You've already read part one and part two, so get ready to settle in and spend the next little bit taking in part three:
It’s a 40 minute drive from his house to mine. Before I had even made it into my garage, he was calling. Apologizing for being so distant. Unloading the fears and reservations that had been going through his head the night before. He admitted that something had triggered his missing her, and that he had then felt guilt towards me for feeling that way. He hadn’t known how to reconcile any of it, so he had just shut down instead.
We talked for over an hour – without me once getting out of my car. Just sitting there in my garage listening to him as he explained everything he had been feeling.
In the end, I told him I never wanted him to feel guilty over anything he still felt towards her. That it was natural and normal and I understood it.
And I did. All I cared about was that he continued to be honest with me. I would rather hear about his missing her any day over the maddening silence I had experienced the entire morning. I wanted to know where his head was at, instead of being left in the dark wondering if I myself had done something wrong.
After weeks of endless talking, the silence had about killed me. I didn’t care what (or who) he was thinking about – I just wanted him being honest with me about it.
Besides, it’s not like I was an idiot. Not like I didn’t realize something was up. It just broke my heart feeling like there wasn’t anything I could do about it. At least when we were talking about what he was going through – I felt like I was a part of the solution.
By the time we got off the phone, all was good between us.
And then about 2 hours later, he called again.
This time in clearly better spirits, and laughing once more like the boy I had started to fall for.
He said he had something to tell me. That he had called his mom after getting off the phone with me, and had unleashed upon her all of the thoughts and feelings he had struggled with in the previous 24 hours as well.
It is here I should probably point out that the boy has an unusually close relationship with his mother. Which I would probably find odd (or disconcerting), if it weren’t for the fact that I have an unusually close relationship with my father. It was something we had joked about – the fact that we both tended to overshare with our parentals. I actually liked that he was so close with his mom, because I knew it would mean he would find my very open relationship with my dad less uncomfortable.
But what he said next was not something I was prepared for.
Apparently his mom had inquired about the seriousness of our relationship – as any concerned mother likely would at this point.
And his response had been to tell her that yes, we were sleeping together.
Even though she hadn’t explicitly asked that question.
Even though I had only met his poor mother once.
And even though at that point, we had only been seeing each other for slightly less than a month.
“Oh no!” I panicked. “Your mom totally thinks I’m a whore!”
This reaction only incited further laughter from him. The kind of laughter he had a hard time talking through.
“What” I implored – my irritation palpable. “Is so funny?”
Finally he calmed enough to say, “It’s just that right after I told her, I immediately said that when I told you your first reaction would be ‘Oh no! Your mom totally thinks I’m a whore!’ Word for word! I called what you would say exactly!”
He was so proud of himself. So much so, that he didn’t even think to apologize for his embarrassing little revelation to his mother.
And he proceeded to invite himself over that night.
From then on out, his mom apparently started affectionately referring to me as “the whore" whenever they spoke about me.
Which I can’t take too much offense to, because I can say with certainty that his mom really did (and does) think very highly of me. Despite the fact that I’m sure she wished we had proceeded with a bit more caution – I know she was happy to see him engaged in someone else. Finding his way back to happy again, whatever route would eventually lead him there.
Even if it did mean sex far too soon with “the whore”.
This presents itself as good a time as any to bring up a delicate topic though.
S-E-X
We arguably had it too soon. I won’t delve into how soon exactly, but suffice it to say – it was sooner than I typically would choose to mark that relationship milestone. I can’t even honestly say we did it initially for the right reasons. In fact, I’m fairly certain we didn’t.
For him, I think there was almost this need to “get it over with” – that first time with someone other than his wife. This was a guy who had prided himself on his loyalty. On the fact that he had never even thought to stray. He was sure his wife would be the last person he would ever sleep with; and he actually wanted it that way. I think to some extent, the idea of being with someone else so terrified him that he just wanted to get it out of the way.
Which doesn’t even take into account the very real actuality that he wanted even more than anything else just to feel better.
For me, there was a certain level of pity there. We even joked about it after – that the whole thing had been a “pity lay”. I know that sounds awful. Trust me, I know. But try to keep in mind that the boy and I have the same self-deprecating sense of humor. We are both painfully honest, and also intent on joking about the things that make us uncomfortable until the point when that discomfort dissipates.
I don’t want to make it seem like I didn’t want to – because I did. I had been insanely attracted to this boy from the moment I met him, and that attraction had only grown with each second we spent together. I wanted to do it.
Under normal circumstances though – I would have curbed my own desires for at least a bit longer.
But in this case; he was just so sad and scared and so clearly reaching out for anything to make him feel better. I wanted to be that thing. As awful as that sounds, I wanted to help him in any way I could. I wanted to be there for him in any way I could.
So where I normally would have said “no”, I instead didn’t say anything when he started down this path earlier than I think either of us was prepared for.
And once we had already opened that door, what could we really do? Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.
We actually talked about taking sex out of the equation fairly early on. He had struggled with feeling guilty for sleeping with me – almost like he was cheating on her. I don’t think he anticipated that feeling, and it did put an additional pressure on the whole thing that neither of us wanted. But every time we talked about putting an end to the sexual aspects of our relationship, it was only a matter of hours before we found ourselves naked again.
Neither one of us was very good about putting the brakes on something we had already started.
But over time, it was getting better. More “normal”. Less awkward and forced.
Over time, it started to feel more like he and I in bed, instead of he and I and... her.
Which brings us to a night about 5 weeks in when we had just finished what was arguably the best “encounter” of our relationship.
