Last week I traveled to Cincinnati, Ohio, to attend the 2018 National Society of Newspaper Columnists Conference. I always look forward to this annual gathering of the tribe, but this year’s event in Cincinnati held a special attraction for me because someone I once believed would play a significant role in my life lived in the area and would be attending our group’s luncheon. Years ago it seemed my future and his might be forever entwined, but, alas, our paths had diverged and we ended up in different worlds.

As I sat with my eyes fixed on the entrance to the dining room, a million fears flooded my mind. Would he be happy to see me? Would it be awkward? Would he wonder why I hadn’t yet sprung for one of those Lifestyle Face Lifts? And then, suddenly, all my fears vanished because there he was, his presence filling the doorway, as handsome and imposing as I’d pictured.

I watched as he made his way through the eager crowd, easily chatting with folks along the way, confirming his charm was still fully intact. When he arrived at my table, my heart was nearly thumping out of my chest. I took a deep breath, rose to my feet and grabbed hold of the hand he extended to me.  The veteran newsman and hometown hero certainly needed no introduction in this room, yet he smiled warmly and said, “Hello, I’m Nick Clooney. It’s nice to see you here today.”

“Hello, Mr. Clooney,” I gushed. “My name is Lee Gaitan. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, and, and—” I paused a moment before deciding it was best to be direct. “And you probably don’t know this, but I was almost your daughter-in-law.”

There, I’d said it. I’d addressed the elephant in the room. Well, the elephant in my head anyway. My “romance” with George Clooney may have been ancient news, but I felt his father had a right to know how bad I’d always felt for breaking George’s heart, how much I wished it could have ended differently.

You see, back in the ‘90s George had pursued me shamelessly—right through my very own television screen in my very own living room—for two-and-a-half seasons of ER. Every Thursday night, there he was, blinking out Morse-coded messages to me with those soulful, bad-boy eyes. “Blink, blink, bliiiink,” (I love you, Lee), “Blink, blink-blink, bliiiink,” (I need you, Lee). Sometimes it was so blatant, it was embarrassing. Oh, I admit I wiled away many an afternoon, daydreaming about a future with him, fantasizing about being part of the legendary Clooney clan. I even engaged in a little flirtatious blinking back. But, I was married at the time and as strongly as I was tempted, I ultimately changed the channel before we went too far to turn back.

George was crushed and became understandably gun shy about love afterwards. (I mean, look how long it took him to finally commit to marriage. Coincidence? I think not.) I’d always felt I owed the Clooney family an apology for the suffering I’d caused and this was my chance to make things right. The essence of class, the elder Clooney graciously accepted my apology—with a wink that could turn a steel girder to putty, by the way—and even declined to alert security about me.

There was a bittersweet element to our goodbyes after the luncheon, with overly cheery promises to “keep in touch” which we both knew we’d never keep. I turned to look at him one more time as I was leaving the dining room. He was surrounded by admiring fans. To them, he was a distinguished broadcaster, an author, a political activist. But to me, he was, and will always remain, the road not taken. Nick Clooney—my former future father-in-law.