At that point we were two adults becoming friends, not two old friends trying to reclaim what we once had.

On my most recent business trip, I had dinner with two cheerleaders on the same night.

More specifically, I re-connected with two high school friends, M and S. It’s possible I insulted one of them, but if so she took it in stride.

I did it all through the magic of Facebook.

I have known S since kindergarten. She gave me my first kiss, on the playground in first grade, and hers was the first phone number besides my own that I memorized. From what I understand, her parents still have the same number. Beyond “going with” each other in grade school, we became like brother and sister. Come to think of it, that happened to me with most girls, but I digress.

I haven’t known M as long, and our conversations consisted of a couple of long phone calls one teen-aged summer. I don’t remember much about it, but she was very nice and I always thought she was friendly. Although it surely crossed my mind, I never asked her out on a date.

Via a private message to M, S, and others, I announced before my trip that I would be in their area and would like to have dinner or drinks with some of my old friends. M responded saying that I could join her and her husband for a night on the town.

By Monday evening, I missed my family and thought it might be cool to hang out with someone else’s. As of Tuesday at lunch, nobody had replied. I felt lonely.

Tuesday evening I discovered a message from M. She said that she and her family would like to have me over for dinner one night. I already had planned Thursday night with a couple that Shannon and I got to know while living there, so Wednesday was our only option. We agreed that I would show up at about 6:30.

Then I got a message from S saying that she and her husband would host me for dinner. I was a little bummed because I didn’t want to have to choose. Also, S and I had much more in common; besides our own history, she had seriously dated a close friend of mine, so I saw her at our geeky lunch table and outside of school. I had a serious heart-to-heart with her at our 10-year senior class reunion, wherein she assured me I would make a great father.

By contrast, I never really had hung out with M at all.

Ultimately I rushed to Starbuck’s on Wednesday for coffee with S, met her two delightful little girls, and quickly got caught up the people with both knew. I followed them to a local Mexican restaurant to join her husband and son for chips and salsa. They were very friendly and it was a nice break from the typical cold-weather work trip evening. I easily could have stayed with them and had a great time.

As it was, however, I apologized for snacking and running and started on my 25-mile drive to M’s house. Her family and grilled pork loin awaited.

In a moment of surprising etiquette recall, I thought it might be nice to stop and get a bottle of wine. I stopped at a liquor store one exit before theirs.

“Hi. I’m looking for a wine that goes well with pork loin, preferably in the $12-$15 range,” I said and tried not to laugh.

A man behind the far end of the counter, turning from the drive-thru window, suggested a Cab. I passed because I generally don’t do reds.

A woman walked over and showed me a photocopied sheet of paper, taped on all four sides to the counter. It informed us that a Spanish or Italian red wine would be good, or any of the whites. I wanted something I might actually enjoy, so I steered us toward white wine. “I’m also not a fan of dry wines,” I said.

“You could try this. It’s a blend of three different types.”

I looked at the label. Ménage à Trois. “Hmmm… well, I’m visiting a female friend and her husband, so I’ll have to pass on that one.”

She laughed and agreed, then pointed me to a Honig Sauvignon Blanc from Napa Valley. “Sold,” I said.

At M’s house, I had a great time. Her family was very friendly and her husband knows how to grill pork. It turned out some of his hometown buddies were my fraternity brothers. Their oldest son loves Star Wars and his light saber, which made it very easy to picture Benjamin jumping right in with both feet.

M and her husband got together about the same year Shannon and I did, and have been married almost as long. It’s always refreshing to meeting another couple with that kind of longevity and satisfaction to go along with it.

Then came my only blunder.

“So, you didn’t grow up in (insert our hometown here), did you?” I said.

“Yes. I was born there,” she said.

“Oh, okay.” Oops. My only excuse is that she was one grade behind me, we never shared any classes, and in high school we didn’t hang out in the same social circle. Is that enough?

The wine was pretty good until I started eating. From the salad with balsamic vinaigrette to the green beans with smoked bacon and the roasted sweet potato cubes, all the way to the pork loin, nothing paired well with it (the food itself was stellar). I had ditched it by the time they smuggled me some Skittles from their sons’ Halloween stash (because they already had pilfered all the chocolate).

That last bit made me feel right at home merely for its lack of pretension. You feel at home when a “fun size” pack of Skittles is your dessert. Also, like their kids, Benjamin fishes around the chocolate when picking out candy, leaving the best stuff for us. If you can’t get chocolate, though, Skittles are about as good as candy gets.

M’s husband left us to chat while he put the kids to bed and cleaned up the kitchen. M caught me up on folks whose names I hadn’t heard since 1989 and asked me about a few people. I found that despite the fact we didn’t go to the same parties or otherwise hang out together back in high school, as parents (and parents of boys) we had a lot in common.

At that point we were two adults becoming friends, not two old friends trying to reclaim what we once had. I would do it again without blinking, and do my best to have my wife along with me.

At about 10 p.m. I thanked them for a lovely dinner and then headed out into the freezing wind for my next destination.

Which will have to wait because already I’ve gone on too long.