Chapter Afterstand up, dust off, and get moving

I wait too long to say what needs to be said once I know how difficult it will be to hear. It allows some degree of self-delusion — perhaps the difficulty is not due to the inherently disappointing nature of the message, but to my lack of confidence that it is true. Somehow, the fact that delaying the inevitable makes it that much worse doesn’t factor into it.

The horror builds like water pressure behind a dam. There will be no releasing it slowly; everything rushes out at once when the little Dutch boy finally plucks up his courage and pulls his finger out of the dike.

The calm before the storm gets all the press, but it’s the spooky stillness afterwards that’s more deserving. Everything to be said, said. All the wind blown, each drop of rain poured out, the thunder that must clap, has done so.

I had thought I’d have made some sense of things by now. The muddy bottom exposed, the garbage and corpses and other forgotten things lying there still and honest. But I understand neither the flood nor the steady gathering trickle leading up to it. Only that this is my doing — that I bear responsibility for the destruction in B__’s heart, and my justifications cannot repair it.

I gave myself a few weeks to collect my thoughts, and even still they are so very few.

Ninty-nine percent of the time, one’s reason for breaking up boils down to: I think I can do better. And any lack of certainty over the decision itself is really a lack of certainty over the initial assumption that lead to it.

“What did you do out there?
What did you decide?
You said you needed time,
and you had time.”

– Ani DiFranco

I just broke up with B__.

I’m a complete and total coward, so I did it over the phone. I told her we could get together to talk if she wanted, but that I couldn’t bring myself to tell her in person. My suckage was noted, apologized for, and said apology deemed lacking. She asked if K__ and I were getting back together (I laughed, “no”) as well as saying several other mean-but-reasonable things in her moment of hurt. Some of them were probably dead right.

I tried to walk that thin line between telling the truth and not hurting her feelings, and I always end up either hurting or lying more than necessary. I said I couldn’t give her what she deserved, and I couldn’t go on doing that anymore. Even though she says she’s ok taking it slow, she’s not.

It’s a replay of “the first time” a few months ago, and I probably didn’t do a better job, which makes it that much worse. She asked questions I had no answer for; I wished them rhetorical, despite their so-very-not-ness.

I have I__ tonight, so there are pressing issues of dinner and bedtime to attend to. But I thought I could quickly break the update drought in the meantime.

B__ is at the Pitchfork music fest, so I’m flying solo this weekend. Very low-key so far; hot/humid, stoned, bored. I should be getting a bunch of work done, but I’m — how’s it go? — oh yeah: not. I’m hung up on an odd cocktail of emotion: equal parts excitement at the prospect I’m free to go out and behave like a single man should I choose, guilt that I’d even think such a thing, laziness, garnished with mild social anxiety. It’s Sunday, and I’m doubting I’ll get out tonight. I miss B__. I don’t. It’s upsetting that I miss her. It’s upsetting that I don’t.

Laundry, house-cleaning, grocery-shopping, and other nobody’s-going-to-do-it-for-you realities of single life await, and await some more.

For all my arm-chair study of happiness research, I do not, I think, structure my life around those principles I know to be (proven!) effective in producing long-term happiness.

It’s Friday afternoon leading into a long Independence Day weekend. Today, B__ hit me up for a lunch date, and we ate sidewalk cafe-style in some truly wonderful mid-day weather. While we walked, she asked what was going on this evening and I said that I didn’t know but that I would / should probably work late. She quickly concluded that I must not want to hang out tonight, and lamented that all of her friends seem to be out of town or have other plans.

I have annoyed both K__ and B__ with this Zen-like, nonchalant attitude with which I approach my leisure time. I’m content to work until I don’t feel like working anymore, then I pick up the phone and see if anyone I want to spend time with is free in the immediate future. I’m fully aware that most people “make plans” and that this habit communicates an unintended I-don’t-care.

To what extent should a person bend to the preferences of their loved ones vs “being themselves”? Most suggest that some balance is called for in such situations, but that answer isn’t particularly helpful in finding it. What I find absolutely fascinating is how extreme the acceptable difference of opinion is at the beginning of a relationship, and how narrow it becomes at time goes on.

We had a good time at lunch, I think (at least I did), and managed to make pleasant conversation as long as it didn’t reference any of our hang-ups. She walked with me back toward my office and her car where she gave me a hug and a kiss on the neck. Her disappointment was palpable, and I wondered to myself whether it was specific or general.

I can feel myself all but imperceptibly backing away except for those moments when her magnetic field sweeps me in and spins me dizzy. The net result brings us ever-closer together, but the imbalance is unsustainable. Something has to give.

