Chapter 7 September 4, 2010

Chapter 7

Sept 4, 2010

A day forever to be remembered.  The night of September 3, I drove the hour north to West Palm Beach and checked into a dog-friendly hotel, my girl always by my side for the big moments.  He would be coming to my room first thing in the morning.

First thing turned out to be 5 am.  Great way to see him for the first time in a year.  But it didn't matter.  We fell into each others' arms like it was the only place we were meant to be and had just been waiting, itching to get there again.  Which basically was exactly the case.  I know we made love, immediately and fervently.  It was never not fervent.  We fell back to sleep for a while, then he had to get back to the condo to have breakfast, but we would meet for lunch.

I arrived armed with more handwritten papers.  I had recorded all my non-negotiables, what I needed in a partner, what was necessary and what was entirely unacceptable, what so that he could make an informed decision as to whether this-- US-- was something he felt he was up for or not.  I also listed things that he had done in the past that had angered or hurt me that I'd never mentioned.  Why didn't I, anyway?  I think I wanted to be so perfect for him that I held in anything that may have been taken as criticism, essentially selling out my principles-- but now I was ready to stand to them.  This promised to be a major lunch, food being the last thing on my mind.

When he showed up, I felt something different about him.  Though I had just been with him that morning, it had been all sex and sleeping so I hadn't really noticed (though I couldn't help but appreciate his new, fit, hot body.  He was sexier to me than ever, which was saying a lot)  In the real world, in the light of day, not blinded by lust... I could tell something had changed with him.  His whole... dare I say aura? had shifted.  I was enthralled with this person sitting in front of me.  Nonetheless, I started in as if this was a board meeting with my minutes from the past 9 years and current situational reports.  To everything I presented him with, he agreed.  Littering?  He seemed truly embarrassed that he ever had.  Spitting?  "You're right, that was gross of me."  He agreed with every point I made and apologized for the things he'd done or said that hurt me, assured me that his intent was never to hurt me, that he was just stupid and thought he was being funny.  Now, you may think, of course he's going to say all those things if he wanted me back, but-- please don't roll your eyes-- I could feel that he was sincere.  I had an instinctual sense that whatever was just a little bit off before was now in line, and it felt electrifying.

He told me with enthusiasm about this life coach he'd been seeing, Netta, a woman who had consulted with CEOs of huge companies and top executives as well as performed Shamanian healings with smoke and feathers.  An older, wizened and soft spoken woman who had, literally, changed his life.  Netta's philosophies were a powerful combination; heavy on holistic beliefs and energy work, yet highly worldly, offering sagely practical and stragically sound insight regarding business.  Through hours of exercises, practices, energy focusing and meditation, she had allowed him to discover and define his core beliefs and, best of all, begin to live in a way that was aligned with them.   It feels silly and naive to say it, but I really felt that he was a new and improved version of the FH I knew, the same guy that I had fallen hopelessly in love with but with some unfamiliar and fascinating traits, and having discarded some of the unattractive old ones.  This opportunity felt like none other that we'd had-- or thought we had-- any time before.  I had a renewed sense of hope and the overwhelming sense that it really, finally, was our time.  Then-- what really convinced me everything was different-- he asked me to join them at the condo for dinner that night... so I could meet his daughter.

Chapter 6, 2008

2008

That.  Was.  It.  I was so done with this foolishness.  This man had to be banned from my life for good.  I maniacally erased him from my life in every way I could think of; blocked him on Facebook, de-friended all of his friends and family (whom I really liked and was sorry to have to do) changed my e-mail addresses, threw out any remaining mementos (I had kept a couple, well-hidden), gave away or sold on eBay any and all gifts from him (as well as the dress for the stupid Christmas party), and changed my phone number.  I was determined to cut every tie, to make it impossible for him to ever find me again.  It was both heart rending and supremely cathartic.

I was now a single mother of a three year old, living in an expensive beach town on alimony and child support, which I soon realized would not be enough for Seth and I to get by.  I began to calculate how much money I would need to make and tried to figure out how I would work and care for my toddler son.  I was devastated that I would have to go from being a full-time mother to a working one, and that someone else would be getting that time with my child.  But that's what single moms do.  

Plus, I was lonely.  I missed the comfort and companionship of M, and of course we were in regular communication because of his visits with Seth.  I shared with him that FH and I were over, stated simply that there were just too many things about him that I didn't like and it didn't work out.  M and I started spending more time together.  We enjoyed our son together again.  We silently considered whether we dared try to make this work again.  We spent Christmas together, the three of us.  Then we took a weekend trip, just M and I.  Everything we had ever had before was back.  It seemed insane, but he moved back in and we started over for the nth time.  

