When the television is the most interesting thing in your life, it’s time to pivot.

I don’t know if it was actually binge watching. . . .

It was.

I was just trying to catch up.

You, yourself, said the show wasn’t that good.

I do tend to be task-oriented.

Silence sometimes accomplishes what words cannot.

Okay. I agree, but how? I have the most boring job on the planet and neither of us is great at sportsy things.

I’ll admit the rock-climbing outing wasn’t the best idea.

And the cooking class . . .

Please don’t bring it up. I still have a scar.

We sat across from each other, sipping our respective macchiatos; not that I like a macchiato. I prefer something milder, but Ava had arrived before I did and kindly bought me one, so I was kindly drinking it.

We sat in the semi-quietness of a busy coffee shop, the scrape of chairs on a bare floor and an occasional name being called when an order was filled interrupting the small talk of people carrying on uninteresting conversations. Except one.

Apparently two guys at the table next to us thought they were comedians, because they kept saying knock (once, not twice) and the other one showed an amazing lack of curiosity, because they never asked who’s there.

What’s with those guys? I whispered.

Ava scrunched her face at me. Clearly she had not been evesdropping.

I pointed behind my raised palm, so she leaned her head in their direction. It was too far to the left, though. She lost her balance and fell out of her chair. The two men turned toward us in unison. Ava brushed herself off and reseated herself with as much elegance as she could muster, while I tried to save face by commenting how much we liked knock knock jokes. They didn’t even crack a smile, and that’s when it occurred to me that perhaps I had misheard.

I motioned to Ava that we should leave, so after taking what had to be a throat-scorching gulp of her macchiato, she grabbed her mini backpack and followed me out. Okay. I didn’t mention the whole mini backpack thing before because it is so utterly embarrassing to one of us (me). It was a mix of pink and orange with a poodle pin stuck on the flap. It makes me wonder if Ava never recovered from some middle school fashion trauma. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t know her then. But despite my broad hints that she should give it up, she clung to that thing like a barnacle.

Anyway, we reached the curb when I felt a presence fairly close behind us. What now? We were being followed by the knock knock guys!

Ava had reached the same conclusion and we speed-walked to our cars. I saw one guy grab her elbow just before I felt a strong hand on mine. I nearly slapped him, but he blocked my hand and suggested we all return to the coffee shop for a convo. He didn’t say it that way, but it was what he meant. I replied, Over my dead body. I didn’t say it that way, but it was what I meant. What he probably heard, was Okay.

And what Ava and I discovered was that some pivots can bring interest and delight to your life (or scraped knees or a scar), while others . . . well, others can lead to heartburn and bad dreams.

to be continued . . .

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