon rained down and started to wash away the afternoon's frustration.
I happily accepted a glass of white wine when I arrived at the hostess's apartment. I apologized for being so late that she and Lisa were probably ready to eat the curtains, but they assured me all was good and we nibbled on appetizers while dinner heated up.
"Did you finish your novel?" Lisa asked me.
"Yeah, I finished on Friday night," I said.
"Congratulations!" She said and then told her friend, Joanne about my project, who also offered her congratulations. They were genuinely excited for me and this caught me off guard. I had finished the project two days ago and didn't have anyone around to celebrate it with me so I put the moment away and turned my thinking toward the next steps, namely how I was going to print off this 168-page manuscript to start editing it. Joanne asked me about the subject of the novel but I wasn't ready to talk about it yet, so maybe I'm not ready to celebrate it yet either. Is 50,000 words really such a big deal? I thought so once. Lisa and Joanne think so. My Valentine would think so.
I confessed at dinner that I'd had some reservations about accepting the dinner invitation and explained how I didn't want to celebrate V-day this year. Joanne, divorced with a 10-year-old son said she celebrates her old wedding anniversary every year with a steak dinner and wanted to do something similar for Valentine's. We drank pomegranate martinis with red heart ice cubes floating in the glasses--melting hearts, Lisa said. It made me think of my own cryogenically frozen muscle of affection and laugh.
The conversation turned to love and lack-there-of. Another one of Joanne's single friends joined us for dessert and more drinks. As I spoke and listened, I thought about how it felt like a moment you'd see on TV or in a movie. There was the woman who felt she had come to terms with her situation, the woman who had be hurt but still had hope, the one who had wisdom and faith but still some fear, and the one who felt all of those things and was perhaps one miracle or broken heart away from getting off the fence.
"Maybe it all happened so we could end up together, here tonight," Lisa said. There was something right feeling about it all. I don't know what my story will end up being, but this scene seemed to have its place.
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