You hash it all out with Kathy and Jim that evening at the Slice.
“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Kathy says.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, she wasn’t really your type, was she?”
“A little scrawny for my tastes, maybe” you admit, “but you have to admit she’s pretty.”
“I’m not talking about your physical type,” she says. “Your personality type. All that Taoist bullshit and everything.”
"I'm telling you – we were meant to be together!"
Kathy slams one hand down on the table, making Jim jump. "Really? I expect that sort of romantic 'soulmates' make-me-vomit shit from this one" – she pokes a thumb in Jim's direction – "but from you?"
You turn to Jim, who’s spent this entire conversation staring down into his beer. “What do you think?”
“I liked her,” he says simply.
“Trust me: I liked her too,” Kathy chimes in. “I just never saw why youwere so interested in her.”
“So what do I do about it?”
Kathy and Jim exchange glances. “Do?” Jim asks.
“I always eat a half-gallon of ice cream,” Kathy suggests.
Jim lifts an eyebrow at her. “I’d have thought it would be a half-gallon of vodka.”
“That works too.”
“You’re saying I should just let her go?” you ask them.
Kathy whirls on you, scowling. “What – you’re serious?”
“I want to keep trying.”
“She said ‘no,’ kiddo. End of story.”
You feel a flash of anger – no, frustration – and turn your head to peer out over the half-empty restaurant.
You feel Jim’s hand close over your own. “I’m sorry,” he says gently.
You turn back to face them again. “Maybe I just went about it the wrong way.”
“I guess,” Kathy says, “but you know how it goes: you make your shot and you take your chances.”
“What should I have done?”
“How should I know?”
“I mean it,” you tell her. “If I had it to do all over again, what should I have done differently?”
“I don’t think you should –” Jim begins.
“For the next time around,” you assure him.
“It’s an impossible question to answer,” Kathy says. “A lot of it is timing. What works on a Monday could just as easily go down like the Hindenburg on a Tuesday. And even Inez herself wouldn’t be able to tell you why.”
“Threading the needle....” you muse.
Kathy raises her beer in your direction. “It’s best not to think about it. Better luck next time.”
And next time, you think to yourself, and next time and next time. It could take years.
You’re done with this conversation, you decide. You reach up, touch the house key, and
go back to the day you and Inez first met, determined to give it another try.
pull out Inez’s note to try your hand at solving the puzzle.