I arrived in Ketchikan a little after noon that day, knowing that B-Face wouldn’t be able to get away from her duties on the boat until around 4. Never a stranger to traveling on my own though, I set out to explore.
I wandered all around town, checking out the various shops and restaurants. I found myself falling in love with this quaint little place, surrounded by so much beauty.
After a few hours, I sat myself down on a little bench right by the water and started to do some reading as I waited for B-Face to join me. I was definitely getting anxious to see her; ready for the distraction I knew she would provide.
Because it was starting to get obnoxious how often I was checking my phone. Refreshing my e-mail over and over again. Wondering if he would reply.
I knew that I had made it pretty clear I didn’t want him to, but I couldn’t help it. That part of me that still wanted him to fix this. To say or do something that would make it all suddenly be alright.
My mind was on him a lot during those hours I spent alone that day. Dissecting the entire situation and trying to untangle the truth from the lies.
No matter how hard I tried though, I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t pin-point which man he actually was. The asshole who had lied to me all along, or the good guy who was just more broken than I had ever truly let myself realize.
Was it possible that he wasn’t either?
I'll let you in on my one big fear. The thing that I couldn’t keep from rolling around in my brain that day, no matter how hard I tried.
I had started to worry that the boy just wasn’t attracted to me.
That everything else had stemmed from that fact.
Because on every other level, there was no denying our connection.
So all I could think was that it was me.
Physically.
His ex-wife and I couldn't have been more different as far as “types” were concerned. I had known that from the first time I met them. I still remember thinking to myself that I had been barking up the wrong tree entirely if that was the kind of woman he went for.
She was beautiful. Short and petite, with this porcelain skin and long straight dark hair.
Meanwhile, I’m tall, blond, and packing all kinds of curves.
I was used to dating men who preferred women with my body type. But I knew he had spent 6 years of his life with her. And I knew that this was where she and I differed.
I would never be "skinny" or "petite". I would always be "curvy". No matter how much weight I ever lost, I would always be curvy. And as much as I love my curves, I started to find myself wrestling with whether or not he did too.
As silly, and self conscious, and pathetic, and crazy as that sounds; that's what I was worrying about. If maybe, at the end of the day, everything else had worked except for the fact that he just hadn't been attracted to me.
Thinking that... it made me sick to my stomach.
But I couldn’t erase it from my head.
And so I needed a distraction.
When B-Face was finally able to escape the boat, she and I went out to a really nice dinner. Ordered a bottle of wine and caught up. We had every intention of heading in after our meal. Spending the night laughing, sipping wine, and bitching about boys. Getting to bed at a reasonable hour, so she could start preparing the boat to leave at 5:30 in the morning.
It was supposed to be a mellow night. Just two old friends catching up after far too long apart.
But we made the mistake of stopping into a bar after dinner.
Initially it had been because we just wanted to check out the local scene.
Our entire plan was to have one drink, and then head out.
That whole plan pretty much went out the window the second the rest of her crew walked in the door though.
We were done for.
What had started out as such a mellow night turned into a drink fest in no time.
We had a blast though.
With just enough male attention for me to start feeling like… me again.
Still, none of the guys in the bar that night were him. And the more I drank, the less I could remember why it was that I hadn’t been answering his calls.
We all went back to the boat a little after 3am, and as everyone settled themselves off into their respective rooms, I found myself doing something I never would have done sober.
Dialing his number.
Or at least, the number he had been calling me from while out of town.
After taking such a strong stand and proclaiming a need for space, here I was caving.
Not even 24 hours after I had built up the courage to hit send on an e-mail that was supposed to sever ties.
I was throwing it all away.
Which we can all agree was not one of my brighter moves.
Thankfully, he didn't answer. And I didn't leave a message, common sense somehow prevailing in the end.
But of course, I hadn’t counted on caller ID.
So when he called me back, almost right away, it was all I could do to keep my heart from pounding out of my chest.
But I answered.
It was obvious I had woken him up. He sounded groggy, and concerned, but sober.
Starkly sober in contrast to my anything but.
We spoke for a few minutes as if everything was normal. Exchanging pleasantries as though this was a conversation we had both been expecting to have at this hour all along.
After a few minutes of mindless chatter, he paused and then asked me if I was OK. In all our time together, for all the drunk dials he had made to me, this was a first. I know that to some extent, he was worried. Especially because we were hundreds of miles away from each other and there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it if I wasn’t OK.
When I assured him that I was fine though, tucked safely away on some lavish yacht where I planned to stay until morning, he mentioned the e-mail.
I found myself inhaling, before meekly questioning "Are you mad at me?"
I’m not sure why this was my concern. Why it should ever have been my concern. But it was. I was suddenly terrified that maybe I had hurt him.
He was quick to reassure me though. "No" He said. "Not at all. Not even a little bit. It was a really nice e-mail. I just… I really need you to know how sorry I am. I've been sick all week thinking about what I did. I don’t know what I was thinking. Why I would ever have treated you like that. And I'm just so sorry."
I could feel the tears coming, but even drunk I wasn’t about to let that happened. I choked them back and simply said. "I know."
