I don't believe in the one.

I don't.

And yet, here I am, 2 1/2 years into a relationship, wondering where I, he, we are going. If I lived in a vacuum, I probably wouldn't be this anxious.

But I don't.

It's wedding season on Facebook. Smiling faces that I only partly recognize, some not at all anymore, accost me with every log in. White finery, bundles of flowers, oh look, their signature cocktail was in a mason jar. Am I some sort of curmudgeon, scowling at the computer screen? 

I don't think so.

Quite the opposite, actually. I'm just a romantic with a bad sense of visioning. Because, deep down, I want it all - the white finery, bundles of flowers, quirky accent-piece. And I'm squee-elated, ecstatic, enthusiastic, when dear ones, like our M and D, decide to commit to each other. I know just how much they care for each other, how much they look forward to seeing each other at the end of the day, how they challenge each other and share inside jokes. I'm blessed to know them and even more honored that they asked me to share their day with them. But when it comes to me, my life, and my choices -

I don't know how to decide.

Meet and Greet

A year and some months later, I'm finally meeting his friends. His group of high school buddies that played JV soccer together with silly nicknames on their jerseys. What started as a small gathering over dinner, us plus three of them, has ballooned into an eight person affair with an acquaintance who wasn't originally invited (awkward) and another girlfriend (thank god).

If the three potential outfits packed in my bag don't already give it away, I'll come out and say it. I'm nervous. What do they know about me already? How will the conversation flow? Should I buy lots of drinks? And. The one that all the others stem from. Will they like me?

A seems to think so. I guess we will find out.

Making plans to change the world while the world is changing us

There she was. In a teeny-tiny Viking costume. I shouldn’t have clicked on her name but I did. Now I had an almost-naked visual to go along with his handful of stories about her. It didn’t matter how many times he told me she didn’t support his career or believe in his talent or care about his happiness. All I could focus on was how she made a lot of money and how tan she was and how below that picture of her in her teeny-tiny Viking costume was a comment: “TC likes this.” My stomach rose up in protest.

“We don’t talk,” he had told me once. “She texted me a couple weeks ago to come get some of my stuff and I told her to throw it away. Trust me, I have no interest in keeping in touch with my ex’es.” I had heard this same speech before from E. and then found out a year later he was telling his own ex that he loved her the whole time. And now here was my first red flag from TC. I couldn’t let it go.

“Are you home?”

“No, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

“It can wait, call me when you get home.”

“No, I hate that. What is it?”

I was trembling. I knew he would be so angry. Didn’t I trust him? Why would I snoop into his past? Why would I be digging on Facebook? How did I even know who she was anyway? But it didn’t matter. If I didn’t ask now it would bubble up inside of me, constantly marinating, churning, stewing until one night after a few drinks I’d scream out, “I know you’re still in touch with her! I saw her Facebook picture!”

I tried to explain as rationally as I could. “I clicked on your ex’s profile. I shouldn’t have, but I did and I saw this slutty picture of her that you liked. And it really bothered me.” He began his typically rational speech. They are not in touch. They had an amicable breakup a year and a half ago, and every once in awhile he gets a text from her saying hello. He saw the picture on Facebook of a cute girl in a tiny outfit and he clicked like. That was all. She texted him afterward to say she saw his comment and hoped everything was going well. “We had a good relationship. We broke up over my career, and we both knew it was the best idea. We’re different people now and I don’t really like the person she’s turned into. I don’t like how she treats me or who she’s become, and I’m not attracted her anymore; emotionally, physically, or sexually. At all. But I hope she’s happy.” I had nothing else to say.

When do I start to really believe in this? When do I start to feel secure in this, in us? When he says I’m different, how long until I actually hear it?

He called back half an hour later. I anticipated anger. You know, Lauren, this REALLY pisses me off! But instead I got a quiet voice.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” And I meant it.

The New York Clock

New York functions on a different clock. I’m sure of it. One year here is a month somewhere else. 30 years old here means 23 in another city. Time speeds up, slows down, and stops altogether when in other parts of the world it is just a constant.

