The next morning would have been great, except it wasn’t.
Through no fault of the boys, it should be noted.
No… the next morning Jack decided to pay a visit.
And in grand fashion I might add.
I woke up feeling pretty miserable. Had it been a work day I would have popped an ibuprofen and powered through. But since it wasn’t, all I wanted to do was curl up in bed with my heating pad watching movies.
By myself.
I can’t help it. When I’m on my period, the last thing I want is someone cuddling up with me. I’m crampy and bloated and unhappy and I just want to be left alone.
So, I kicked the boy out.
Literally.
He was practically still sleeping, and I told him he needed to leave.
To his credit, he understood. And he sat there as I called Dee up and canceled on our plans to go hiking later that day as well. He had heard me talk enough about my lady issues to know that the first day of my period is usually the worst, and typically when I need to be left alone the most.
So he got up, got dressed, kissed me goodbye, and walked out the door.
He even called later that night to check in on me.
Or in his words, to make sure I hadn’t “bled out.”
You see what I mean when I say the boy and I have the same disturbing sense of humor, right?
But then… I didn’t hear from him again. Not Monday, not Tuesday, not Wednesday.
I was in no mood to play this game now, so I didn’t call him either. And Thursday night when he finally called to check in, I didn’t spend a great deal of time talking to him. I figured if he was going to keep me at arm’s length, I was going to do the same.
The next night was his 10 year high school reunion, and I have to admit – I really thought he was going to invite me. I knew and had spent time with all his friends. We had been doing whatever it was we were doing for months now. He had invited me to literally everything else up to this point. And we had been talking about his reunion for weeks.
It never even occurred to me that he wouldn’t invite me.
Except… he didn’t.
I spent that night with a friend. Eating dinner, having a glass of wine, and trying not to let myself get bitter over the lack of an invite.
Around 10pm I headed home. Washed my face, put on some comfy clothes, and crawled into bed to do some reading.
Which if we’re being honest – is a pretty decent depiction of my typical Friday nights.
But then after midnight, he called. It was clear he was drunk, and suddenly – he wanted me to come out to meet them.
I was annoyed. I was not a fan of getting the invite only after he was already drunk. Not at all. I told him I was already in bed, and that I had no real intention of getting up and getting ready all over again.
But I told him to be safe, and not to drive.
About 15 minutes later, he called me and said he would rather just be home with me. He asked if I would come get him.
I shouldn’t have done it. I knew I shouldn’t have. But he was only 10 minutes away, and I didn’t like the idea of him out and about drunk anyway, so… I got up and went.
Wearing yoga pants, a tank top, and not an ounce of makeup.
It was clear I had no intention of getting out of the car.
But when I got there and called him, that was what he was pushing for. For me to come in and say “hi” to everyone. For me to hang out. For me to have a drink.
He said everyone really wanted to see me.
I told him I was basically in pajamas, and that if he wanted a ride – he should get his ass out to my car.
OK, we all know I didn’t say it even half as harshly as that. But, the sentiment was the same.
So the next thing I knew, he and two of his best guy friends were walking out to the car.
All drunk. All wanting hugs.
One ran off in the direction of the crowd shortly after saying “hi”, but the other got in the car. In need of a ride and place to crash himself.
Which wasn’t a big deal at all. He was one of the sweeter and calmer of the boy’s friends. I liked the guy. I had no issues helping him out.
The boy got in the backseat with his buddy, but spent the entire drive to my place with his hands on my shoulders. Talking to his friend the whole time about how great I was.
I couldn’t help but wonder if I was so great, why I had barely heard from him at all during the previous week.
But I kept my mouth shut. Not about to start a "situation" in front of his friend.
I took the two drunks to Taco Bell, and then we headed home. I set his buddy up on the couch and the boy and I headed off to bed.
Where he tried hard to get me naked.
And I didn’t budge an inch in terms of keeping my clothes on.
In the end, he threw out one of his now trademark drunken “I love you’s”, before cuddling up with me and passing out.
The next morning was better. My irritation had subsided, and he was still in a good mood.
We were both there in bed, just laughing and joking around.
I finally told him that I felt like he was pulling away from me. That not hearing from him for days on end was hard for me. That I felt like he was pulling a disappearing act.
