I sat there, stunned.
I had anticipated him coming around eventually, but I figured it would be months before that happened.
Not weeks.
Crap.
I wasn’t over this. My hurt hadn’t yet been dispelled. I didn’t trust him. Not to protect me, and not even to have healed enough himself to be able to stand by those words.
But what he was saying was exactly what I'd been hoping to hear.
Crap.
And the length? What was that? It wasn't like I had ever before questioned his ability to communicate (I hadn't). And he had always fared pretty well when it came to me and my own verbosity. But seriously… had he just out-texted me?
Crap.
My head was spinning. He just had to add in that last bit, didn't he?
The part about his listening to my CD every day.
The one I had made very intentionally. Picking every song with care.
The one that had been created specifically to remind him of us.
He had picked up on that. Without my ever saying a word.
And he was listening to it every day.
CRAP!
When I didn’t respond right away, he followed up by saying the conversation had just turned far too serious, and he thought I should know he had gone out and purchased his own box of Blueberry Clusters (the cereal he poured himself a bowl of almost every time he was at my house – day or night). He ended that one by simply saying “goodnight”.
So rather than attempt to form a response to the words I knew he was waiting for me to respond to, I instead wrote back only “Get some sleep…”
That’s right. I didn’t comment on his soul baring text at all. Me. The queen of over-communication.
I couldn’t figure out how to respond, so I just pretended it wasn’t there.
But we all know that’s not me. That ignoring it was never going to last long.
Especially when you consider the fact that I was not able to sleep that night.
At all.
My head was spinning, and I couldn’t shut it off.
I only knew… I wasn’t ready for this yet.
And I was pretty sure he wasn’t either.
So the next morning, I penned him an e-mail. First forwarding along his horoscope, which had struck me as ridiculously relevant when I'd looked at it earlier in the week while checking my own.
Then continuing on to the actual topic at hand:
I need some time to wrap my head around some of what you said last night. I appreciated it, and I do miss you. More than I really care to own up to. I just can't meet up with you right now. I'm still hurt, and confused. I swear that when you and I started hanging out, I was this strong, confident girl who was great about knowing what she wanted and what she deserved. Somehow over the last few months though, all of the back and forth with you has left me insecure and confused and unsure of myself. That's not who I want to be.That was it. No long winded diatribes or page after page of analyzing my own inner dialogue.
I think we both still need some space. I need you to know what you want from me. From her. From all of it. I just need you to be in a place where you're secure in whatever that is. I think it's obvious you need time to figure all that out. And I need time to let go of how badly so much of this has hurt me.
Just know that I am still here though. Worrying about you, wondering what you're up to, and hoping that you're OK.
And occasionally, intentionally looking up YOUR fucking horoscope.
Like such a freaking girl.
It was quite possibly the first time in my life I had said what I needed to say, without saying too much.
I didn’t expect to hear back from him after that. Not right away anyway. He had said his piece, and I had said mine. The door was still open. I hadn’t slammed it shut. But I'd been clear. I needed time. We both needed time.
I hoped he would be able to see that.
Because the truth of the matter was… I knew already that I wasn’t strong enough to resist if he started putting in the hard sell.
As much as I hated admitting that to myself, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold my ground if he pushed.
So I was hoping he wouldn't.
When I didn’t hear back from him that day, I let myself believe that he did get it. A realization that filled me with a strange mix of relief and sadness. But mostly relief.
I did miss him. And I didn’t like not having him in my life. But I truly thought this was for the best. I truly believed we needed some time away from each other. That if we were going to stand any chance at all, we would both need to heal first.
And I knew myself well enough to know that as much as there was part of me that wanted him fighting for my forgiveness right now, I wouldn’t be able to stand my ground for long if he did. No matter what my head was telling me.
The heart always wins.
Which is why when he texted me a few nights later, I again was filled with that strange mix of relief and sadness.
Once more though, mostly relief. Although, for entirely different reasons.
It was a little after 10 on a Sunday night, and all he said was “When you told me you loved me, I believed you. I don’t know why I acted like I didn’t.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with that. How to respond.