TC and I have been together for just over four months. We were “dating” for three of those months, and now we’re “officially” together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Committed and in love. What I didn’t expect was that once he committed, he would be really committed. All typical-boy fear of words like ‘marriage’ and ‘babies’ and ‘living together’ went straight out the window.

He had a roommate issue last week because I’ve been spending too much time there without paying rent. “If he gives me crap about it, I’ll just move in with you,” he said. My immediate reaction was, Oh no, you won’t!

But why? It’s the timing. Four months isn’t long enough.

Right?

I just went to the engagement party of my brother and his fiancée who have been dating since January of this year. They are perfect together. My parents, who dated for three months before getting engaged, were in attendance.

New York has tainted my relationship-brain. “We have to date for at least a year before we move in together and then another year before we get engaged and then another year before we get married.”

But why?

The rational part of me says it’s all way too soon. And the stupid-in-love girl part of me is looking up one-bedrooms on Craig’s List.

Me and My Boyfriend

“Listen to me, we’re going to have to have a serious discussion tonight,” TC said. I grew hopeful. “Because you’re getting a little mouthy.”

“Ooooh, is that the discussion we’re going to have? I thought it was going to be a different discussion.”
“The commitment-boyfriend-girlfriend discussion?”
“That’s the one.”

We had just spent the day together; shopping for clothes for him, eating pizza, hugging at every red light. There was this feeling I got as I pushed through the throngs of people on Broadway and I’d feel his hand on my hips, as if to tell me that he was still there. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered as we fell asleep Saturday night. “Promise?”

“I don’t want things to change between us,” he warned. “If we do this… I really love the way things are going right now. I don’t want things to all of a sudden change. And I don’t want to do all the stupid Facebook stuff! I hate that. And if I don’t want to go have brunch with your parents at an outdoor restaurant, I’m still going to tell you that I don’t want to go.”
I grinned. “It’s one excuse after another with you.”
“This is who I am,” he answered more gently. “I’m just warning you.”

I ‘d been watching him and listening to him tell me for three months that he’s hazardous. He could hurt me. He could get hurt himself.

“I know,” I answered quietly. “I don’t need the Facebook stuff. In fact, I hate the Facebook stuff. When you break up they show a little broken heart that says ‘Lauren is now single.’ And when you meet my parents, it won’t be because I need their approval it’ll be because I talk about you a lot and they want to put a face with the name. It’ll be stress free and easy. Okay?” He stared at me hard.
“Okay.” He extended his hand. We shook on it. He walked into the kitchen to get us ice cream and it took me a full minute to realize I was smiling.

The Ride

I was waiting in line at an amusement park, but it wasn't until I got right up to the front that I knew what I was in for: a roller coaster. "I should tell you," I told TC's roommate. "I don't like roller coasters." The roommate smiled. "You'll be fine."

And suddenly we were in the car, but it was straight out of a cartoon, and there were no bars, no straps, no seats. We were standing in a small space with no roof and then we were off, speeding down the tracks. I looked back at where TC was climbing into the car behind me, smiling and full of joy and hope. I looked at the roommate. "You'll be fine!"

We were at the top of the hill, and the roommate looked at me again. "Here it comes! Are you ready?" My insides were like hot soup, sloshing around inside of me, and I watched the descent come into view. Before I could blink we were up and over and flying down the steep hill. Relief gushed out of me but it was short lived. Up ahead I saw the loop.

"I'm going to fall out!" I shouted to the roommate. I looked back at TC. Still grinning. I shouted one more time, "I'm going to fall!" The roommate pressed himself into a corner of the car and so I followed suit.

And then we were up. The car sped around and over the loop and then immediately pulled into the station. I survived. I climbed out of the car feeling a thousand tiny pin pricks of anxiety and adrenaline all at once. TC was behind me. Still smiling.

When I woke up from the dream, it was 1:30 in the morning. The day's earlier discussion was still heavy on my mind, and it had clearly manifested itself very literally in my sleep. I looked at my phone. He had texted me. "You ok?" I took a breath.