There’s an annual summer block party that I try to attend every year. It’s what I imagine heaven would be like — all my favorite local people (even though most are only familiar faces I don’t actually know) drinking all day (and well into the night). Costumes, DIY “floats”, and drinking in the street; a whole range of ages from little kids to well-preserved hippies.

One of K__’s old friends used to live in the neighborhood and we’d grill out in his yard. It’s such an event that he often flies back into town scheduling his visit for that specific weekend. I’d been excitedly telling B__ all about it for weeks and we’d been planning to attend together, but wondering whether this might present the first opportunity where myself, my wife, and my girlfriend might engage in public warfare — er, I mean — well, we just knew it could get uncomfortable. It was discussed. It was discussed some more.

It was inevitable. It had to happen sometime. It might as well be now. We were all adults. As long as everyone behaved themselves, everything would be fine. Still, it seemed like everyone hoped it could be avoided.

K__ had told me she probably wasn’t attending since her friend couldn’t make it this time around. She asked how I’d feel if she did end up attending and I told her we’d decided we all had to be cool and get along. I__ would be there afterall, and we had to be nice for his sake at least. I forwarded the news to B__ (that K__ said she probably wasn’t going) and it was received enthusiastically.

By the time the fateful day arrived, it was a scorcher, and we had other events to attend earlier in the afternoon. By 6:00 we were en route, but we still hadn’t made it. I got a text from K__: “R U here?” I read it to B__. I thought she was going to turn the car around, but I assured her everything would be fine.

We met up with S__, one of the neighborhood residents who I consider a friend. B__ had asked how I knew him, and only then did it occur to me that actually, he’d been K__’s roommate when we first met. Great.

The street was packed with people, and we followed S__ to the spot he’d claimed. I__ spotted his mom directly across the street almost instantly. She came over to say hi (because what else could she do) and B__ was visibly uncomfortable, but seemed to understand. From there, everything went terribly wrong.

I__ now realizing that both of his parents were in attendance at the same event (and when was the last time that happened) wanted everyone to hang together. K__ seemed fine with that (perhaps a little too fine). B__ looked like she wanted to strangle me. K__ went back to her spot on the other side of the street, and I__ said he wanted to go with. B__ asked if it was necessary that we hang out, you know, right here, right across the street. Couldn’t we move up the street somewhere? She’s looking at me! I couldn’t be bothered with moving. I didn’t pick the spot; I’m standing with her, and with my friend; we’re all behaving. What’s the big deal?

We didn’t speak for awhile. B__ pulled out her iPhone, and even before I peeked, I could tell she was IMing a friend for other activities. Fine.

She hung in there, though sulking a little. I__ had it worst though. He wanted to ping-pong back-and-forth between mommy and daddy, and when I tried to explain that he couldn’t, he wanted to know why.

Because daddy’s girlfriend can’t handle it, that’s why.

I tried to explain, but it was no use. He’d already had a big day, it was past his dinner time, and he wasn’t going to handle disappointment.

I was just before rock-scissors-papering with K__ to see who would leave, but she volunteered. Naturally that didn’t matter one bit, we were all emotionally exhausted by that point, and there was still a hungry I__ to feed with no sign that the grilling would start for at least another hour. We bailed almost immediately to grab take-out pizza. Epic cop-out.

In the car, B__ apologized for being snotty and said it was only after I’d told her that I was uncomfortable too did she have the it’s-not-all-about-me realization. I felt better, but I realized later that she’d misinterpreted the root cause of my discomfort. I wasn’t excited about inhabiting the same space with my kid, wife, and girlfriend, but it wasn’t a major problem for me until it was a major problem for B__. The more I thought about it, the more I knew it was her reaction that I was most responding to. It was her discomfort that truly made me uncomfortable.

She said that maybe things would be different — easier — after I was officially divorced, but maybe it was too soon for this. I nodded and wondered to myself if I’d be able to withstand this kind of tension for another six months.

This morning, I__, K__ and I played Legos for a few minutes when I dropped him off for the day. B__ would probably blow a gasket, and I’m increasingly concerned how much of a problem it is that it’s a problem.

Tonight, I__ is with his mom, and I’m hanging solo for the first time in two weeks. I’m definitely over-saturated with B__ and told her I was taking some time to myself tonight. I barely felt like working up the conversational energy to say so — even via text.

It reminds me in a preverse way of one of my favorite poems, one that’s come to mind several times recently.