He just repeated the now standard line that he was really messed up right now. That he didn’t mean to be pulling away, but he also didn’t really know what he was doing or what he wanted.
The truth is that at this point, I had started to suspect he was trying to put distance between us. Not because it was what he wanted necessarily, but because he had convinced himself it was the thing he should be doing.
Which would explain why as soon as he started drinking, all "should’s" would fly out the window and I'd suddenly become the first call he'd make.
After the seriousness of the conversation had faded, he did make a comment about how much he appreciated the ride but that I shouldn’t expect to hear from him until he needed another. He said it with a smirk on his face, like he was trying to turn our serious conversation into a joke, but… I could feel him using the joke as another way to keep me at arm’s length.
When we got up, I handed him a CD I had made for him. This wasn’t a first. It’s kind of what I do – write e-mails, and make CD’s. I’d made him a divorce mix at one point as well, full of songs I thought he could relate to during that time.
This one though… it was filled with music that reminded me of us. Of what we had, and what we could be.
There were actually more than a few songs on that CD I’ve already shared here along with this series.
I knew he would listen to it. That he would put it on in his truck and spend days listening to it.
I knew the boy liked when I gave him music.
And I was pretty sure he would latch on to the meaning behind most of the songs on this one as well. There was definitely a part of me that was hoping maybe that would reach him.
I took he and his buddy to his truck a little while later, and as he was getting out of my car he turned around and said “Well… I’ll call you in August.” I must have given him a look of pure annoyance, because immediately he started laughing and said “What? It’s only 2 days!”
He kept his promise though. I didn’t hear from him again for 2 days. When he called, we talked for about 10 minutes before I made the point of being the one to exit the conversation first. It was a huge difference from the nights we had spent talking for hours on end, but I couldn’t help that part of me that wanted to prove I could hold him at arm’s length too.
I had been fighting this feeling that we were going backwards. It hadn’t been like this in the start, had it? I suddenly felt like we were in the beginning stages of a relationship where contact was somehow meant to be sporadic, instead of further on down the road where I had gotten used to hearing from and seeing him with regularity.
It was like our relationship was suffering from a case of Benjamin Button syndrome.
I didn’t like it at all, but I felt like if I pushed too hard he would pull away. Like I would lose him. I also worried that if I allowed it though, it made me weak. Vulnerable for him to take advantage of.
And I wasn’t that girl. I knew I wasn’t that girl. I never would have let any other man treat me like this. So… why was I letting him?
Why was I making so many excuses for him?
It might have been because I knew it wasn’t just me he was struggling to make a decision about. There were so many other things he just couldn’t get himself to commit to during this time.
His house was one of them. Or rather, what to do with his house. It was a beautiful place. It really was. But he hated it now. Because everything in it reminded him of her. Of the life he had planned with her. He hated being there. And anyway, it really was too much house for just him. Add on to that the fact that paying the mortgage was now a bit more of a struggle on a single income, and it was inevitable that he would eventually start talking about getting rid of it. The problem was, he had been talking about selling it since we met, but had never once called a realtor to even see if it was possible. He always mentioned wanting to move on from that house, but he could never pull the trigger. For a plethora of reasons, both logical and not, he couldn’t make himself take the next step. But he also couldn’t let go of the idea of wanting to. So he was constantly going back and forth instead.
Then there was the dog. Jay and the boy worked for the same company, but Jay had spent the summer working in a different small little town than the one the boy had been at. While he was there, he had unofficially adopted a stray. But bringing the dog home to his already full house just wasn’t an option. So, he had started talking to the boy about taking this dog instead. And the boy really wanted to. He loved being a dog owner. He was always talking about how much he missed his dogs, and the idea of getting a new one had him excited like an 8 year old. From the second she was first mentioned, he talked about her all the time. But then he would hesitate, and start over thinking it. Talking about how much harder it would be for him to take care of a dog by himself. How much more difficult it would be when he had to go out of town for work, or fishing trips. He started talking about how his life couldn’t accommodate a dog now, even though I knew how badly he wanted it. Even though I knew his parents would help him with it in a heartbeat. And even though I myself had offered to do whatever I could to help. He just couldn’t commit to it. He talked about it every day for two weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to say “yes”.