"I'm okay."

Getting Warmer

Sometimes I think he is getting closer.

“I told my dad about you.”
“Hey, we should take pictures of us while we’re here. We don’t have any pictures of the two of us. Have you already realized that?”
I woke up in the middle of the night last night while I thought he was watching TV but instead he was watching me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and resting his hand on my face.

And then sometimes I think we’re right where we were two months ago.
“I can’t spend five nights a week with someone! This is why I can’t have a girlfriend!”
“I don’t think I believe in monogamy.”
I texted him on a Saturday night to ask about our Sunday plans and he canceled with no explanation.

When someone tells you who he is, believe him. Is this it? Is this him? The guy who loves me and wants to be with me but not completely? The guy who has been telling me who he is since day one but is also asking me to stick it out? He says he’s not “there” yet. I wonder if he’ll ever be.

A Little Girl in a Man's World

"I got in a fight with the security guard in my building today."
"You did?"
"Yeah, he was just being such a jerk. And I couldn't hold my tongue."

"You have a problem with men. You have a chip on your shoulder. You even do it with me sometimes."

I didn't respond. A chip on my shoulder?

My whole life I've been the little blonde girl. I'm not very big. I'm not very tough looking. I've always looked younger than my age. And for as long as I can remember, I've been underestimated, undermined, coddled, and patted on the head. "You're very pretty, but what will separate you from all the other attractive blonde girls?" a professor in theater school once asked. At a bar one time I got, "You're very pretty. Do you have anything else going for you?"

If I have a problem with men it's because I have something to prove. I can't sit back and wait for someone to discover that I'm smart or funny or that I can throw a perfectly spiraled football. Someday I'll be completely comfortable with who I am and I'll let people uncover that on their own. But today is not that day.

Dream of ways to make you understand my pain

“This is the third time this has happened.”
The third time.
The third time I had one too many drinks and let myself think too much and unleashed all my insecurities on him.
We yelled at each for half an hour in the street.
We talked heatedly on my bed for another half an hour.
And then we were laughing.
“I’m glad I’m here with you,” he told me later.
It made me so happy.

And then there it was again.
An hour later in the still dark heat of his bedroom.
One offhand comment, one rude statement that rubbed me the wrong way.
I was crying.
“This night is one big tantrum,” he snapped.
I didn’t answer.
“Lauren.”
“What?”
“Can you please get back in bed? I don’t want to wake up my new roommate.”
I crawled back in and then he held my hand.
This morning I felt sick.
What was I doing here?
Was I ruining this?
Was he ruining this?
Are we just too different?
And then a text at 10AM.
“The cleaners picked up my laundry this morning!”
The cleaners I found for him in his new neighborhood.
My neighborhood.

Part of me gravitates toward him because he swallows down all of my crazy and digests it.
And part of me wonders how much of it he’s storing up before it explodes.

The Effects of Danny and Annie

His parents have been divorced for ten years, and before that shouldn’t have been married at all. “They met at a knife fight when she was 17 and he was 20,” he told me. “I’m pretty sure I was conceived in a parking lot.” It is not the sentiment of someone who really believes in marriage. I, on the other hand, grew up with parents who used to stand hugging in the kitchen when they thought no one was looking. I know marriage as a long-lasting, loving commitment. He knows marriage as a situation of convenience that wears off eventually.

“Can I show you something?” I asked. “This might be totally cheese ball, and you might make fun of me, but to me… this is what marriage is.” He pulled up Danny and Annie on his iPhone. I saw his eyes blinking in the glowing light of the little screen as we watched in silence. He let out a barely audible sigh of surprise when Danny says, “I walked in with you, I walk out with you.”

He told me he thinks this situation is so rare, and happens only when two people really settle and feel lucky to be with anyone at all. “I think you’re very wrong,” I said quietly. His face softened. He watched my eyes for a minute and I could almost see the thoughts churning in his head. And then he let his walls down, just a little, for me. “Or maybe that could be us,” he offers. “But I won’t die on you.”