B__ and I returned from our mostly lovely vacation in S__ town late last week. There were a few stressful spots, but nothing out of the ordinary — especially when traveling, especially over a long distance, especially with a significant other, especially when you’ve never traveled together before.

By the second-to-last day I was missing my son quite a bit and starting to get nervous about being away from my job. Time was running out and it was clear we wouldn’t have time or money to do a tenth of the things we’d thought of. The reality that vacations are necessarily temporary settled in and brought with it a bit of melancholy. I get this way on vacations near the end. I wonder why I spend the vast majority of my life not doing the things I do on vacation. Then I wonder why I do the things I do on vacation. It’s perfectly me — I try not to be a downer or anything, but I do get quiet.

So I was mostly silent and B__ assumed it was about her. At this point I must confess that part of me had hoped we’d not be nearly so successful traveling together, that there’d be a clear reason to kick this relationship to the curb where I’d kinda, sorta, almost-but-not-really decided it should be a month or two ago.

I didn’t feel like defending myself. Didn’t care if the whole thing went down in flames. I can say I didn’t want that, but I wasn’t going out of my way to avoid it — it just didn’t seem like such a terrible thing. Besides, I knew I had some of it coming, if for vastly different reasons than her assumptions led her to believe. The more grief she gave me, the quieter I got, and the quieter I got, the more she assumed her assumptions were correct (despite me punctuating the conversation with a few sparse points of clarification).

She accused me of not caring, and after having several days to chew on it, realized that’s dead on — I don’t. At least not if you’re talking about the relationship. I don’t really care about the relationship. I do care about her. Caring about the relationship as its own separate and distinct entity feels a bit like corporate personhood — a phenomenon I am already quite comfortable despising entirely.

She asked if I was going to dump her as soon as we got home. Damn, that’s some half-way decent intuition. “No,” I said; technically it wasn’t a lie since I discarded that option the moment she asked. “Are you mad?” “No,” I said feeling completely honest (at least by comparison). She didn’t completely believe me.

We flew home on a red-eye, and I guess she slept well enough not to notice that I didn’t. I got more of the same “you haven’t said five words to me since” speech and again I retreated into wherever it is that I retreat to. She’d manage to escalate the “argument” without my direct participation (an interesting thing to behold actually) and before long had brought my wife into it (as she’d done a few days before).

Ironic, this. It is so totally not at all about my wife. Marriage conceptually perhaps. Relationships in general, yes. But the only time I find myself thinking about K__ in anything resembling the way B__ thinks I’m thinking about her is when I’m noticing things about the two that are similar (or things about the relationships that are similar) and those are, more often than not, highly unflattering.

I could see the corner turning where she was ready to cut me loose. I could see a clear path leading from her driveway back to mine, a few days apart, an uncomfortable conversation or three, and we’d be broken up. Every car accident I’ve ever had things dropped into slow motion; it’d be like that over the course of a week. I relaxed and prepared for impact. Instead, she jerked the wheel at the last minute, apologized, and within moments (ok, a few days) everything was hunky-dory.

And I’m … glad?

K__ let me know yesterday that she’d transferred utilities info her name (happy anniversary!) Still standing are the internet and cell phone, by far the most expensive, but those will require my participation to modify the account. She apologized that it had taken so long — every time she’d thought about it the weight of contemplating it was too depressing. I know it all too well — like an old friend or a crazy aunt.

I was feeling somewhat better (and somewhat worse) about this new development until this morning when I realized the broader motivation was to have utilities in her name so she’d have the documentation required to change I__’s home address on his school records. Just like that, the numbness returns and I feel nothing whatsoever.

. . .

Last night, I got a reply from M__ (finally) saying she’d be up for a coffee later this week or weekend. That’s great except I’ll be in S__ town. Things like this seem to happen just a bit too often for it to be completely random. My ego puffs up a bit (more) at the notion that fate might be fucking with me so. Luckily my cynicism already far outweighs it.

K__ came to pick up I__ this morning and wished me a happy anniversary. It was vaguely on my radar over the weekend, but not being the sort of person to keep track of the date outside of business hours, I wasn’t fully aware it fell on Monday.

I managed a half-hearted smile.

On her way out, she said it again like I’d not heard it the first time. “Happy anniversary,” I grumbled back. A strained exchange, but, you know, whatever.

I’m going on vacation later this week, and offered to take I__ an extra day this weekend since I won’t see him for a week. I spent the night with B__ Saturday, and on Sunday we headed out together to pick him up. I haven’t recharged the AC on my car this year, so we took hers. B__ and K__ hadn’t met yet, although there’d been a few offers on B__’s account. K__ had given me minor grief about spending the night there with I__, and when I mentioned it to B__ she offered to have K__ over for a beer to set her mind at ease (but not before getting offended and needing a cold one herself).

