The Fallout

If you’re just now joining us, I’m telling a story… About a boy. If you want to catch up before jumping in, start here first.


I woke up the next morning intent on looking good.

Knowing only that if it killed me, I was going to show up to lunch ready to turn heads.

I can’t explain why this was suddenly so much more important to me than it had been at any other point in my relationship with the boy, but I just knew… I had to look good.

So, I spent extra time on my hair and slathered on more makeup than I would normally ever wear to work. I picked out my nicest “grown-up” outfit, and topped it off with the boots I never wear to the office, specifically because I love them so much that I save them for nights out on the town.

But even in the confidence that was gained from putting a little extra effort into my appearance, I was uneasy.

For as much as I had been looking forward to seeing his face just a week before, I was now suddenly filled with dread.

He called a little before noon and suggested a spot just up the street from my work. Since it was within walking distance for me, I agreed to meet him there.

I arrived before he did, and sat awkwardly in the lobby checking my phone and trying not to appear nervous.

I knew I wasn’t accomplishing that goal very well.

When he walked in, there was a moment of discomfort as we both tried to navigate how we should be greeting each other, before finally settling upon a gracelessly timed hug and asking the hostess to be seated.

Something was definitely broken between us. Something that had been there just a week before was gone. We didn’t know how to act around each other, and neither one of us was willing to put ourselves out enough to repair the rift.

I kept waiting for him to tell me what I so desperately needed to hear. That when everything was said and done, he never would have chosen her. That it always would have been me.

That in the end, he always would have picked to be sitting right where he was sitting now.

With me. Not her.

That admission never came though, and as lunch dragged on we struggled to come up with topics of conversation; each of us vagrantly bypassing the subject of “us”.

I started to wonder why he had wanted to see me at all. It was obvious that what had happened with her in the previous week had shaken him. Both his pride, and his confidence in anything and everything he thought he knew. Obvious that it had turned him cold and distant.

Obvious that she wasn’t off his mind.

So why had he called me? Why had he wanted to see me?

As lunch progressed, I began to suspect that maybe it had been a test. That maybe he had wanted to see me, only to see if I could fix what she had once again broken.

To see if I could swoop in and help him to forget.

The problem was, that even if I could have (and at this point, I really don’t believe I possessed that power), I didn’t want to.

I was hurt too. Hurt, and angry, and untrusting.

Even though he had done exactly what I had told him to do. Even though I had been the one to encourage him to give her a chance. And even though in my heart, I knew it was the thing he had needed to do.

I couldn’t help it. My walls were up, and they weren’t going to be coming down any time soon.

So there we sat, with not an ounce of warmth or affection between us. To anyone taking the time to observe us, we surely must have appeared to be strangers. Perhaps the victims of a setup that clearly wasn't going well.

We made small talk, and laughed over innocuous bits of news. We pretended that we were each fine.

But neither of us pretended very well.

I found myself counting down the minutes until this lunch would be over. Sure only of the fact that I needed to get away from him. As quickly and as painlessly as possible.

So when the check came and he effortlessly put his card down, I thanked him before announcing a meeting I would need to get back to work for.

I tried to pretend I didn’t see the wave of relief that washed over his face at the out I had just provided for us both.

We didn’t bother hugging again. We didn’t touch at all as we said “goodbye”. And when we parted ways, I genuinely wasn't sure when, or if, I would be seeing him again.

I walked back to work feeling more than a little deflated. I hadn’t known what exactly to expect, but I hadn’t expected either of us to behave so… indifferently.

During lunch he mentioned that plans had changed and he wouldn’t be heading back to the work site for another week. I started to dread the idea of him going back at all, with things between us the way they were.

But I didn’t know how to fix them.

Not without letting my guard down.

Not without making myself vulnerable once more.

And not without being the one to make the first move.

Which I just wasn’t sure I was willing to do.

Still... as the day wore on, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about him. Most specifically about what she had just put him through. About the confusion and hurt and anger and frustration he must be feeling.

