▸ Column · Mid-century Metropolis — standing diner suppers, telephones and notes instead of texts, a beau who rings the house
SUPERMAN replies.
Replied to by Superman, with a rebuttal from Lex Luthor.
The letter
For close to four years my best pal Dara and I have kept a standing Tuesday supper — same diner, same corner booth, rain or shine. Then back in February she took up with a fellow named Marcus, and since then she's begged off nine Tuesdays running, always the same tune: "We've made other plans, sorry, next week." When she does turn up to the gang's get-togethers, she does nothing but recite Marcus's opinions on matters nobody raised. Last month she ducked out of Priya's birthday early because Marcus rang to say he was bored at home all by himself. I tell myself I ought to be glad — she's plainly head over heels — but I feel like I'm mourning a friendship that's somehow still breathing. Is there a way to tell her she's vanished without coming off like a jealous crank? Or do I just wait it out and hope the booth remembers us?
Superman replies
Nine Tuesdays, and you counted every one. That's not jealousy, friend — that's grief with a tab open. So let's not waste it.
Here's what I notice you didn't say: Dara isn't the one who decided you'd disappear. A grown man rang her up to report he was bored — at home, alone, like a kettle going off — and she left a birthday over it. That's the fellow who isn't doing his own job of being a whole person, and Dara's the one footing the bill for it.
But I won't tell you to write her off. You don't grieve people you're done with.
This Tuesday, don't send word asking if she's still coming. Telephone her — your voice, not a note — and say the true thing plain: "I miss you. It's been nine weeks. I want one supper, just us, our booth, no Marcus, and I need to hear from your own mouth whether this friendship still matters to you." Then let her answer.
Back in Smallville I watched Pete Ross go quiet on me for a whole season over a girl. I waited. Waiting did nothing. The day I actually said it out loud, he came back. It's never too late to do the right thing — but somebody has to say it first. Let it be you.
— Superman
Lex Luthor weighs in
Oh, sweetheart. He'll have you "telephoning your true feelings" until the booth is a fossil.
You've already communicated nine times, darling — and Dara has priced every word of it in. The tenth speech changes nothing.
Here's the resource you're hemorrhaging: a standing reservation you keep holding for a woman who treats it like a coat-check. Stop holding it. Issue one invitation, a real date, then go dark. No reminders, no plaintive call.
And Marcus — the man who summons a grown adult by announcing he's bored — isn't your rival. He's your diagnostic. Let the friendship fail in plain view, just once. You'll learn in a week what the alien wants you to learn over a season.
— Lex Luthor
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