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.

Starting up again...

Grad school, with all of the dense readings, the lectures on little known subjects, the lunches with friends sharing unbelievable stories, has been an enlightening experience. Yet, all the above mentioned factors aside, the most enlightening aspect has been the interaction with my male peers.

My undergrad experience was far from the see a cute guy in the halls, smile, know you will probably run into him later at whatever solo cup rager was going on that weekend, look as cute as possible on that night, and then who knows what. In my case, if I saw a cute guy in the halls, chances were I would probably never see him again. Now, here I am in a full on campus environment, where, after one semester, I know everyone's face if not their name. It's both comforting and disquieting.

Our Dean said in his welcome speech that some of us, undoubtedly, will get married to each other. How could that possibly be the case? It already feels incestuous to view each other romantically - and oh how people would talk. And yet that doesn't stop people, attached or otherwise, from making eyes and overtures...

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.

Continuing with the alcohol and love theme...

A is a sweet, affectionate drunk. He isn't drunk all that often but when he is, he's adorable.

Case in point, last night at a friend's dinner party:

"I love the shit out of you."



(It's cuter than it sounds, I promise.)

Feeling Good

I had always taken pride in the fact that I had never gotten seriously drunk. No real lapses in judgment, no wondering about what had happened the night before, and certainly no nights spent hugging the toilet...

until Friday.

I had taken a big, scary French exam that morning. I had met with two fun work contacts. I had seen my bff from high school for the first time in six months. With two very promising parties on the agenda, I was feeling pretty good. And it was going pretty good...

until we remember I'm a lightweight. One drink (any drink) usually gets me a bit silly. As was the case after my gin tonic at the first party. Silly and happy. At the second party, after a little bit of beer and a little bit of wine, A's coworker convinced me to take a shot. Of vodka. Which was bigger than it should've been. But I was feeling good! Down went the fiery stuff. I'm chatting, dancing, and then WHOOSH. Not feeling good. And he can tell.

Glass of water in one hand, arm around me, we're out the door. Apparently I mentioned to him that one of my friend's commented that we'd get married. We get to his house, more water. I sit on his bed and then I'm up, making my way for the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub throughout and gives me mouthwash when I'm done. Back in his room, he tucks me in, a trashcan on my side of the bed. In the morning, he lets me sleep in while he goes out to buy me bread. He makes me breakfast and naps with me on the couch.

I was humiliated, and he tried to make me laugh at myself. I apologized a dozen times, and he shook off each one.

He took care of me, and I love him for it.

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.

Today

You know the awkward feeling the day after a fight? No? It's like, somehow after some heated words, you forget how to interact with a person you know intimately.




That would be me and A today.

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."

The Talk

He got an 800 on the math section of the GRE. It was to be expected. At least, I expected it even when his nerves seemed to get the best of him. What I didn't expect was the turnaround. That I probably should've, but I didn't.

"Are you staying over Friday?"
"I'm intending to... why?"
"Cause we should go out for brunch on Saturday and have that talk I've been putting off."

He was right. He had been putting it off, with his "let's wait until after I take the GRE..." nonsense.

Now, here he is, with his expected perfect score, and his PhD applications to begin. And here I am with my future to ponder over before Saturday (which I have to make a sincere effort to do, since he warned me about "I don't know" answers).

Back to school? Look for a new job? Move somewhere for him? With him?

Truthfully, I don't remember much about our conversation over lunch today - the conversation announcing the date of another more important conversation. I remember lightheartedly making one of those fighting for air gestures. I remember saying that this feels so grown up, and him asking why. I remember telling him that I'd never had to do this before. I remember him telling me that we could be together.

A part of me is terrified. A part of me smiles. Most of me knows I need to do some thinking.

More than a Feeling

We were lying in bed, spooning and watching TV. I was drifting off to sleep when he put his hand on my shoulder so I'd roll over and look at him. I kissed his cheek.

"What?" I asked.
"Will you say something to me?"
"Huh?"
"Will you tell me something?"
"Tell you what?" He scowls.
"Never mind."
I turn back to the TV and realize what he was asking. No, I can not tell you something. If there's something you want to tell me, you can put yourself out there a little and say it.

An hour later. Now we're lying side by side, about to go to sleep. He stares at me seriously for a second, and then in a quiet little voice, he says, "I love you." For one brief moment I tell myself not to say it back. My conventional mind tells me this isn't the way it goes. First comes commitment, then comes love.

But I love him. I do. Despite the non-traditional way this entire relationship has gone, I have grown to really love him. So I say it back.

And it feels so, so nice.

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.”

Date(s)

Tomorrow will be six months since we first kissed, so we're taking half days off of work to see a matinee, make love, and eat dinner at an unknown restaurant. (He's given me a hint, and I still can't figure it out. Pretty infuriating.) The weather will be gorgeous, so there will likely be hand-holding and strolls, too.

Then today it hit me.

Am I supposed to get him something...?

Not one to shy away from the direct approach, I asked.

me: are we doing gifts?

A: um...nah

well, I didn't get anything

let's save that for a year?

me: neither did I, haha

so you see yourself with me for a full year, huh?

A: um, if I am that lucky

me: I just love you

A: I love you too

Decision made.

Putting a Label on It

It's first thing in the morning. I took a shower, I got dressed for work, and I crawled back into bed. He breathes heavy beside me. When he finally rises, I'm drifting in and out of sleep myself. I hear him laugh. My eyes creak open. "You laughing at me?" He's grinning. "I love waking up with you."

Half an hour later I'm ready to go. He walks into the bedroom and notices the TV on. He's grinning again. "I did it," I announce. "I figured out your ridiculous TV." "You're so proud. And cute. Cute and proud." And happy. I am so happy.

