Photo by Reuben Mergard on Unsplash
In the end, Mr. Happy talked nonstop for 20 minutes. He was great. Eloquent, even. When he finished, he looked at me.
“So?’ he said, grinning.
I replied that he did a great job. I’m so proud of him. Etc. etc. I tried not to say too much because my anxiety was pulsing out of the part in my hair, threatening to send my scalp straight into the ceiling, and I didn’t want him to notice.
What if he’d been too good?
About five minutes into his “presentation,” while I’d been sitting there, nonchalantly listening for one of his flights of fancy (“And then the team in Philadelphia offered me a $1 million contract but I turned it down because I couldn't leave the guys I play pickup with.”), I began to realize he might not display any of his usual delusions.
And he didn’t.
Not once.
Oh holy shit.
I emailed Cary and our other attorney, Chris. “I don’t think we got what we need,” I said. And then I texted them the video.
That was Friday.
By Sunday, I still hadn’t heard anything from either of them. My scalp was still attached to my head, but I thought my biceps would burst from the lightning bolts of panic zapping my muscles. I kept swallowing, trying literally to suck down the panic.
Finally, I texted Rob.
Hey! I hope you’re doing great at golf today! Call me when you can! No rush! No emergency!
He called me, like, three seconds later. I think the plethora of exclamation points gave me away.
You ok? he asked
Yes, sort of. No. I haven’t heard anything. Did you watch the video? I sent you the video. I think I sent you the video. Did you watch it? I watched it. I mean, I listened when he made it, for God’s sake and I don’t think we got what we need. He sounded great! No ‘Lionel Messi called and I’m going to play for Manchester!’ What are we going to do? I haven’t heard from Cary or Chris and I texted them and nothing! I’m losing my mind!
If you’re thinking now’s the time to add Rob to your prayer list, I’m thinking Thank you.
I’m not sure what he said, because, honestly, I can never recall exactly what anyone says, and when I’m panicked all bets are off, but it was something to the effect of, “He sounded like an eight year-old having a good day. Which is to say, he sounded like a 12 year-old. A 12 year-old who happens to be a 32 year-old man. I think they got what they need. But if they didn’t, they’ll either ask you to try again or they’ll go without it. They're smart. That’s why you hired them.”
He’s right, of course. I hadn’t thought of any of that. Thank God for Rob. He’s talked me off the ledge more times this past year than I can count.
I said thankyouthankyouthankyou and blew kisses into the phone. Then, to distract myself, I went over to Marshalls. Sometimes a little retail therapy or just getting out of the house for ten minutes helps lessen the feeling I’m a walking live wire with hair.
It’s Tuesday and I still haven’t heard anything. We go to court again on Good Friday. I know I’ll hear from our attorneys before then but, like, hello? The waiting is killing me.
And so is the wondering.
Am I the only one who thought Mr. Happy stepped up to bat and hit it out of the park? Even Mr. Rugby, who eavesdropped on the recording which I know because I caught him, told me not to be ridiculous.
“He sounded like himself,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“But enough like himself?” I asked. “Like he usually is?”
“You’re too used to him, mom. It’s like you’re a hostage who’s been held so long, you’re starting to relate to the terrorists who took you.”
I laughed, but he could be right.
Oh, if the phone would only ring.
Thank you for taking this long, strange trip with me. I appreciate you and your many comments and emails. If you’d like to read parts 1-43, you can do so here.
Rob’s response was great! I’m sorry you’re still in waiting mode - that’s never easy. I hope you hear something soon. Maybe yesterday?
I now know why you married Rob! Anytime you talk to Mr. Happy, he is indeed himself. There is no pretense there. He’s always Mr. Happy. No news is good news in this case right? Good luck and big hugs, my friend. 💜