K__ and I__ had spent the night at Grandma’s house, and I left B__ parked in the cul-de-sac while I fetched the boy. We’d done that once before; I wasn’t against them meeting, but I’m understandably shy about the subject. There’s just no good way to say, “Wife meet my girlfriend. Girlfriend meet my wife.” K__ was in the driveway washing the car she’d borrowed (see below), and asked if I’d like to “introduce my sweetheart”. I waved B__ up the driveway, and we all proceeded to muscle through introductions. K__ was as charming as I’ve ever seen her — I knew it would be one extreme or the other, I just wasn’t sure which. B__ seemed infinitely more weirded-out, but perhaps that’s to be expected. We’d not had any coffee or breakfast, and she stayed moody for an hour or so, but brightened up considerably a little while later.

In related news, K__ wrecked her car on Friday. No word yet re: any expectations I should help replace it. My own vehicle is just barely above death-trap status and has been in serious decline for quite some time. I’ve actually been shopping for a replacement, but the tires had been on borrowed time for months, and I broke down and replaced all four last week.

I thought I’d share something funny that happened Tuesday night, if only because I found it pretty novel — I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything like it before.

I’m bad about skipping breakfast, lunch too occasionally. My metabolism is too high for that kind of behavior, as I don’t really have enough body fat to ride through to the next meal. I’d certainly not been at my worst Tuesday. I had a bite in the morning with my giant coffee, and although lunch wasn’t what it should have been, it too was better than nothing at all. Another coffee in the afternoon may well have been my eventual downfall, but I was feeling fine up through three beers (of average gravity) with B__ in the early evening.

We headed back to her place to have a bite, and instead sidetracked ourselves straight to the bedroom. Everything was going sweatily when I noticed my hands were tingling. Clearly a change of position was due, but the pins-and-needles didn’t go away. I shook my arms out and flexed my hands several times. Still nothing.

By now B__ was on the case. She dashed to the kitchen, brought back cookies, and grinned as she stuffed one in my mouth. Before I could even get it swallowed, I could feel my body releasing a cocktail of chemicals anticipating digestion. The numbness moved towards my fingertips, and the foggy haze I didn’t even realize my head was under started to lift. It was like taking several shots, but in reverse.

Crisis averted, we cuddled and looked up hypoglycemia on the interwebs.

K__ and I are a little less volatile than the stock market as of late, though I hesitate to declare that an improvement in absolute terms. She took I__ to the beach with T__ and his kids for Memorial Day weekend. I received a mysterious text message in the middle of it. It contained but the single word, “Sorry”. I wasn’t sure I should start jumping to major conclusions right away, so I jumped to minor ones. Maybe she’d sent (or thought she’d sent) a text to me accidentally that was meant for someone else. Or maybe she’d redialed me and hung up before my phone rang. Without any context, I didn’t have anything to go on, and I tried to forget about it.

Still, when the night-night phone call with I__ came around I couldn’t resist asking what that was all about. She dodged mostly and I didn’t pursue it any further, but she did manage to spit out that she’d been thinking about things and was feeling sorry.

The next few phone calls and meetings saw similar abbreviated expressions. She dropped at least one more “sorry” into a “goodbye” and more than once an I-love-you-slash-inclusive-I-love-you-guys when dropping off I__ at my place. I wonder if that’s the best she can do. I wonder if I should do more to acknowledge the baby-steps. I wonder what happened with T__ that brought all this on.

I__ spent this last weekend with me, and we spent the better part of it with B__ (who he loves completely without the messy reservations his father has). We slept at her place, and he ratted me out (like always) during the goodnight phone call to mom. K__ was none too pleased and I haven’t gotten any further amorous rhetoric since. I’d say I don’t give a shit except, clearly I do.

We’ve been spending more time together recently due to I__ starting kindergarten this year. We’ve visited three different schools — some more than once. Last week was orientation at the one we chose. Afterwards we got lunch together as a family. It was awkward but went ok — great considering it was the most time we’ve spent together in months. Yesterday morning, I dropped I__ off at her place and she offered coffee — I really wanted some, so I accepted though I’ve declined similar offers in the past. It was all business, a lot less uncomfortable, dare I say it, platonic.

B__ has said a dozen times that her biggest fear is that K__ and I will get back together. I don’t think it’s very likely (and getting less likely all the time), but it may well be my biggest fear too.