Which pretty much describes New Zealand as well. He had an opportunity to go on an incredible fishing trip to New Zealand with one of his buddies. More than any of the other decisions he was struggling with, I wanted this the most for him. I remembered the change of perspective I myself had gained when I traveled to Australia. How much that trip had healed me. I believed this trip would be exactly what he would need to start getting his head back on straight. To start rebuilding. And when he talked about it, his eyes would light up. But he was so nervous about the costs and time involved that again… he couldn’t bring himself to make a decision.
Leaving us with me. The final item on a long list of things he couldn’t seem to make his mind up about.
No matter how much I needed for him to.
He was just indecisive during this time. About everything.
And there wasn’t a whole lot I could do to help him with that.
Still, I wanted to believe that if I just gave him space, he would come around eventually. I wasn’t built for the back and forth, and I definitely felt like I deserved more. I just didn’t know where the line was between being patient and giving him the time he needed, while also still protecting and standing up for myself.
The next weekend turned out a lot like the previous had. I didn’t hear from him until almost 11 at night on Friday. When he had already been out for hours. When he was already drunk. Now, suddenly, he wanted me to join.
I wasn’t about to do it though. Even though I wasn’t doing anything at all, I wasn’t about to go running to him now. Now that he had gotten drunk enough to want me around. I told him that as much as I appreciated the late invite, I was going to pass. Then I told him to have fun, and to please be safe.
A little after 2 I heard from him again. This time wanting another ride.
And this time, I put my foot down. Told him I was already in bed asleep, and I wasn’t going to come get him now. I said if he needed a place to sleep he could grab a cab, but I wasn’t going to continue being his taxi.
About 30 minutes later, he showed up at my door.
Initially he went straight for the couch; I think already knowing I was pissed. But when I didn’t say anything and just went back to my room, he joined me less than 5 minutes later. He laid there in my bed for a while without saying anything. He knew I was mad, but I don’t think he knew what to do about it. Finally he just said “I do love you.” Before curling up and cuddling behind me.
I didn’t say anything in return.
The next morning there was no laughing or giggling. No playful flirting or joking.
I was finally done. Annoyed to the point that I didn’t want to let this slide.
So when he gave me my opportunity, I jumped on it.
He thanked me for giving him a place to sleep, and then cracked what I think he thought was a joke. “I figure I’ve only got another few weeks where you’ll let me get away with this before just being done with me, so I might as well take advantage of it while I can!” He was smiling when he said. I really do think he thought he was just teasing me. Trying to lighten the mood in any way he could.
But I paused for a moment, before saying “Actually… I think we’re there.”
This launched a conversation that was far too easy in retrospect. I told him I couldn’t do this anymore. That I couldn’t continue to be his afterthought. That our relationship wasn’t working for me, and we needed to be done with whatever it was we were doing.
I told him we could be friends, but that for now I would need a little space. Just to clear my head and get myself to a good place.
He didn’t argue with me. Not about any of it. He said he understood. That he knew the point would eventually come when I couldn't handle him anymore.
Which is when I said “I think the saddest part is… I really did let myself fall in love with you.”
It was the first time I had said it.
The first time those words had passed my lips.
He had said them to me over 20 times by now. Always drunk, but still… he had said it.
And I’d always remained silent.
Until now. As I was ending things.
But he looked at me then, and said “I just don’t know how to believe you. She said that to me too. I don’t know how to believe it coming from anyone else, if I couldn’t believe it from her.”
I felt like he’d punched me. Here I was, opening up and being honest and finally telling him how I felt about him and what his behavior was doing to me, and… he tells me he can’t believe me.
Not because I had ever lied to him or hurt him or betrayed him in any way.
But because of her.
I finally said the word I had been feeling for months, and it meant nothing to him.
There wasn’t a whole lot to say after that. The entire conversation had been incredibly bittersweet, but we weren’t fighting. We weren’t arguing at all. It was all kind of... surreal.
Especially when you consider the fact that I still had to drive him 30 minutes away to his truck after this.
By the time we got there, we had been silent for a while. He got out of the car and thanked me, before turning around and looking at me for a long time without saying anything. And then, he just closed the door.
There were no tears. Not for me, and not for him. I turned around and drove home, thinking to myself how easy something that should have been so hard had just been.
