The best things in life are unexpected. Or so they say anyway. I wasn’t so sure about that when my ex showed up at my doorstep last week. We hadn’t spoken in months, and all of a sudden there he was. One minute I’d been sleeping, and the next he was blowing up my phone. When I’d recognized his foreign digits I’d gone into instant panic mode and ended the call right away. But my phone kept ringing.
When finally I answered, he started talking about how much he missed me, and how good it was to hear my voice. Still in a sleepy stupor, I asked why he was calling so late. We’d shared a hot and heavy summer fling two years prior, after which we’d dated long distance for a year and a half. Things had gone kaput, and disastrously so.
Nevertheless, there he’d been on the other end of the phone. Our conversation had gotten even more bizarre. He mumbled something about asking a friend to deliver a package to my house, and said they’d just called to let him know they had. He asked if I’d seen it. I let him know I definitely had not. “I’d have noticed if someone left something on my front lawn,” I said matter-of-factly.
“He said he left it right in your balcony,” he pressed. “I know it’s late but maybe you can just look outside to check.”
I told him I had zero intentions of getting out of bed, just as I pulled off the covers and jumped to my feet. I crept to the living room, annoyed at having been woken up, but still unable to shake off my curiosity.
“I’m really mad this guy brought it so late,” he went on. “I wanted to surprise you…”
“There’s no way I’m . . . ” I started telling him as I pulled the living room drapes slightly to the side.
I looked outside and there he was. This guy was literally parked in my driveway, standing on the phone talking to me, when I had no idea we were even in the same country! I opened the door and walked out onto the balcony, and stopped and stared him straight in the face. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him in the face.
“Well, I guess you didn’t get it,” he said sheepishly, and I looked at the package of fruit roll ups he was holding and tried not to smile. He knew those were my favourite. Suddenly it occurred to me what I must have looked like: ratty pajamas, disheveled hair tucked underneath a scarf, face greasy with cocoa butter. It was 2 a.m., and I looked like a bum!
I rushed back inside the house and closed the door. Standing with my back pressed against the wall for what felt like eternity, I felt my phone vibrating. It was him. A sea of questions came pouring out of me, and he answered every one. My shock was quickly making way for excitement.
He told me he was on the island for a few days, and was staying at a hotel in the north. Needless to say I made a beeline for my room, but stopped short at the door. I didn’t want to wake my roommate; I was convinced she would do anything to change my mind. She hated him, and I did too. Well, at least I used to. I found my overnight bag and tiptoed around my room picking up whatever I could lay my hands on: a bikini, some things for work, assorted clothing, enough for a few days. I had every intention of making the best of the moment. I walked out the door, to his SUV, and into his arms thinking something about forgiveness, and new beginnings.