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Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

January 18, 2015

Z Returns:

He was coming back, for me, I thought. Did he tell me that or did I want to believe that? He said it, didn’t he? “I was going to come see you,” I think is what he said. He was going to surprise me. I think I understand the allure of the surprise. You show up unexpectantly and there’s no expectation. I screwed that up. I told him I wasn’t available and the next day I was. Then it was a plan.

It’s my fault, really.

“When will you arrive?”

“How long are you staying?”

“How many nights are you spending with me?”

What would have been spontaneous became labeled.

I changed the expectation. I painted a picture for myself of my long, lost love who just couldn’t stay away from me, coming back……for me. I was stupid. I forgot what I really was to him. A fling. I was the woman he slept with. Sure, there were late night chats and shared memories and long weekends. We cared for each other. But like Liz said, it was inside four walls. The love I made up was in a bubble. I forgot.

He walked up the stairs in his orange-checked shirt and I couldn’t believe I was with him again. I couldn’t believe his beautiful face was in front of me. We held each other for a long time and it was just like it was before. Slowly, tenderly we peeled away the clothes that fell strewn on the floor, just by the door, just like all the times before. He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom and I remembered why he was so addictive. Why I could never let him go. It was wonderful to be with him again. It was a special gift. We shared stories and watched a movie and stayed up too late before falling asleep, arms and legs entwined, like we belonged together.

He watched Pride and Prejudice with me and actually followed the long, drawn out story, making funny comments along the way. He called Darcy “the shit.” I had always wanted to watch Pride and Prejudice with him.

The morning was a bit weird, as it always used to be. I could never manage to transition from movies and sex and talking to living and doing. But that’s not what we were. He made a few phone calls and finished some work on his laptop. He took a shower and came out into the living room with a towel around his waist. He never looked more sexy to me. I teased him and told him I was definitely kidnapping him this time. I pushed him onto the bed and pretended to threaten control before I got up with a laugh.

He called the boys. The ubiquitous gang of Indian friends in Lafayette. He was going to meet them and he would come back and cook for me and spend another night.

And there it was again. That feeling that I forgot came with the Z package. I wasn’t invited. Because it was all boys or because I wasn’t important to him? I wasn’t invited in his life. I was only allowed limited custody doled out in hours and days. I glossed over that feeling before because it was worth it. Because I didn’t have any alternative. I don’t have one now, either.

This time, I sat at my computer watching him gather his things and I was tearing up, going quiet. It wasn’t his fault. He was the same. He was treating me the same. It was me. I wanted more. I knew I wouldn’t get it from a weekend visit from an old lover. But I wanted it and it just reminded me again that I’m chasing an elusive idea: The Relationship.

Knowing how he is, I told him, “If you’re not going to come over and cook and spend the night, let me know. I don’t like expecting you when you’re not coming. I end up feeling disappointed.”

“I will,” he said. “I’m 90% sure I’ll be back tonight.”

“Ok, just let me know.”

I had a lovely afternoon with my brother and his kids. We had a picnic in the park with cheese and fruit and beer. We soaked up the sun that’s been hiding for weeks. We laughed and picked on each other.

Evening came around. I ate and had a bath. 8 o’clock. Nothing. I started to paint.

9 o’clock. Nothing. I hated being that person that has to make the inquiry. It was so familiar. I don’t want to feel like that.

Finally, caving, I texted, “Are you staying here tonight or crashing with friends?”

“Friends!” he answered.

There it is. The bubble burst. Again. He wasn’t even considerate enough to let me know. I was hurt.

“Great. It was good to see you. Thanks for stopping by.” I answered.

“Sarcasm?” he replied.

Fuck off, I wanted to reply.

“No.”

“Cool.” he wrote.

Yeah, cool. That’s me. Just here whenever you want because I’m so much more crazy about you than you ever were about me.

I felt like a complete fool. I wished he hadn’t come at all. I had him in this perfect little sphere of love that could never be. I wrote the love story. I made the little book. We had a wonderful last time months ago. Why did that have to get ruined with fucking disappointment? Why does it always have to end this way? It had no future. There was no reason to mess up my beautiful little romantic creation. I wanted to love him forever.

 

Of course I still do. It’s not really his fault. He is who he is and I knew that. It’s my fault. I expected more than I should have.

“I want the fairy tale,” Lennon Glasses had said to me when he was disappointed in me. When he thought I didn’t feel the same about him. I want the fairy tale too.

There’s no princes on white horses. Hell, I couldn’t even get a nerd who I have everything in common with to stick around for more than a week. I honestly didn’t think it was going to be this hard. I guess I was naive.

“Drive safe.
Have fun.
Goodbye,” I texted Z.

Delivered, it said under the text.

Sometime tomorrow around noon or later he’ll bother to read it. He might even try to pry me loose like he has so many times before. But what’s the point this time? He’s not making amends with the woman he wants to sleep with again. I’m just the woman he used to sleep around with when he lived in Lafayette. He’ll be fine. He doesn’t need me and he knows he’ll manage to stay friends or friendly with me. And that’s all he needs to feel ok.

And I’ll have the completely predictable challenge of getting over him, again.

 

 

 

 

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