Weeks passed. Physical therapy was progressing, but I wasn't improving as quickly as I'd hoped. "This is where you learn patience. You never had to when you were young. Now you gotta learn what it's like to have to push, to put everything you got into it just to get what everybody else got without even trying," said Papa Olaf in response when I informed him of my feelings. "This never happened to you before. You're smart. All was easy in school, graduating two years early with honors, then going to Stanford, getting that Summa Laude whatever it was - you worked for it, but not too hard, not like the not-so-smart kids. Now is different, now you learn what is like to be a slow kid - not slow in the head, but in the body. "
I sighed. "It's been five months, though. This is taking longer than I thought it would. I run like a baby giraffe, and if the ground's uneven I still need a cane."
Papa Olaf snorted at this. "When you were a baby you had the same problem, only without the cane - then you just fell on your ass. Back then you had enough guts to pull yourself back up and try again. I hope you still got that. You're in trouble if you don't." He yawned then. "I'm tired, Gregor. Go do what you do on your day off and leave an old man to his rest."
"Okay, Papa. I'll see you tomorrow then. Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
I considered taking in a movie, decided against it, then went for groceries and hit the McDonald's drive through on my way home. This was, after all, the content of my days off any more - visit Papa Olaf, stop by the store if I needed to, rehab in the afternoon if it happened to be a Monday or a Thursday. It was Tuesday, so I turned on the television and fixed myself a double rum and coke to go with my Big Mac.
Three hours and two drinks later I was sleeping through Judge Judy when the phone rang. "Hello."
"Greg." Slight hesitation in the familiar voice. "This is Jenna." Long pause. "Remember me?"
Oh, did I EVER remember her - Jenna, my ex-girlfriend from seven years ago before, the first girl I'd dated after getting to Vegas. She was my first for a lot of things. We'd dated for two years before she'd dumped me and moved away. It had come without warning, and she'd been matter-of -fact and boredly unconcerned about the whole thing. Yeah, I remembered, alright - Jenna, the only girl I'd ever bought an engagement ring for. Fortunately I hadn't given it to her yet when she skipped town. I still had the thing, an expensive trinket to remind me of just how bad my judgement could be. "Jenna. Um, hi! It's been a while."
Her voice was nervous. "I'm glad I caught you home. I was afraid I wouldn't." Another long pause. "Listen, I just wanted you to know, I'm moving back to Vegas. I was wondering if..." She trailed off, obviously hoping I'd take the hint and grab the conversational reins. Not a chance in Hell, sweetie.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to see you again. Maybe I could take you to dinner tonight... if you don't already have plans."
I was silent for longer than was polite. SIx months before I would've told her no, that I already had plans, then gone to a bar and tried to find a stranger to make me feel better, but things had changed. My value on the meat market wasn't what it used to be, and the little pride I had left wouldn't let me tell her no, then spend the evening alone. "Okay," I heard my mouth say. "Pick me up at six, then. You need my address."
"No, I have it. It's in the phone book. And Greg? I've missed you."
I didn't reply, just waited for the click of her hanging up before turning the phone off.
By six I was starting to panic. I was seriously considering going for a ride and telling her I'd been called in, but she knew where I worked. I dutifully showered and dressed, even threw on a bit of aftershave, then sat on the sofa to wait for my date to arrive.
She was early, and as usual her she was dressed to the teeth. "Jenna. Come in."
She cast a glance around my apartment, taking in the thrown-together conglomeration of furniture and belongings that made a powerful decorating statement. It said (and said loudly), "I am a poor, poor man who cannot afford a matched living room set, a sofa that does not need to have a quilt thrown over it to avoid frightening people, or an entertainment center crafted without the use of cinder blocks." It was pretty much the same stuff I'd had back when we were dating, only back then I'd had the excuse of youth to fall back on. She gave me a long look and sighed. "I thought we could go to Gino's, if that's okay with you."
I swallowed hard. Gino's had been OUR restaurant, the place we'd gone on our first date. I hadn't been there since we'd split. "Sure," I said softly. "That'd be good."
