welcome home

Around one, I text Alexander, "What bus r u taking?"  I get no response.

I am at Cafe Jax, a great (relatively new) little coffee place on the Upper East Side.  I am with Karen, someone I haven't seen in over 10 years.  I think we met through networking.  She was in television marketing at Showtime for a long time.  Karen and I reconnected through Facebook or Words With Friends; I can't even remember now, but am glad we did.  

Karen is easy to be with, smart and likable. We  have a lot in common, and already have plans to see each other again in January.  

Before leaving, Alexander calls to tell me he's on a 4:15 bus, so will be home late.  Great; that means I can go to Book Club at Penny's.

About six of us show, and no one loves the book (Wild).  Actually there have been few books, over the ten plus years we've been meeting, that we've all loved (or even liked a lot).  Good books may be harder to find than good men.

I'm the first to leave as I want to be home for my son.  I don't want him walking into an empty home.

Around 10:30 there's a knock on my door.  It's Alexander.  He looks great.  He's wearing untamed hair (he only gets haircuts when he's home; cheaper for him that way) and a big smile.  It feels good to hug him.

Within ten minutes Alexander is all settled in.  Duffel bag in the living room, open with a few things pulled out. Coat thrown over a chair.  A month-old MacBook Pro on the dining table,  still unprotected, despite having a new Speck cover ("I've been studying for finals; I'm sorry; I haven't had time to put the new cover on yet.").

Then, "What do you have to eat?  I'm starving."

Followed by, "Where's the Gone Girl DVD; I want to watch it now."

And then, as a concession, "But if you want to watch an episode of Modern Family, I'll do that with you."

It's as if my son never left.