Ten minutes later he's packing his bag. One more grin. "Do you like me?" he teases. He doesn't know that the joke calms my nerves. That now it's absurd to even suggest a doubt.

When we're out in public together he is openly affectionate. His co-workers know we're dating. The bartenders at the club he performs at are starting to recognize me. He tells me, "You are the only woman I spend my time with."

I should feel so good about us. Until I hear it. "Hey Matt, this is my friend Lauren."

Labels shouldn't matter. But this one does.

Caught Between a Rock and a Soft Place

The Comic: brutally honest. Blatantly affectionate. He's been telling me who he is since day 1. Like it or leave it. But I like it. It hasn't always been easy. We both try and explain ourselves all the time. "I hate being told what to do," he says. And I counter with, "I'm not changing who I am for you." Neither is asking what the other is contesting. But we're both afraid that if we don't say it, we won't get it. He could be the passionate love of my life. Or he could split my heart open and crush the pieces.

The Hometown Boy: I hadn't heard from him since I was 19 years old. We had drinks on Tuesday and it was perfect. We can go on for twenty minutes, talking in pure sarcasm, and then talk about gay marriage in the most serious tones. "I think someday people will look back on the gay marriage issue like we look at segregation," he said. I was shocked. I use that line all the time.

HB has started texting me. I thought maybe there was an off chance he asked me to drinks as friends. But today he promised to bring me back cookies from our hometown grocery store the next time he's there. I guess we're not friends.

TC is intense as ever. He's all "baby" and "I miss you" and about to move into my neighborhood. He could be someone important to me. But how will I know with the "perfect on paper" HB hanging out in my periphery?

Postcards

"So where's my surprise?"
"I'm not sure, babe."
"What? Not sure about what?"
"The surprise is not in my hands anymore."
"I'm so confused."

One month into our relationship, I went on a 10-day work trip. Just before I left, I sent him a postcard acquired in Hungary (of all places) - a black and white photo of "je t'aime" scrawled on a wall. It read: "I miss you already!"

After a recent trip to the Phillips Collection, I spied a postcard of the Chagall above. I immediately called him to tell him he'd get a surprise. When? he asked. When you deserve one, I replied.

Four months into our relationship comes another long work trip. I met him for a quick coffee at our cafe before my morning flight. On the walk there I dropped his Chagall postcard in a mailbox. It read: "I think you're wonderful - don't change."*

*Lest you think I'm ever so poignant to come up with such a phrase, think again. Thanks, Josh Rouse.

Hot Time

It was hotter than I could ever remember it being in my dark bedroom. I lay sweating, wondering what I could do to lessen the stifling air that seemed to be hugging my body. The fan was no help. I stood up, closer to the window. No breeze. I went into the kitchen and poured a glass of ice water. It was warm in minutes. I took a cold shower. The air felt hotter by comparison. I couldn’t shake the choking atmosphere.

I lay back down in bed, my eyes heavy with exhaustion and begging for sleep. I began to drift off when my phone beeped. A picture message. “Yum Cobb salad!” Cobb salad. The LDC was texting me at midnight to show me his dinner, and all I could think was, “Cobb salad? Who gives a shit about Cobb salad? Let me know when you’re eating scallops with champagne sauce. Jerk.”

I was wide awake. It took me another thirty minutes to drift off to sleep again, and around 3:30 I was startled awake one more time. This time it was my subconscious that roused me but I was thinking about the text. His stupid text. Whatever the meaning behind it, I was angry. And I was up again.

Another glass of ice water, but this time I perched on the easy chair in the living room, next to the only window in the apartment that provided a trace of a breeze. I sat motionless in the dark, letting beads of condensation roll down the glass, across my sticky skin, and through the thick air to the wood floor below.

I don’t know if it was the ill-timed text or the ill-timed sender, but at that moment, in the heat, I felt lucky to be alone.

Lonely

It's stupid and it's silly and it's downright ridiculous.

It's not like he was here. It's not like he could hold my hand. It's not like we were eating dinner together every day. It's not like I could hug him. It's still the same. Phone calls. Skype. Text messages. Emails. That's it. That's how it has been for the past however many days. We haven't been living in the same city (or the same apartment) now for the past couple of months. Long-distance. It's already started. Nothing new. Nothing changed. He's still not in the same city and he still can't hold my hand and I still can't hug him and we still can't go out to dinner and we're still not bumming around together on the sofa. Nothing changed.

Except that he got on a plane and now he's an ocean away.

And it's stupid and it's silly and it's downright ridiculous.

But there's a lump in my throat that just won't budge.

Don't wanna

I'm not good at long distance, he says. I'm really into her, but I just can't do it. I need that presence, that physical companionship, it just isn't for me, this whole long distance thing. And she gets it, ya know. I mean, just two weeks into it, I told her, you know, it's not going to work if we're doing it like this. So thereygo, open relationship. It's good this way. It works. I'm really into her. But it is what it is.

I stand on the cusp of a long-distance relationship. And even the mere and fleeting thought of D uttering those words to someone, retelling our story like that, feels like a punch in the face. An elbow to the gut. A kick in the shins. I cringe at the bare idea of it. A part of me crumples up.

I nod, yes, it is what it is. She lives on the other side of the world, and they have to be apart for almost a year. We get another drink and move on to another topic. Another friend chimes in about that concert they're going to, the party later that night, whether the weather will hold out tomorrow. I smile, I nod. And amidst cocktails and laughter we sail through the night.

But in the back of my mind I know how I would feel if D ever said that to or about me.

And I wouldn't be nodding and smiling.