I went to dinner that night with my incredible friend hockey wife. Recounted to her the details of the morning as we both had a few too many glasses of wine.
And then, we went shopping. Mostly just for shoes she needed to get her husband, but while out and about I spotted a pair of sunglasses that reminded me a lot of a pair the boy had lost just a few weeks before.
Without even thinking, I was buying them.
I had no plan. No intention of giving them to him anytime soon. But I just figured I had them now, and the next time I did see him – I would give them to him. A friendly gesture.
Or, that’s what I was telling myself. The truth is though, I was already missing him.
In the most unhealthy way possible.
I recognized that. I knew it. I knew missing him now was crazy.
And I didn’t plan on doing anything about it at all.
But then… he texted me a picture of the dog. Along with the words “I think Tatalina would be a cool name for her.”
Something inside me cracked. Had he made a decision about something? Had he found something he wanted enough to commit to?
I texted back that I loved her, and then asked how he was feeling (knowing he had been pretty hung-over that morning.) He said he was recovering, and that he was at Barnes & Noble… looking at books about New Zealand.
My mind was spinning. Was this the same guy I had been dealing with for the last few weeks? And what had happened to him not contacting me for a while? Was he finally starting to make some decisions? And was I one of them?
Having just been dropped off at home, I sat there on my bed looking at the new sunglasses I had picked up, and the movie that had been in my mailbox.
Without even thinking I texted him:
“Come over when you’re done. I just got home, and I got you something. Had a movie in the mail too. We can break up tomorrow.”
He responded with “Fine!” and then was at my door within 15 minutes.
I don’t know what I expected to happen. If I really expected anything to be different. He laughed when he saw the sunglasses, and spent a few minutes regaling me with some of what he had learned about New Zealand. And then, we put the movie in.
At first we cuddled right up. Whether out of habit or circumstance, I can’t be sure.
But I do know that as soon as my tipsy hands started to wander, he was quick to put a stop to it.
And I was quick to pout.
This was not one of my better moments in our relationship, but… I was feeling rebuffed. And I couldn’t figure out why he was here, at my house, if he wasn’t somehow sure that I was what he wanted.
He said he didn’t want to go there though. That he still wasn’t sure what he wanted, and that he didn’t want to hurt me anymore.
But I was already hurt. And with a few glasses of wine in me, I was saying the things I had been holding back on for months.
In a moment of exasperation, I finally blurted it all out.
“I’ve spent the last few months taking care of you. Being there for you. Doing whatever it was you needed when you needed it. And whenever you're drunk, you can't keep your hands off of me. But now, suddenly, you're not interested. I told you this morning we needed to take a break until you could figure out what you wanted, and then you're texting me just a few hours later. What are you doing here if you don't want to be with me? And when does it get to be about me? When do you start worrying about what I need? Because what I need, is for you to decide. For you to choose. And for you to then stick with the choice you made.”
He sat there stunned for a moment. I'd never really called him out so boldly. Not like this anyway. “I know” he said. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
But it wasn’t like anything was resolved. It wasn’t like we had suddenly broken new ground.
It wasn’t like he had suddenly chosen.
I got under the covers and turned my back to him. He didn’t try to cuddle. And even though I’m fairly sure neither of us got any sleep that night at all, we didn’t say another word.
The next morning he got up early. Quickly putting on his pants and walking out the door.
I was fairly sure it would be a while before I would hear from him again.
That we had just experienced our real breakup.
But that night, around 6, he called me. Left a message sounding 100% sober. Asking me to call him back when I got a chance.
I didn’t.
A few hours later he texted asking if I had gotten his message. I responded that I had, and asked if everything was OK. When he asked why I hadn’t called him back, I said I had some things I was trying to figure out. The conversation ended with his saying “OK. I’ll let you be. Goodnight.”
It was then that I started writing. Continued typing and editing for hours. Before finally hitting send sometime after midnight on an e-mail that was composed on pure emotion.
Some of the highlights included:
“I’m sorry about tonight. I just haven’t had the greatest day. My mind’s been completely occupied ever since you left this morning.
In all honesty, I’ve been kicking myself. Wishing that I had stuck to my guns and kept some distance between us. After a few glasses of wine though, I guess you were on my mind. Our conversation from earlier in the day was on my mind. This sadness I was feeling over the whole thing.
