9:04 a.m.

So I made a meatloaf for supper, knowing that hot prepared food pretty much is the most pleasing thing to Fella. I changed the sheets on the bed in the master bedroom; he’d been sleeping on the same ones since November. And I brought his box of beer in from the porch and put every can in the fridge to chill. Then I ran out of nice things to do for him; there are three boxes of angel food cake mix in the cupboard but I don’t have my angel food cake pan here, or I’d have made a cake and a fruit sauce to spoon over it. He’d like that. I thought of making fudge, pretty sure he wasn’t going to come home with chocolates, but I needed to get back to work and besides, I made caramel corn on the weekend and there’s still some left for satisfying the sweet tooth.

Except that I did put on my sexy underwear, and I did check off every box in the card he gave me (it said on the front – put a checkmark beside the gift you want, and inside showed 12 graphic sexual acts) and put the card by the phone where he’d have to see it, and then when I wasn’t sure he looked inside it, I handed it to him again while he was on the phone with his son.

But then nothing happened. We spent a companionable evening in front of the TV. At one point I got off my corner of the couch and went and sat beside him on the loveseat. But after that, I figured if he wanted sex, he’d have to do something about it. I wasn’t going to play the grand seductress. I’d done my part for Valentine’s Day. His part had been leaving a repurposed birthday card on my desk. That’s as far out of his way as he was going, so what the hell.

I wasn’t disappointed in any of it. It was what it was. At least we weren’t pissed off at each other.