Never Her

"Okay, I guess I see where this is going."

"No, you don't, because I'm not finished," she hurried to say. "I guess it's hard for me to feel like you do because what happened to you didn't happen to me."

"Okay, I get that. It did happen to me, though. Maybe I'm not like everyone else, but when someone does evil shit to one of my friends, I want nothing to do with that person. If they would do it to my friend, they would do it to me in the right circumstances. You get that?"

"Yes. I'm not as cut and dried about shit as you, Mac. I do understand you, though. I've thought about this for three days. I love you. There is no doubt about that in my mind. I want to spend the rest of our lives together, get married, have babies. Ithaca is my friend. I've decided she's a shitty person, though. That was some shady shit she did to you. I would feel the same as you do if someone did to me what she did to you."

I grunted in acknowledgement of her statement.

"You are necessary to me, Mac. I need you. I don't need her. I've decided she is relegated to the status of acquaintance. If I ever mention her to you again, it will be something like, "I ran into Ithaca at Target" or some shit like that. I'm sorry I was stupid. You gave me a choice; I choose you, never her. Do you forgive me?"

"Come over here, munchkin." I pulled her into my lap and we had a mutual demonstration of being back on firm ground.

She kept her word, too. Ithaca was in the rear-view mirror, and I didn't hear a word about her or see her until our second child's fifth birthday. It was at one of those dreadful children's casino/pizza places, and she was there, evidently, with her son, for the same purpose. We spoke, exchanged the usual banalities, and went our separate ways.

On the way home, Celia put her hand on my leg. "Ithaca looked good,"

"Yeah, she was always beautiful," I said. "Nothing like you, though."

Those huge blue eyes sparkling up at me told me I'd said the right thing.