So when you texted last night, all of my resolve faded and I just wanted to see you.
But, I wish I had stuck to my guns."
“This is starting to get ridiculous on my end. I get hurt when you disappear on me. Then I get hurt when you are here too. Anytime you’re cold or distant. Anytime you’re pulling away from me. Anytime I feel like you don’t want me. I’m becoming this girl I don’t even like. One who’s needy and desperate. One who’s sitting around just waiting for the boy she likes to like her back.
It’s not me. It’s not who I want to be.
And it’s not even really your fault. I’m the one who has let you come and go, even when I’ve known I need more. I’ve let you crawl into my bed, even as you’ve told me you don’t know what you want from me. I’ve let you hold back from me, and push me away, and build up walls, even as I have been completely open and honest with you about how I feel. I’m the only one to blame at this point, because I should have put a stop to this months ago.”
“If things keep going the way they are though, it’s going to make me hate you. I’ll end up being the one putting up walls, and then even if you do hit the point where you’re ready to give it a shot – I won’t be able to believe you. I’ll suddenly be the one unable to trust in your feelings for me. And there won’t really be any coming back from that.
Something has got to change.”
“I told you I loved you, and I meant it. I think you should know that I don’t use those words lightly. I never have. Which is why every single time you have drunkenly thrown them at me, I have kept my mouth shut. Because I don’t say things like that unless I know I can stand by it. I told you I loved you, and I meant it.
And you told me you didn’t believe me.
Maybe that’s why I wanted you to come over last night. Because I don’t know what to do with that. How I’m supposed to react. Do I keep sacrificing myself in the hopes that eventually you’ll believe me? That someday you’ll see that it must be true because I’m still here? Or do I step away and protect myself? Protect my own heart, since clearly you aren’t going to?
At what point does what I need start to matter?
If you don’t trust how I feel about you by now, I don’t know what else I can do to show you.
And at some point, I need to care about myself enough to let what I need start mattering too.”
"You may not know what you want, but I do know what I want. I want you. I want to be with you. I want to be a part of your life. I don’t care about what you still have to work through, and it doesn’t bother me that you still find yourself loving her. I don’t think your feelings for her and your feelings for me have to be mutually exclusive, and I actually think it would be weird if you didn’t still love her. I want to be there for you while you work through this. I want to be someone you can talk to. Someone you can count on. But I can’t keep hanging on, when you aren’t willing to commit to how you feel about me at all. I can’t keep letting you hold me at arm’s length; pushing me away when I get too close, and pulling me back when you start to fear losing me.
I can’t keep up the back and forth.
I don’t have it in me to do this half way anymore.
So I think you should take whatever time you need. Figure out what it is you want. Whether or not you and I want the same thing. Keep your distance for a while. Forever if that’s what it comes down to. Do what you need to do to be happy. If that means drifting around from stupid girl to stupid girl so that you never have to feel anything for anyone else ever again – do it. But know that I am not that girl.”
Almost as soon as I hit “send”, I regretted it.
This wasn’t an e-mail I had spent days thinking about. One I had edited and re-edited until it was right.
This wasn’t even one I had cut down to a reasonable length.
Throughout the course of this entire relationship, I had often joked that for the first time in my life – I was the sane one in a pairing. And I had been. I had kept my cool, controlled my emotions, and put him first.
Every step of the way.
This e-mail though… it was all of that coming to the surface. Me finally bubbling over under the pressure of trying not to create too much pressure.
And my inner crazy girl (i.e. the side of me that overanalyzes, overcomplicates, and overwrites) finally won out.
After months of remaining fairly contained.
But that inner crazy girl, she did keep reminding me that at least… it was out there.
I didn’t hear from him that day. I wasn’t sure I would hear from him again.
But the following night, he called.
And as soon as I saw his number, a wave of relief washed over me.
I answered without thinking. “You made me crazy” I announced.
He didn’t need to know that I had always been crazy. That e-mails like that were pretty much par for the course for me. I was fine with him thinking that he had been the one to push me over the edge.
He’d made enough comments along this journey about how calm I was. How rational. How normal.
Yes, he had actually referred to me as “normal” at one point.