I began to think about my promise to him from the start; that I would be a friend to him, no matter what.

Regardless of the state of our relationship beyond that friendship.

It wasn’t that my walls went down, because they didn’t. It was just that… my compassion began to go up.

And so, that night after work, I sent him a text asking if he wanted to see a movie.

I didn’t put much effort into the invite, and when he declined citing other plans, I didn’t push.

The truth was, I didn’t blame him. After the awkwardness that had set between us at lunch, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him anytime soon either.

But two nights later, when I hadn’t heard from him again, I sent another text.

This time apologizing for my own coldness. I explained that while he was gone I had been counting down the days until I would get to see him, but that when we had gotten off the phone the previous week as she clicked in, I hadn’t been sure I would ever hear from him again. I told him thinking that, had kicked my ass. And that my guard was up. That I wasn't sure how to get it back down, but I was willing to try. If that's what he needed from me, I was willing to try. I ended it by saying:

“I know you need to work through all this right now, and that the last thing you need is more stress. I also totally get it if you just want some space. Just know that I do care about you, and that I’m here if you need a friend.”

He called me within minutes.

It would be a lie to say that the distance between us had been erased, but the discomfort we had experienced in talking just a few days before was eased. We spent the next hour catching up. Talking more intimately about the details of the week we had spent apart. Even laughing a time or two over bits of information that probably weren’t so funny in retrospect.

We still never once spoke of “us”.

But at least we were speaking.

The next night, when he was out with his buddies, I got the drunk dial.

He still didn’t say much of what I needed to hear, but at least he was trying.

And at least I was still the one he was calling when he’d had too much to drink.

The following morning he called me as he was walking to his parent’s house for breakfast.

It could be argued that he was still drunk.

But he was starting to sound more like himself again. Wanting to tell me about his night. Teasing me every chance he got. Laughing with ease.

For a split second, I let myself hope.

When we got off the phone, he told me he would call me that afternoon.

I was almost surprised when he actually did.

He said he was running errands around town and asked what I was up to.

When I explained I had just finished getting a massage and was about to head home, he asked if I wanted to do something that night.

I didn’t even hesitate.

If this was going to be his mood, I couldn’t wait to see him.

We talked about grabbing dinner, and even about just renting a movie and staying in. But by the time he arrived at my house, he had spoken to one of his buddies who was heading out with his girlfriend to a bar on the boy's side of town.

He asked if I wanted to go.

I could have said “no”. I probably should have said “no”. Should have kept it at a mellow night in for just the two of us.

But at this point, I was up for just about anything if it had the promise of keeping him smiling.

So we made the 40 minute trek there, each in separate cars so that I would be able to get myself home in the morning.

Knowing we would be drinking, and that I wouldn’t be driving home that night.

We talked on the phone as we drove. Still laughing. Still joking. Still fine.

But something happened between the time we hung up with each other, and the time we each got out of our cars. Because as we walked into the bar, I could already feel his mood shifting.

I could feel him pulling away.

And for the next several hours, I had to pretend like I couldn’t.

He had shut down. Barely talking or socializing with anyone. Carrying a pained look on his face almost the entire night.

And I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t figure out what had happened.

At some point in the night, his buddy’s girlfriend pulled me aside to tell me how much the boy liked me. How often he talked about me. And how obvious it was he had fallen for me.

I bit my tongue, thinking the only thing that was obvious was that she clearly wasn’t paying attention to how he was behaving that night.

But she said she and her boyfriend had been at the boy’s mom’s house for breakfast that morning. Had listened to him gush about me there.

I couldn’t figure it out. Since getting off that plane to a text message from her, he certainly hadn’t made any indication at all that his feelings for me were still strong.

I had no idea where I stood.

But apparently he was confessing all to his friends?

To his mother?

All the while giving me the silent treatment now in this bar?

Like I already said, it wasn’t just me he was giving the silent treatment to. But… How could she be so sure of his feelings for me, when in this moment; I was anything but.

