17.2 My work husband’s wife …
Part 2/3, not in order.
I can’t remember how long it was before I met you, after him. But I remember walking up to the boat and straining to see you. You were mythical to me, his wife. It surprised me that you were so ordinary, except for your limp.
You made me feel comfortable instantaneously. Part of the reason I always feel warm and friendly on a boat ever since. We made jokes at his expense together, easily acknowledging how well we both knew him.
The time we went up for the raft trip together, and we missed OJ’s slow speed chase because we were in your husband’s SUV, six hours at least.
The crazy trip together to Ventura, when we got there at three in the morning, me in the bunk right over the two of you. All of us snoring until we woke to the smell of breakfast and the sight of dawn over a glassy channel. So tired on the way home we crashed for an hour or so in the El Pollo Loco parking lot, my hand draped over yours or his, until we all woke up drooling, eyes full of sleep, clothes full of salt.
You gave me your grandma’s bed when she had to go to assisted living. For my “guest room”, but you knew the real reason, because he told you everything.
When he took another job, you were the one I complained to when he wouldn’t return my calls.
I’d forgotten we worked together with my work wife, until I looked at my LinkedIn recently, looking for him through you. So natural we were together again without him, with her, not even worth remembering.