We live on opposite sides of town, and the venue we were going to happened to be pretty smack dab in the middle of our homes. So this was a fair question. Wondering if it might just be easier for us to meet there.
I texted him back that he should come over to my house first. And bring whatever it was he needed for work the next morning.
No pussy footing about it.
The boy was going to spend the night.
So he did just that. Showing up around 9, just as I was finishing getting ready.
And then we headed off to the concert venue.
To the location of our first date.
Exactly a month after the fact.
The first band up was less than exciting. We wound up sitting out in a booth drinking and catching up. Feeling each other out again until we both seemed to have relaxed.
When the main band came on stage, we wandered back into the venue. But in reality, they weren't that great either. We meandered up to the front and danced around for a few songs, but decided after not too long that it was time to go.
We were both kind of over it.
And truthfully; I just wanted to get him home.
Once we were in the confines of my house, all bets were off. We fluctuated between varying stages of fooling around, and talking all night while wrapped up in each other.
Drifting in and out of sleep, but never for very long.
It was a good night though.
Except…
There was one blip in the festivities. One moment when I really wasn’t sure what to think or say.
We had been talking about the morning when I dropped that bomb on him. And the complete panic he apparently went into after I left.
I was shocked when he told me he wound up back in his bed for 20 minutes just freaking out. Trying to wrap his mind around everything I had left him with.
He had been so calm when I gave him the news. So stoic and put together.
While I had been expecting the panic, I didn’t personally see any signs of it.
So to hear about his freak out actually surprised me.
It was what came out of his mouth next that really stopped me in my tracks though.
Still laughing over his own stress regarding my situation, he informed me that he had told his sister and a few friends the story in the midst of his panic.
“My sister thinks you’re crazy” he teased, arms still wrapped around me.
As I slowly began to pull away.
The story Mr. Fix-It got from me that morning lasted no longer than 10 minutes. I showed very little emotion as I gave him the bare details. He doesn’t know the intensity that has laid beneath those details over these last few months. He doesn’t fully understand the complexities of the situation, or the circumstances surrounding each of my decisions.
And when he regaled his sister and friends with my news, it was after one of the guys there had asked him how things were going with the new girl he was dating. It was in a moment when he had decided that this whole thing was a deal breaker. A point in time when he had come to the conclusion that my issues were just a bit too much for him to take on.
When he was convinced he would never see me again.
“Um, yeah…” he said to the group. “She told me she’s trying to get pregnant. She’s in Seattle right now, trying to get pregnant.”
From what I can gather, that’s the extent of the details he shared.
Over a campfire, with friends and his sister.
Laughing at the ridiculous turn of events his dating life had just taken.
Even as he told me this (and informed me of his protective sister’s reaction) he was laughing. Not realizing this would hurt me. Thinking it was actually all quite funny.
And I was slowly shrinking away from him in bed.
Appalled by the whole thing.
Perhaps it’s because of the freshness of this wound, but the truth is that the idea of anyone laughing about the decisions I’ve made right now makes me cringe. Had this round worked, I’m not sure I would have cared too much what anyone thought of me. But it didn’t work. And there are so many raw emotions lingering behind that failure, that it feels like a slap in the face to picture anyone laughing at the effort.
I know he doesn't see that. I know he doesn't see it, because I haven't shown it to him. Even last night, he pointed out how great I seemed to be doing. I could see the confusion on his face as he assessed my mood, no doubt wondering if there was a break down lingering beneath the surface. But I maintained that smile plastered on my face. I put forth the picture perfect image of a girl meant to be the life of the party.
Rather than a girl crumbling under the weight of her own losses.
So I know he doesn't see the emotion in this situation for me. I know that as I hide behind my humor, he is only taking his cues from me.
But the idea of anyone but me laughing about the absurdity of this all cut like a knife.
Beyond that though; this is his sister. Someone he has told me he is quite close to. Someone who’s opinion of me actually matters.
Someone who likely told his parents this abbreviated version of my life story as well.
He couldn’t initially understand why I was upset. As I explained that I was thinking one day I might actually want to meet his family (and that this might put a damper on that event should it ever come) he looked at me like I was crazy.
Like it didn’t matter.
