The Conversation

So I was trying to read Snopes by William Faulkner, watch 24 on TV and Nina decides she wants to talk, too. I can usually handle two of the three so I was giving her the usual "uh hum's" when she asked, "Are you listening to me?"

"I'm trying not to, dear." I replied.

"I was talking about Walt, at work? He's dating someone and Betty's only been dead five months!"

She seemed incensed so I shifted gears from Faulkner to her but feigned disinterest just to make it fun. "Good for him" I muttered.

"It's only been five months!" she said again. Never a good sign.

"Uh hum." I answered, looking at her out of the corner of my eye.

"Five months." she repeated but more subdued this time.

I replaced my bookmark, set the book on the table next to my recliner and asked her "What's so special about five months?"

"Doesn't he miss her?" she asked.

"I'm sure he does but life goes on and I'm sure he has needs, too." I foolishly offered.

"So, I guess life will go on after I'm gone, too?"

OH OH! Not THAT conversation! I sat up a little straighter and hit the TiVo button for the rest of 24. "Of course you'll be gone when I miss you!" I exclaimed. Just to see if she was paying attention. She wasn't.

"I know" she'd softened her tone a little then continued, "I don't expect you to be alone when I'm gone. It's just weird to think about."

"Then don't" I answered perhaps too quickly.

She just stared at me for a moment and I could see her deciding that what she had to say was more important than cutting my balls off. For the moment, anyway. When she continued I actually rearranged my features to resemble what I hoped looked like interest.

"It's weird" she repeated. "Thinking about you living here with another woman. I mean, you would live here, wouldn't you?"

"Probably." I said cautiously. "It's mostly paid for and I know where everything is."

"What about my car?" she wondered. ""Would she drive my car?"

"I don't know. Uh... Probably! Cars are expensive. And I don't think they're all that personal. So probably. Unless she had a better one, I guess." That was smooth, I thought.

"What about my clothes and jewelry?" she continued to gnaw at the bone.

"What about them?" I asked.

"Would you let her wear them?" she said like I was an idiot.

"I... uh... I don't know. Uh... Most clothing is a personal choice, so I don't think that'd be an issue. But most jewelry is expensive and decorative... So... uh... Except for things with personal value like your wedding ring and... uh... That necklace that was your mothers, that kind of stuff, I say she would probably end up wearing some of it. Sure." I HAD to find a way out of this conversation.

She looked slightly annoyed with my last answer. I didn't leave her much to gnaw at. Then she pressed on, "What about my golf clubs?"

I sat back and picked up my book, opened it to the marked page and answered, "No Dear, she would NOT use your golf clubs. She's left handed." And I began reading again.