As his Ola arrives, he asks me, “So, why aren’t you married?”
We are meeting right after school – after around 25 years. Of course, like everyone these days, we are connected on FB. We catch up over dinner. Over two hours of getting up to speed on classmates, schoolmates, profs, principals, marriages, kids, divorces, deaths. Yup, we are in our 40s, after all. Yet, he leaves this one for the end. Sometimes, the last thing you ask is the first thing you want to know. He is “happily” married himself, with a daughter. And mercifully, he left out “yet” from the question.
I give him the rehearsed answer. “I am not too hot about kids, and I don’t believe in marriage.” I have been doing this for 10 years or so. It comes easily. The real answer, even I don’t know. A mix of choice and chance? A case of the one that got away, and the one that never came?
He doesn’t seem satisfied, like I am refusing to share this part of my life with him. But, what does he expect? We met up for only two hours, after 25 years. And now, the driver wants to get on with the ride.
My friend and I will have to meet again. At least, he will want to.