Reed and I walked without speaking to my car parked in the airport garage. My head was spinning. I had no idea what to say nor what I would do with him for a whole week. I wondered why he didn’t rent a car of his own. I could have met him at his hotel. Why was I afraid to ask?

I drive a Volvo XC40, a small SUV. I popped open the back for Reed’s bag and briefcase. His bag was a carry-on, so there was plenty of room. It was the front passenger seat that was an issue. He had to be 300-plus pounds and 6’4”. That kind of size just doesn’t tuck right into an XC40—his body kind of spread out across the sides of the passenger seat.

Spillage, I thought to myself.

 His overflow reminded me of a time I went to a lingerie store to buy a new bra. The sales lady insisted on coming into the dressing room to help me. She said she knew exactly how to make my girls look perky. When I tried on a too-small bra, my back fat poked out around the back strap and under my arms.  

“You have spillage,” she announced. My back fat was spillage. Reed had spillage all over my front seat, but it was his entire body, from the waist down. I forced myself not to look.

“You’re not happy,” he said quietly. He sounded dejected.

“Well,  you certainly don’t look like this picture.”  I showed him my phone and the photo from the dating app.

“I used to,” he said, chuckling. He thought he was pretty funny.

“Yeah, and I used to look a lot different, too. But I didn’t take a photo from 2000 and post it on a present-day dating site. You lied.”

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked a second time. I regarded him, wanting to say yes. He wasn’t upset or angry; instead, his expression was more hang-dog and pathetic.  I couldn’t hurt him. 

“No, you don’t have to leave.” 

I wasn’t ready to drive home, so I headed toward my office at my brother’s company in Bloomfield. The employees were still working, so I wouldn’t be alone. Besides, Reed was a contract attorney for the United States Air Force, and he said he was interested in the kind of work my brother’s company did for the government. 

We pulled up to the building, a 40,000 square-foot, brick, one-story structure. I parked in the open lot, and we headed in with little to say. As he closed the door on his side of the car, I noticed the tremors in both of his hands. I guess the brain surgery didn’t work, is what I thought. 

Reed said he needed to use the facilities. We went straight to my office, where I sat down at my desk, and he went into my private bathroom.  When he came out, I gave him a pair of safety glasses, put mine on, and we toured the shop. Once we returned to my office, it was time to head home. I told him I would use the bathroom, and then we’d leave.

It was apparent when I entered my bathroom that Reed’s hand tremors were constant and uncontrollable. He’d managed to spray the walls, seat, and floor. I was disgusted and wanted to cry. Without Reed knowing, I left an apology note for the janitorial staff.

I dropped Reed off at the Residence Inn and told him I’d call him. He leaned into the driver-side window and told me to choose any restaurant I desired.  Not much was open. I left him as quickly as possible and drove toward home. The ride was only five minutes, and I used that time to compose myself. 

I concluded that the man was clueless but harmless. Yes, he misrepresented himself with the photo. No wonder he never did FaceTime or Zoom with me. But worse lies have been told. He would only see me when I came and picked him up. I might invite him over for dinner at some point, but not now. I needed time.  He did say he had a lot of work to do, so most days, he’d be busy, and I’d be free. That was a relief. 

Then the phone rang the next morning.  

“Can I come over and work from your house,” Reed frantically begged.  “I can’t miss these Zoom meetings. One’s a deposition. The internet is down at the hotel. Please, Mimi.” 

I didn’t want him in my house. I wanted to say no, but the word wouldn’t come out.  He sounded desperate. I knew I was his only option. It wasn’t my problem, but it sort of was.  I allowed him to come to Connecticut. He was here because of my inability to say, “No.”

© Miriam Greenberg, and the blog Love In The Time Of Corona, beginning April 2022 to the Present. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Miriam Greenberg and Love In The Time Of Corona with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.