I don’t know how long The Shy One had been trying to
break up with me. Maybe since we tried getting back together in July.
It’s been a while since I’ve written. I wanted some
privacy to let the thing with The Shy One grow on its own. What happened was,
it didn’t. I’ve tried really really REALLY hard to figure out how to fit into
his life, but the space just kept getting smaller. Still, there was so much
goodness there too—sex so profound and beautiful I never did learn to get my
head around it. Pretty lingerie I’ll take pictures of before I put it away
maybe forever. Cuddles in front of Gilmore Girls. He let me drag him through The
Fancy Gardens even though it was freezing cold. He came to my Christmas party
and met my students, and my mom, and the one aunt who’s not too vocally fascist
to talk to.
But the feeling I couldn’t stand anymore was Waiting
for Him to Text Back. I wanted to throw my phone in the river because no matter
how much he tried to stay in touch, the distance between us would not close. He
said he loved me but I couldn’t feel it.
And the feeling of Wondering If He’s Ignoring Me
Because it’s Her Time (It’s ALL her time, turns out, I kind of knew that last May.)
And I’m Not Allowed to Know When That Is. (Because it’s always.)
Or wanting to send him a picture of the sunrise or sunset
or a painting or a cloud but feeling resentful because he’d kinda stopped sending
me pictures of anything after he got home from his big trip. Then sending him
the picture anyway because he said text whenever but that wasn’t really the
rule either. (I still don’t know what the rule was, only that I got snapped at
if I got in touch wrong.)
To paraphrase William Carlos Williams, so much SHOULD
NOT depend on an emoji. Or a GIF. Or a “good morning.”
Anyway, so brunch:
I was trying for every-other-month brunches with Mrs.
Shy One. I really liked hanging out with her and was learning to think of her
as a regular non-fictional human and not Nakia from Wakanda Forever. (Mrs.
Shy One doesn’t look like Lupita Nyong’o, it’s just a vibe.)
Last Sunday, we went to a place she picked, full of
cool people and hustle and bustle and noise. All the menu options had a lot of adjectives.
I tried the Deep Fried Bread Pudding French Toast with Candied Bacon and Lingonberry
Jam. I thought lingonberries only existed on Portlandia.
It’s not her fault (Probably? ) that I felt ugly and
stupid and clownish and poor sitting there with her. But these two things she
said, jeez.
When she asked, “Who else are you dating?” I joked
like oh, you know, just this one guy. And she was like “Who?” And I was like “Uh,
(The Shy One)?”
“But I know you’re always out there, right?”
I mumbled some excuses like having too maybe-misleadingly-slutty
of a profile pic, but, no, not really. Just then, just this past while, I
wanted to be dating just him. He was a lot. A LOT. And I needed time and space
to settle in if I was going to. I was swiping Feeld sometimes, not totally off
the market, but like, let me just be in love with this guy for like five
seconds. I think it’s a totally valid way to be poly sometimes.
I felt so stupid, like I wasn’t doing this right, like
I was too dowdy and dim and simple and needy to keep up with these two FUCKING
SUNBEAMS.
(Did I mention that he emigrated for her? Crossed the
whole ocean and came HERE of all places?! And I had to clamor for anything other
than a few hours on a Tuesday.)
(But actually, we had a trip coming up on the 17th.
The ticket cancellation showed up in my inbox at 4am. At least he couldn’t sleep
after the breakup? But why couldn’t I make it til through to the trip. Other
than I couldn’t figure out how I was going to eat or poop all weekend and I was
scared of ending up stranded in the middle of a pretty-scary part of the
state.)
ANYWAY back to brunch. Mrs. Shy One said something
like “Oh it doesn’t matter if I don’t see my girlfriend for a couple of weeks,
I always have dick at home.”
This pronouncement SUCKS for everyone involved, but it
really made me come to terms with all I was left out of, all I was missing. I
couldn’t imagine ever being that filled up, that confident, that wanted, that
loved. I mean, I had that with Sweetie-Now-BFF, but I couldn’t figure out how
to fit in that relationship either.
I could never measure up.
I could never have what she has, especially if I kept pining
after a guy who erases my existence to every single other person in his life.
Who lies to his kids about his love life and would only let me drop him off at
home once.
“It’s my street,” he once said angrily, while
of course being cuddled and feted on my street.
Their life is perfect without me, without ANYONE else.
The rest of the world is a threat to what he really wants. (I mean, the rest of
the world IS a threat, but that’s seventeen other conversations.)
Not with a bang, or a sweet-but-resolved text. With a “good
morning” that got lost in the ether yesterday. I called to check in later in
the morning, and he offered to send me a screenshot as proof. She’d done the
same thing when my phone dropped her text confirming brunch. These two are
scared to fucking DEATH of me. It’s so awful that they felt like they needed receipts.
I didn’t want to be scary. I tried to ask for as
little as possible, to be self-contained, to self-date my way to satisfaction,
to just be quiet and leave him be as much as I could stand to in hopes that I
would stop being an irritation. That he might miss me and be kind and want to
be near me.
I feel dirty, and broken, and ashamed. I’m literally
surrounded by pretty presents that couldn’t bridge the gap.
I wanted to be part of his life. Of their lives. I
didn’t want to be a secret. I wanted to meet the kids, or at the VERY LEAST for
The Shy Ones to learn what a babysitter is.
He wrote it as a starcrossed kind of story, just
circumstances. But I wanted him to see me. To choose me, not instead of them,
but alongside.
He said he “prays that I find my person,” but my mind
doesn’t work that way. I don’t want The One, I’ve loved many Ones and will (I
GUESS) love many more. I think they’re all valid, they all count. I wish this
one had counted more to him. I wish he could see me without the threat that
haloed me in his mind no matter what I tried to do. I wish he could see me.
It really pisses me off that in like six months I’ll
be like oh, poor us, just a bad match. I hate magnanimous. I hate how small I
tried to be in his life, and I hate how I’m an ogre in his mind anyway. I hate this.
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