Like this was no big deal.
Even as he told me that his sister probably wouldn’t ever like me.
I looked at him and spouted off “Yeah. Well, my dad wouldn’t like you.” Before rolling over in bed and turning my back to him.
Because sometimes, I am fairly sure that I’m still 12.
He was still laughing though. Still thinking this was no big deal.
And the truth is, I get it. I get exactly how and why the conversation would have taken place. I get that I dropped an insane amount of crap in his lap, and then just left and got on a plane. It makes sense that he would tell the people in his life about it. Especially when in his mind, he had decided it was a deal breaker.
If he never planned on seeing me again, why wouldn’t he share these details?
I’m not sure what happened between that moment of not wanting to deal with it at all, and the point where he decided he was at least “curious” enough to want to learn more, but it doesn’t matter.
In that moment, he thought it was over.
But the problem is that the version he got from me was quite abbreviated, and it would appear as though the version he gave his friends and sister was even more so.
And when cut and chopped down into pieces like that, of course this story is going to make me look crazy! Of course it is going to make me come off as desperate and baby crazed.
OK, so I am desperate and baby crazed. But not in a bad way.
I don’t think.
If I were his sister though – I would have the same exact reaction. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.
And when he said “You’re worrying about an awful lot of other people right now. People who aren’t in this bed and who really don’t matter in regards to the two of us.” I knew he was right. I knew I was overreacting. After all, we aren’t even at the point of meeting families yet. I would say we’re actually still a ways away from that in fact.
So maybe I need to take a step back and not allow this to hurt me. Or worry me.
But while I understand exactly why and how that conversation took place, I still hate that it happened at all. I hate that there were people talking about and judging me and my choices. People who don’t even know me.
People who I may actually one day hope to impress.
And so, this afternoon I called The Devirginator.
Intent on getting a male opinion. And advice from one of my nearest and dearest.
As per usual, my favorite boy friend put me right in my place.
Without even meaning to.
It was when we started talking about Mr. Fix-It that he asked what he thought of my blog.
“Oh, he’s never read it!” I replied with horror.
“He’s never asked to read your blog?” The Devirginator was genuinely perplexed.
“He doesn’t even know I have a blog.” I replied, knowing exactly where this was going.
I write. I write every day. I write about the intimate details of my life.
And I share them here. For all the world to see.
Every single person in my life knows about this space. They know it’s my favorite form of therapy. They know its how I release. How I analyze. And how I adjust.
The people in my life know me to be an insanely open person. To them, there is nothing strange at all about this blog.
But Mr. Fix-It may not feel the same way. Should the day come when he and I are far enough along in the dating game that I feel comfortable revealing my secret hiding place to him, he may actually feel betrayed.
Now, to be fair, that is a risk I will have to take. Because the truth is that any man who would ever end up with me would have to know and accept this part of me. This part that is an open book. This part that made best friends with her keyboard a long long time ago.
(Courtesy of Google Images)
But as I sit and type about the details of our first dates, can I really be mad at Mr. Fix-It for sharing similar details with a much smaller audience?
Of course not.
Not without being a hypocrite.
And so for now, I am letting this one go. Hoping that when and if the day arrives when it becomes time for me to meet his family, I am able to win them over. Able to show them that I’m not crazy.
At least not in the ways they may think.
And as for the resolution to this little rift (if you could even call it that); it lasted no more than 20 minutes. After which, we were right back to distracting each other from sleep the rest of the night.
This morning, as we each got ready for work, there were no awkward moments. No discomfort or frustration.
Just a simple kiss goodbye, and texts throughout the day.
And when I'd discovered that he had in fact left behind a few articles of clothing, I let him know that I would be tossing the items in the trash.
Because I wouldn't want the guy I've got coming over tonight to think I was skanky.
We've both been dragging throughout the day. The lack of sleep getting to each of us.
But I am hopeful. Hopeful that we may have something good going, and hopeful that the bumps in the road will be few and far between from here on out.
At least until the day I get the chance to make an impression of my own upon his family.
And to ease him into the idea of my online diary; this open space of mine.
Both events which will likely lead to plenty of panic on their own.
And at the very least; a good story to tell.