No use shattering that image now.
He paused for a moment, before finally saying “Yeah… what was that?”
So I launched into it. About how confused I had been lately. How unsure of where I stood with him I had been feeling.
I told him I felt like we were going backwards. Like me and what I needed were being severely neglected in this quest of mine to support him.
And that at some point, I really needed that to change.
I needed to know I could count on him. That I could rely on him.
And that he was spending as much time looking out for me as I was spending looking out for him.
Finally, I said “If you can’t do that, I just really think… we need to be just friends. Like, really just friends. Not friends who sleep and cuddle in the same bed, or who kiss and get naked every time you’re drunk enough to want that. Just friends. Without the mixed signals or games. Without the underlying promise of potential in the future. Just… friends.”
I would be lying if I didn't say that at this point every part of me wanted him to tell me that wasn’t what he wanted. That he would try harder. That he would give me what I wanted.
What I needed.
Because he loved me.
But instead, he said “That’s probably for the best. I think friends is all we really are anyways.”
I caught my breath. “Do you really mean that?” I questioned.
“Yeah. I think I do.” He responded.
Confused now, I said “So if I started dating someone else tomorrow, if I moved on, you would really be OK with that?”
“Yes.” He replied, seemingly without even thinking. “I just know that there’s nothing more here between us. I mean, it’s weird to me too that I don’t ever want to be with you unless I’m drunk. Even I can't figure that out. I think it means something though.”
I was trying not to spiral out. I was trying so hard. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “We slept together just 2 weeks ago. You prompted that. And you were completely sober.”
“I know.” He said. “But… you don’t really want to know what I have to think about to sleep with you.”
...
The entire world came to a halt. Everything around me stopped. I couldn’t breathe.
What did that even mean? Was that a comment about me? About something being wrong with me? Or was it a comment about him? About where his mental state was in general? About how he would have trouble sleeping with anyone right now?
Why would he ever say that?
Why would he ever say it to me?
I wanted to throw up.
But instead, I cried.
The wall broke down. The emotions won out. For the first time in my entire adult life, I cried tears as I was being hurt. With the person doing the hurting right there on the other end of the line, bearing witness to it all.
They erupted out of me. These tears that had been built up for months. Exploding from my eyes before I could contain them.
I was shaking. And sobbing. And hyperventilating.
Finally stripped raw and exposed.
Finally broken down.
Finally beaten.
Immediately it was like a switch flipped for him. Like hearing my tears had triggered him to realize what he had just said. What he had just done.
He couldn’t stop apologizing. Calling himself an asshole. Telling me how sorry he was. That he had never meant to hurt me. That he hated himself for this. That he would never forgive himself for doing this to me.
He was panicked. He had never heard me like this before. Had never known me to be so vulnerable.
And there I was, on the other end of the phone, crying so hard I couldn’t respond.
I could tell he felt awful. I knew this wasn’t what he wanted. I knew he had spoken before he had even thought.
This was one of the traits the boy and I shared after all, wasn’t it?
The lack of a filter.
I knew that hurting me like this was the last thing he ever would have done intentionally.
But it didn’t matter.
It had happened.
What’s done is done.
As soon as I gained my ability to communicate, I told him between sobs to stop apologizing. That I wasn’t mad. That I understood. But that I needed some time.
Possibly a lot of time.
I told that if he really cared about me like he was saying he did, then he needed to stay away. I begged him not to call me again. Not to text. Not to show up at my door.
I told him he needed to keep his distance.
That if he really cared, he needed to give me time to heal from this.
From all of it.
From him.
The remorse in his voice was evident. “I’ll stay away.” He promised. “I do care about you, more than you know, and I’m so sorry I let this happen. If that’s what you need though… I won’t call. I’ll stay away.”
He asked if I was going to be OK. If there was anything he could do.
I continued to struggle with getting the words out past the tears, but I told him I would be fine. That it would just take time. And that the only thing he could do for me now, was leave me alone.
Which is when we said goodbye.
And I hung up the phone before curling up in a ball on my bed and finally letting it all out.
The tears. The heartbreak. The sadness.
The months of buildup, finally releasing.
Crying until I was sure I had nothing left.
And then, crying some more.
(to be continued…)