We took my car, my idea because the parking lot of Gino's was just a ragged gravel lot, and my spare cane was already nestled behind the seat. Since she loved Gino's house wine she was more than amenable to the suggestion. She gave me a strange look when I pulled out the cane and made my careful way to the front door.
"Did you hurt your leg?"
"Something like that. No big deal." I forced a smile and held the door open for her. "Ladies first."
"Ever the gentleman still, aren't you?"
I shrugged. "I have my moments."
Gino's lasagna was still the best around, but the air between us was tight with tension. "So how is your life these days?" I asked quietly after pushing my plate to the side. "You moved to Chicago, didn't you?"
She nodded. "Yes. The job there didn't work out. I got married to one of the attorneys from a rival firm, moved to Boston, got divorced, moved to LA." She shrugged. "It wasn't all that. I remembered how much fun Vegas used to be, so here I am. Again."
"Yeah. Here you are again."
"How about you? What's going on with you?"
I smiled. "Still working for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I changed apartments and got a new car. " I shrugged. "It's been seven years. I've changed in a lot of ways, grown up."
"Yeah. You seem a lot more serious these days. You don't drink?"
"Not when I'm the designated driver. Not that much when I'm not."
"Are you seeing anyone?"
I hesitated. The truth was that I hadn't been out on a date in eight months, but I was damned well not going to tell her that. "I date. Nobody in particular."
"I almost didn't call you."
"Mmmm. I'm curious, Jenna - why DID you call me? I got the distinct impression when we parted ways that you considered yourself above dating a guy like me - now out of the blue you call wanting to take me out to dinner. What's really up, Jen?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to know how you were. Now I know."
No, Jen, actually you don't know. You don't have a fucking clue. "Yes. Now you know. Satisfied?"
She shrugged. "Not really. I was hoping... We were good together in the beginning." She sighed. "I was hoping we could give it another try."
"I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm still not rich, still no jock, still no Playgirl centerfold. I still drive a VW, still have coffee and cupcakes for breakfast, still would rather be in a line of work that makes me feel like I'm making a difference than be a rich VP with no ethics. I'll never have a Lamborghini and mansion on the beach. I can't be your dream guy, Jen. I don't even want to try any more."
"Those things don't matter to me any more."
I shook my head. "Jen, you told me you were 'tired of settling.' Your own words, not mine. If we were to try to be together again, I would always feel like some sort of defective consolation prize you were keeping around until something better came along. I'm not willing to deal with how that would feel."
"I wish you would give this a chance."
"I can't."
"One chance. Let me stay with you tonight. If it still feels right, we take it from there."
I cleared my throat. "You don't want that."
"I do." She put her hand over mine.
"No, Jen, you don't. I've changed in ways you cannot imagine." I licked my lips. Her fingers were caressing mine, the motions almost pornographic. I was going to have to tell her the truth - otherwise she'd be finding out nonverbally. "Look, about five months ago I was attacked by two armed suspects. They beat me with a tire iron, then ran over me with a car. I ended up with a little more than a hurt leg. I'm an amputee now, Jenna,." Her hand abruptly stopped moving. A look of shock passed over her face. " I can see by the look on your face that you now understand why it wouldn't be a good idea for us to have that sleepover."
"I'm so sorry, Greg. I had no idea."
"I'm sure you didn't. You wouldn't have called if you did. Look, I don't want or need your pity. I just knew that this-" I gestured down to my prosthetic leg "-would be a deal-breaker for you, and I wanted to stop your wandering hands before I was ready to show rather than just tell."
She had no answer for that - no sweet denials of what I'd said, no assurances that she still wanted me, just cold, embarassed silence and an unwillingness to look directly at me. The ride home was just as quiet. She turned to me as she opened the door to her car. "I'll call you," she said quietly.
"No, you won't. Take care, Jen. Have a good life." I turned away from her and walked slowly to my apartment. My shame was now complete.