He asked me when I would be heading home, and then he asked if he could call me once I was there.
Again, after all that resolve I had built up, and after putting my foot down so hard and so well, I caved. Told him that he could.
From there, there wasn’t much left to say. Not now, with me drunk and him half asleep.
So we said our goodbyes.
And that was it.
The next morning, I went over that call in my head a hundred times. Recounting the details as best I could. I still had no clue where his head was at. I knew he was sorry, and I knew he felt badly, but… I didn’t know what that meant.
I didn’t know where we stood.
And I still didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t.
My goodbyes to B-Face were a blur, and before I knew it I was wandering town by myself again. Waiting for my return flight home. I didn’t get there until almost 11 that night, and I passed out quickly - exhausted from my mini-adventure.
Wondering if and when I would hear from him again.
But the next night, he called.
And I answered.
He had clearly been drinking, and the first words out of his mouth were "Do you miss me?"
Sober now, and having had time to think about what a colossal mistake I had made in calling him, I lied.
"No” I said, as boldly as I could manage. “I hate you."
He started laughing before replying "Don't lie. You miss me."
Something about it was contagious.
Something about him was contagious.
I couldn’t help the giggle that leaked out as I told him "No way! You miss me!"
To which he seemed to sober up whilst replying "Of course I miss you. I can't even believe how much I miss you."
From there, he launched into a whole new slew of apologies and explanations.
For the first time, he started telling me that the words he had said that night, now a week before, weren't true. That he had just been hurting so badly, and everything had spun out of control without his ever really meaning for it to. He said he couldn’t even figure out why he had done it. Why he had said what he’d said. He explained that it was true that he had been lonely when we met, and that he had been looking for a rebound, but that everything else that had come out of his mouth that night was lies. That of course he had feelings for me beyond friendship. Of course he wanted more from me.
He seemed so genuine. So raw. And I was having a hard time keeping my walls up.
He just kept going though. Finally saying "I like you. I like you a lot. And I don't really know what that means, and I feel like I need to take things slowly. More slow than we have been. But.... I think about you all the time. You need to know that you’re always on my mind. And I would do anything if we could just forget that night. If you could just forgive me, and we could pretend it never happened at all."
I was hesitating. Unsure of what to say. Of what my response to any of this should be. I knew what my head was telling me to do, but in my heart – I wanted so badly for this all to be true.
For him to really be the guy I believed him to be.
He told me he was going to be home for just a few days over the 4th of July weekend, and that he really wanted to see me if I would let him. That he wanted to take me out to dinner. That he wanted me to let him make that night up to me.
Up to this point, I was still pretty quiet. I hadn’t known what to expect when he called, but I don’t think I’d been fully prepared for this.
I would be lying if I said it wasn’t what I had been hoping for, but… I still hadn’t been prepared.
He confessed that he had been feeling guilty about our relationship for a while now. That a part of him had felt like he was cheating on her, as illogical as that sounded, and feeling like that had started to suffocate him.
Started to make him worry he was the kind of guy he knew he wasn't.
Then he apologized for saying that, not wanting to hurt my feelings in any of these confessions. I’d been so silent, that he just kept rambling. Unsure whether any of what he was saying was making an impact at all.
"I'm not sure if any of this makes sense” he continued. “But it's what I was feeling. I was never a cheater. I was never that guy. And with you, just because of how fast everything happened… I guess sometimes it made me feel like I was. And then seeing her; even though it was over, even though we were done,and even though it was her choice. I just… I felt so guilty. I felt like everything I felt for you was somehow taking away from everything she and I had."
It was here where I chose to break my silence. I told him that everything he was saying made sense. That in so many ways, it was almost to be expected. And then I confessed to him what I had really been fearing; that this had all happened because he wasn't attracted to me. That as much as we had connected in every other way, it hadn’t been enough because physically, I wasn’t what he wanted.
I was embarrassed saying it, but the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.
And his response was everything I needed to hear in order to be able to breathe again.
His shock over the fact that I had ever worried about this at all was what set me at ease.
He reassured me profusely that attraction had nothing to do with any of it, and that he was absolutely attracted to me.
In every single way.
Which had been exactly what I had needed to hear.
As silly or self-conscious as that confession may make me now.
We talked for a bit longer before I told him I needed to go to bed.
He said “Goodnight”, and then paused before saying “Just please know that I am so incredibly sorry for hurting you. And I miss you. And I really hope you’ll let me see you when I get home.”
Before I even had a chance to respond, he asked me if he could call me again the next night.
I told him he could.
And then we both got off the phone.
My head was spinning. I really hadn’t expected him to completely switch gears like that. He had shocked me so much, that I hadn’t even put up the fight I knew I should have.
In my head, I still believed that we needed space. And time. And distance.
But in my heart… I wanted us to be able to do exactly what he had asked. I wanted us to be able to wipe the slate clean entirely.
More than anything, I just wanted us to be able to move forward and forget about that one ugly night when everything had seemed to go so south.
And I wanted so badly to believe that we could.
(to be continued...)
