An ex (or is that referred to as an “X”?) reaches out unexpectedly shortly after Valentine’s Day. “How are you?” she asks.

This is … surprising and I’m also left with a strong sense of déjà vu. (Off topic: I like the way the accents make the word Déjà look like an old-school emoticon.)

Haydee was a woman I dated briefly in college. I loved her, at least I thought I did. She liked me. We ended on a sour note and went our separate ways. Decades pass. One day I found her on Facebook and sent her a message. “Are you the same Haydee who told me it was a good idea to eat shrimp with the shells still on?” No response.

C’est la vie. I find I say that a lot these days.

But, she does respond. It just takes five years. “Hey, how are you?” she asks. More déjà vu. It always feels good to reconnect with an old friend. Time mellows the details of our brief relationship, and subsequent breakup. She’s full of questions and sifts through my online presence “liking” my infrequent posts or fabulous photos. It feels good to feel “liked” – even if it is only on FB. I’m acutely aware of tiny threads of an old connection reforming. We compare stories about our shared history. “Remember the time we went to that party and … ?” She tells me about her life since UMass. I dredge up memories of her family and ask about her father and mother and brothers in Puerto Rico (post Hurricane). She shows me photos of her immediate family – a husband and two teenage sons (her “Pride and Joy”). They look happy. I’m happy for her.

Everyday, after work, she reaches out – more questions, more observations. “Can you believe what this monster is doing in the White House?” “Do you remember George B?” “How is your mother and father?”

Weeks go by and I have a question for her. “Where’s your husband?”  Golfing with co-workers. On a business trip. Watching TV. Out with friends. Running errands. He’s very busy because this is a new job and … And she’s home alone.

I understand.

Weeks go by and our conversations wane. One evening she asks if I remember the last day we saw each other. Of course. “I’m … sorry for that” she says. “I was really confused.”

It’s fine. We were young and that was a long time ago. And, we both moved on.

Still, I wished she’d told me that days later instead of decades. How would my life have been different?  Perhaps we could have more than just two people who knew each other briefly. Not long after this exchange, she stops the daily outreach.

And that’s fine too.

C’est La Vie.