So, I just didn’t. Holding my ground as best I knew how.
An hour later, he texted again.
“I want to take you to my parent’s house and re-introduce you to them. Let me know if you would ever be up for that."
What. The. Hell.
I mean, seriously, what the hell?!?
I had met both of his parents that very first night at his BBQ. His mom and I had instantly hit it off, sneaking inside to chat for over an hour while everyone else was out by the fire.
I had immediately adored her. She was so open and warm and genuine with me, which I knew couldn’t have been easy. She was definitely hurting over the divorce. She and his ex had been very close, and I knew she was mourning the loss of her daughter in law. The actions that she just couldn’t wrap her head around. But still, she had gone out of her way to get to know me. To be kind to me. And to make sure I felt welcomed and comfortable. She hadn’t spoken to his ex since everything had gone down, and I knew she still had so many questions herself. The fact that she found a way in the middle of her own confusion and grief to be so kind to the potential new girl in her son’s life had been incredible to me.
But ever since that night, the boy had managed to keep the two of us separate. Almost intentionally so, as if it was his way of drawing that line between friends and something more.
I knew he talked to her about me though, and to me about her. Both with regularity. Whenever he was on the phone with her and I was around, she would tell him to say "hi to the whore" for her. It was a joke that continued from the very start.
I had never once pushed, or even asked, for him to bring me around his parents again. I knew why he hadn't mentioned it himself, and I assumed that he would open that door up again when he was ready.
Had he really just opened that door all on his own though? Without my ever having mentioned that it was something I was waiting on?
Crap.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Because yes, I am that weak.
So, I picked up the phone and called him.
But as soon as he answered, the first words out of my mouth were “You’ve got to stop this. I asked for space. I need you to give it to me.”
I was trying so hard to be strong. To sound strong.
But he instantly saw right through me.
Letting out a laugh before saying “I’m so glad you called.”
I wish I could say that I got off the phone immediately after that. That I held my ground and kept my distance.
I even wish I could say that in talking to him, it never dawned on me that he had consumed at least a few drinks that night. That it never occurred to me that while he wasn't drunk, he also wasn't sober.
But I can’t, because it’s not true.
The truth is, we spent the next two hours talking. Just talking.
About us. About where we stood. About what he wanted. About what I wanted.
About what we both needed.
About everything.
In the end, he asked me to give him another chance. He swore he was ready. That he had spent the last two weeks thinking about me and only me. That as soon as we had gotten off the phone that night he had realized what an idiot he was, but he couldn’t figure out how to fix it. He said my CD hadn’t left his truck since I'd given it to him. I could hear it playing in the background (for the record – he was in his yard sitting at the fire pit using his truck as a stereo, not drinking and driving). He said he had been thinking about everything, and realizing how well we fit together. How much he missed not being able to share even the stupidest pieces of his day with me. How “right” we were. He even told me that in comparing me to her, he was starting to see the ways in which I filled up holes for him that she never had.
He said it all.
And when I continued my push for space, he countered by asking me to give him a chance. He begged me to just let him prove it. That he was ready. That I was what he wanted. That we could make this work out exactly the way it was supposed to.
“I can’t make you any promises.” He said. “Because I know I’ve already lost your trust. But please, just let me show you. Let me spend the next however long it takes making it up to you. I will never do that to you again. Just please, let me prove it to you.”
He didn’t know it, but once upon a time I had spoken almost those same exact words to the ex.
And it had broken my heart when he couldn’t give me what I'd asked for.
Another chance.
A chance to prove to him I was ready for what we could have.
Because I had been. And there is a part of me that has always lamented the fact that he wasn’t willing to try. To give me that opportunity to spend the rest of our lives making it up to him.
That thought was running through my head as the boy continued. I had spoken these same words before myself. I had wished with all my heart that the person I was saying them to would give me that chance. I had ached for the opportunity to fix what I had broken.
I couldn’t help it; my resolve was softening if only because… I felt like I knew exactly where the boy was standing now.
And when I had been in his shoes, I knew with everything inside of me that if given the chance, I would get it right his time.