Eventually his buddy offered to have us stay in his spare bedroom that night. We’d stayed there before, and even though the boy had managed to maintain his sobriety throughout the evening and was able to drive, it would save us the 15 minute trip to his place.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that for the boy, the idea of not having to be completely alone with me was the real appeal.

We still hadn’t discussed where we stood at all.

And I had no idea what was on his mind.

When we were about half-way to his buddy’s house, I realized I had left my overnight bag in my car.

It was only a minute or two back, and the boy turned around without my even really asking. But he was short with me. Annoyed.

I was trying to make small talk. To get him to laugh. Or react. Or engage with me in any possible way.

But I was getting nowhere.

Finally, as we neared my car, I flippantly said “I guess I could just go home if you wanted me to?”

I don’t know why I said it. I wasn’t drunk, but I had consumed enough that we both knew there was no way I was going to get in my car and drive the 40 minutes back home. Growing up in a police family, the boy knew that I don’t get behind the wheel when I’ve been drinking. Period.

So maybe that’s why he responded the way he did.

Because he knew I was full of it.

But his response… it threw me.

“I don’t care what you do.” He snapped.

It wasn’t said kindly, or quietly. It was said with an edge. As if I was a child who had interrupted him one time too many times.

And like a child, I got my bag out of the car before climbing back into the front seat and silently enduring the rest of the ride.

Trying not to pout, but knowing I had been stung.

Biting my lip the entire time to hold back the tears.

When we got to his buddies house, he crawled into bed fully clothed.

Jeans and all.

He’d never done this before. Never slept in all his clothes. And given that he wasn’t drunk, I could only take this as a very clear signal to me to keep my hands off.

And again, I was hurt. Not because he hadn’t shown an interest in getting physical, but because he had assumed I needed such a blatant sign that it wasn’t happening.

I curled up in bed and turned my back to him. Wanting only to fall asleep and get through the night.

We didn’t speak again.

At all.

About anything.

The silence between us was painful.

And I still couldn’t understand where it had come from.

When the sun started shining through the window bright and early the next morning, I immediately began putting my things together and asked him if he would take me to my car.

I said I wanted to go to church, but I think we both knew I just wanted to get away from there.

We left without even getting to say goodbye to his friends.

And we drove to my car without saying much of anything to each other at all.

When he dropped me off, I wasn’t sure when I would see him again.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him again.

The next day passed without a word from him.

And the next.

And the next.

By this point, I knew that the following morning he would be leaving for the work site again. I didn't like the idea of him going there with so much still hanging between us. So when I got home from work that night, I decided I had a few things I needed to say to him before he left.

I called him up. No texting, no playing games, I just... dialed his number.

And when he answered, I didn’t waste a whole lot of time with niceties.

I asked him what had happened over the weekend. How he had gone from being in a great mood one second, to being so cold and distant the next.

Initially, he sounded confused. So I relayed to him the events of the evening as I saw them.

Culminating in his brisk retort that he didn’t care what I did.

He paused for a moment, but he didn’t get defensive. He just told me he was screwed up right now. That talking to her, and being shut down by her once again; it had left him an even bigger mess than he had been before.

He apologized for being short with me. For inviting me out, and then turning on me so quickly.

I told him that I understood, which in reality was the truth. But I also told him it wasn’t acceptable. That I knew he was hurt and angry and frustrated, but that I wasn’t the person he was angry with.

I told him he couldn’t punish me for her mistakes.

That I wouldn’t let him.

And then I told him to travel safe.

And to call me if it occurred to him that he actually wanted to talk.

Or he missed me.

Or he simply wanted a friend.

But not to call me if he was doing so because it felt like an obligation.

Or to treat me like I was somebody who was disposable to him.

Because I wasn’t going to put up with it.

No matter how much I cared.

He didn’t say much, and we got off the phone soon after.

I wasn’t sure if I had made an impact at all, but it had been the first time I really put my foot down and stood up for myself in this.

The first time I had made demands on him of any kind.

And now, I just had to wait and see if I ever heard from him again.

(to be continued...)