The weekend before we had made plans to have dinner with Mrs. King and her husband. Or rather, I had made plans which I had then invited him along for. I brought it up early on in the week, and waited patiently as he went back and forth on whether or not he would be coming along. I knew it was more pressure for him – to be introduced to my friends. Even though he had known Mrs. King's husband for years (the Alaska hockey world is a small one), and even though we had now spent a lot of time with his friends, I knew that spending time with mine would be taking things to a different level. And that at least to some extent, it would possibly make him feel more like the “boyfriend” than he had up to that point.
Which if we’re being honest, was silly. Especially given the amount of time we were spending together and talking. Neither one of us was entertaining the idea of seeing other people at all. But that really wasn’t the point. The point was – there was only so much he was ready for. And there were these invisible barriers marking off those areas pretty clearly to both of us.
I knew, without it ever needing to be said, that spending time as a couple with my friends would be pushing right up against one of those barriers.
So, I waited patiently. I didn’t push or pressure. I put the idea out there, made my plans for the evening clear, and then left the rest up to him.
The night before, it looked like he was actually going to come with me. We were curled up in bed and he was asking questions and sounding almost like he had actually made his decision.
But then the night of, he called me as he was leaving work and told me that he had decided to go to dinner with some of his friends instead. He invited me to drop my plans and join him, but I held firm. I wasn’t angry, and I didn’t make him feel bad. But I did make it clear that I would still be spending the night with my friends.
It was a Friday, and would mark the first weekend night we hadn’t been together (with the exception of one out of town fishing trip he had taken early on) since this had started.
I was actually fine with it though. Jack had started that day, and I was hurting. Certainly not feeling like myself. As much as I wanted to spend time with him, I figured now was as good a night as any for us not to see each other. I went over to Mrs. King's by myself, and let her feed and entertain me as she is so skilled in doing.
It didn’t take long before he was texting though. Out drinking with his friends and missing me. He kept in pretty steady contact throughout the evening, finally asking me to meet him for breakfast in the morning.
All was good. We had survived our night apart, and he had missed me.
The next night we wound up heading to a BBQ some friends of his were throwing, and it was almost as if our night of separation had made him appreciate me more. I could feel him that entire night, watching me. I would be across the yard talking to the girls, and look over to see him looking right back at me and smiling. When we were in near proximity of each other, he was touching me. Holding my hand. Making sure that even if we weren’t engaged in a conversation with each other, we were somehow connected.
It was incredibly sweet.
We wound up heading out with a group to a bar that night, and being that Jack was still bringing me down – I gleefully took on the role of designated driver since I knew it would mean no pressure for me to drink with everyone else. It was funny though, because while he had been affectionate earlier in the evening, that affection only grew as he started downing drinks with his buddies. We were talking at one point in the bar when all of a sudden he stopped me from saying whatever it was I was saying by leaning forward and kissing me.
It was the first time he had kissed me in public.
When he was done, he pulled away and with the biggest grin on his face said “There! Now that’s out of the way!” So the milestone hadn’t been lost on him either. Catching himself for almost ruining a sweetly simple moment though, he put his hand on my face right after and said “You look really pretty tonight.”
I knew he had been drinking, and that I shouldn’t take any of it to mean too much, but it made me melt to see him letting go of so many of his fears like that. It was one thing for him to be this way when it was just the two of us curled up together in my bed. It was another thing entirely for him to behave this way in front of his friends – in a public bar.
It was a really nice feeling.
That night, after spending an absurdly long time making out (let’s not forget that jack was in town – so there was no hanky panky to be had) we were cuddled up and headed off to sleep when he said it.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you this last month. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since the divorce.”
It was the first time he had told me this, but it wouldn’t be the last.
We both drifted off to sleep fairly easily, and spent the next several days in a pretty perfect place. Connected, and in tune, and just enjoying whatever it was we had.
Which brings us back to that night. The one I started telling you about, before I thought to backtrack to the weekend before.
Jack had finally left the building, and we had that near perfect “encounter” I mentioned. The boy had been there, with me, engaged and involved and connected rather than distant and distracted. And when it was over, we had laughed. And cuddled. And talked. It was past midnight when I decided I was ravenous from our earlier adventure and had gotten up to make myself a sandwich. Which he found hilarious. As I sat in bed facing him and eating, he relentlessly poked fun at me for needing to refuel so late on a weeknight – when we both had to work the next morning.
There we were though, laughing and talking and getting so much enjoyment out of each other’s company. Likely being more of a couple than we had been at any other time up to that point. Things had been good between us. He had been mentioning her less and less, and had grown more and more affectionate towards me. He had a close buddy from work who I had only met one other time (the night of that first BBQ), and we were planning a trip to his cabin the following weekend for Memorial Day – it would be just us and he and his wife for the entire weekend. The boy hadn’t even asked me if I wanted to come – he’d just assumed I would. Started planning for the two of us from the start. There had been daily e-mails between us and the other couple as we got all the details in order. We were all looking forward to the trip, and his friends seemed to have embraced me completely, despite the fact that they only knew me from that one night out by a fire and the breakfast the 4 of us had gone to together the next morning.
Everything felt like it was lining up so well.
We were in a good place.
We were happy.
And then, about 15 minutes after midnight on a Tuesday night, as I was eating my sandwich and he was relentlessly poking fun at me; his phone beeped.
And we both stopped. Stopped laughing, stopped talking, just… stopped.
It makes no sense that we both knew it was her. There had been very limited communication between the two of them over the previous months, and they hadn’t seen each other at all. It had all been strictly business between them. The divorce would be final in less than a month. She hadn’t once reached out to express remorse over her decisions.
There was no way we could both have known it was her texting.
But we did. And in that moment, I think we both knew everything was about to change.
He picked up his phone and looked at it before wordlessly handing it to me.
“I love you so much. ;) XOXO”
My heart stopped.
And for a split second, I forgot how to breathe.
(to be continued...)
ADSPACE