I told him that he needed to be sure. That all I knew was that we didn't have many chances left. That if he hurt me again, I probably wouldn't ever be able to forgive him.
I believed that. I knew it to be true. If he said these things now, and then couldn't live up to them in the end... I couldn't see how there would be any going back from that. My pride had already taken too many hits. I was already embarrassed that I was even considering this.
Embarrassed, and terrified.
But he promised he was sure.
We talked for so long that before I knew it, I was laughing. My walls crumbling with so much less effort than I had ever believed it would take.
But I remained firm on the fact that I didn’t want to see him. I said we could talk, but that I wasn’t ready to meet with him face to face. I knew I would cave completely if he said these things in front of me, and I couldn’t let that happen.
Not yet anyway.
When it was time for us to both head off to bed, he asked if he could call me the following night.
And I told him he could.
But he didn’t even wait until the following night. He was texting me a little after 8 the next morning. Keeping it up throughout the entire day. Finally asking me as work was getting out if I would meet up with him.
I reminded him that I wasn't ready for that.
He responded with “Fair enough”, and then called me that night. And again, we talked for hours.
The next night he tried again. Sending me a text a little before 5 asking if I would go to dinner with him.
I responded by saying “I can’t figure out if you’re being charmingly persistent, or just willfully determined to get your way.”
He replied simply with “Neither, I just want to see you.”
I caved.
But not before being clear on the fact that he would not be spending the night once dinner was over.
He agreed to those terms and that night, a little before 7, he picked me up and took me out to eat at one of my favorite restaurants in town.
I was incredibly nervous. More nervous than I had probably ever been around him. My head and my heart involved in such an epic battle, I wasn’t entirely sure which end was up anymore.
He caught on to that fact not too long after we were seated, interrupting an uncommon lull in conversation between us to say “You look sad tonight.”
I took a deep breath before responding. Thinking through my words carefully; wanting to be true to myself but not wanting to ruin what was otherwise promising to be a good evening.
“I am kind of sad.” I said. “It scares me to be here. To be with you. And I feel like at this point, if you hurt me again, I have no one to blame but myself. That makes me a little sad. I don’t want to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to do it again.” He promised. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
And I wanted so badly to believe him.
That was the extent of discussing “us” that night though. We both almost immediately agreed that we didn’t want to focus on the past. That right now, in this moment, we just wanted to have fun.
And we did. We talked and laughed all throughout dinner, and when it was done… I wasn’t ready to say “goodbye”.
So I was the one to suggest we go get frozen yogurt. At Yogurtland – which just so happens to be at the airport.
I refuse to be ashamed of my addiction to Yogurtland and the lengths I go to in order to get it!
We randomly ended up parking right next to Jay’s truck. He was out of town on a work trip, and the boy happened to know where he hid the keys when he left.
So we dug through my car for something to leave him, attaching with it a silly stalker note sure to give us away. Breaking into his truck and setting it on his dash where we knew he would spot it immediately.
We were both laughing so hard we were practically crying.
It was so stupid. Such a kid prank.
But this felt good. It felt right. It felt like “us”.
We got our yogurt and decided to take it back to my place to eat. We watched some mindless reality TV, and then I kicked him out.
But not before making fun of him over something he was trying to (wrongly) explain to me about our iPhones. As soon as I started mocking him, he looked at me for a moment with a grin on his face and then tackled me. Pinning my arms down with one hand and tickling me with the other. I was squirming and wrestling with all my might, and we were both laughing so hard.
Again… this felt right.
When he stopped tickling and I stopped struggling, we both got quiet and didn’t move. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. But at the last possible moment, he stood up instead.
I was kind of glad he had. If only because I wasn't sure I would be able to contain myself if we started kissing.
I walked him to the door where we said “goodbye”.
And I went to bed thinking to myself that if we could just take this slow, it might be alright.
It might not end with my heart broken in pieces.
It might not end at all.
I wanted to believe it to be possible.
I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, my head had it all wrong.
The heart always wins.
But that doesn't mean it's always right.
(to be continued…)
