Page 64 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
“Anyway,” he continues. “Plan is to have a bigger, more traditional church wedding and reception in the spring.”
“Two weddings.” I whistle. “Better you than me, buddy.”
“You really don’t ever want to get married?”
“Nope. The only solid marriage I’ve ever seen is your parents’, and I’m convinced they’re actual saints and could make any situation work, so they don’t count.”
“Got it.” Eugene laughs.
The main door opens, and three of our members enter for the four o’clock class. “Hey, guys!” I shout. “Good to see you! You ready for Freida?”
They groan, but it’s all in good fun. We Bossfitters love to hate the Freida workout.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I’ll do it with you guys today. How’s that sound? Everybody get yourselves warmed up with PVC pipes, and I’ll meet you on the floor in just a few,” I say.
They disperse, and I turn back to Eugene. “Guess I’ll go gear up for Freida.” I head to prep the equipment.
“That’s it?” Gene calls after me. “You’re just gonna leave me hanging like that?”
“Hanging how?” I ask.
“The Penny story!” He laughs. “You can’t just open that discussion, then completely drop it. What’s happening there?”
“You know me, I don’t kiss and tell.”
He snorts. “Since when?”
Since I met Penny Whitaker.
I respond with a shrug.
“But there is a kiss to tell about?” he presses.
“Oh, there was more than a kiss,” I start to brag, then think better of it and pull myself back. “You know what, man? I’m going to keep those details private if it’s okay with you.”
Gene cocks his head to the side. “You’re being weird. You okay?”
“I think so?” I say, not even sure myself.
I feel like I should give the guy something, though, being that I burst through the door like a bat out of hell, wanting to talk to him. I approach him at the desk and lower my voice to a near whisper.
“Have you ever met someone and immediately felt like they were special? Like, there were layers inside of them you were desperate to uncover? And you have this feeling deep in your soul that on some cosmic level you were meant to know everything about them?”
Gene’s eyes soften and look sad for a moment. Finally, he says, “Uh, no, man. I can’t say I have.”
Then maybe you shouldn’t be getting married next month.
I think it, but I don’t say it. It seems like he might already be thinking the same thing.
“Anyway.” I slap a hand on his shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. “Thanks for listening. She told me loud and clear it’s not gonna happen, so I need to be a big boy, accept it, and move on.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Why are we moving on?” Eugene asks.
“Because she’s not interested, dude. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Maybe not romantically. But tell me this: how do you go from—how did you say it—having ‘a feeling deep in your soul that you were meant to know everything about her’ to ‘moving on?’ Do you like this woman? Or do you just want to sleep with her?”
If I were only interested in sleeping with her, I could have done that easily at Herald’s the other day.