Although I still thought of FH, it lessened with time and now with absolutely no possibility of contact, he slowly faded from the forefront of my mind.

For a number of months I felt, possibly for the first time, that I really did belong with M.  I thought I may have actually been in love with him, which wasn't necessarily the case before.  It felt so right to be a family again that I planned a romantic evening at the end of which the waitress brought out a cake reading, "M, will you marry me?"-- I got down on one knee and with a tear-jerking speech, asked him to be my husband.  Again.  It was a very touching moment, and I really felt it was the right thing.  Really, I did.  I know it sounds crazy, looking back.  But it felt right, right then.

A friend of FH's contacted me on Facebook to ask if I was back with M.  I knew it was FH who wanted to know and I refused to answer the question in my response.  I did say a lot of other things though, that were meant to convince them both that I had moved on.  As it turns out, those things only confirmed that I was so not over him.  His friend assured him of that.  (Wise man, DG.)  Anyway, since then nothing, no contact, not much thought (though never none at all.  Never.). I was consumed with marrying M again and being together and a family and happy.  Happy... such a subjective word.

There was an incident, one similar to many that had occurred before.  Sometime after I proposed, I was outside with Seth while the garbage truck picked up the garbage, something he loved to watch.  The garbage man waved as his machinery flipped our trash can upside down, and Seth and I waved back.  When the truck drove away, M came outside and walked up to me.  He asked me straight out if I just came out here to wave at that guy every week.  I stared at him in utter astonishment mixed with a sense of panic.  I walked inside, and he followed me.  I turned to him and said, "I am going to give you a chance right now to redeem yourself.  Please think carefully before you say anything."  He responded immediately that it seemed to him that it wasn't really for Seth's sake that I went out to see the garbage truck, it was so that I could flirt with the man driving it.  I seriously almost spat in his face.  I managed the words, "You are ruining this.  Right now."  Of course we made up eventually-- I'm almost positive he apologized, but the buzz of being re-engaged was killed a little that day.

And still... we started planning the wedding.  The first time, we were married by a Justice of the Peace with only my mom in attendance.  This time we were going to do it right!  We had so much fun planning it together.  We chose a super-cool venue, designed and ordered funky mod invitations, I had a dress custom made out of fabric made from recycled plastic bottles.  The caterer, the menu was ordered, the DJ, the works.  Things felt really good most of the time, which I had concluded was as good as it gets.  The invitations had been sent out a week prior when I got the phone call.

It was girls' night out with some of my mommy friends, and we had dressed up and were going out to dinner.  I was suddenly bombarded with calls from another friend who worked at Nordstrom, calling me from work and texting to call her immediately.  Thinking something was wrong, I told my friends that I needed to see what was going on with my girlfriend.  I called her, and she asked if I was sitting down.  I said I was driving, she was on speaker with a car full of mommy friends and what was going on?!  "You'll never believe who was just here," she said to me.  "Who?  Who?!" I asked impatiently.  I honestly had no idea who it may have been.  Finally, she said, "FH.  He is searching for you."

It had been a year.  He was back.  Not only was he back, she told me that he was crying at the skincare counter, telling her that he had lost the best thing he'd ever had, that he couldn't find me and he didn't know what to do!  She and FH had become fairly good friends while he and I were together, so he knew where she worked and this was his last-ditch effort.  "Oh, and?" she added.  "He looks like he's lost about twenty-five pounds."  Great.

You can imagine how impossible it was for me to concentrate on the road at that moment.  My friends, who had just listened to the whole thing on the Bluetooth, sat open-mouthed.  Although it didn't make sense to them, it was obviously something huge.   After catching my breath, I asked to use one of their phones.  (I could never forget his number.  I had called it so many times in past years from pay phones so I could talk to him without the evidence showing up on my phone bill, which is why I couldn't use my own phone to call him now.)  When he answered, I was speechless for a second at the sound of his voice, but tried to play it cool.  "We're going to Chemistry right now.  If you remember where it is, that's where I'll be for the next couple of hours," and basically hung up.  Chemistry happened to be a restaurant where the two of us had eaten, which to me was a bit of an omen.

I explained the story briefly to my friends, who were utterly intrigued by the drama.  I had a cocktail (or two) as soon as we arrived, and we began talking about kids and life and other things and I managed to not obsess about his potential presence.  Suddenly, one of my friends began kicking me under the table.  Hard.  Someone was coming, but my back was to the door.  I turned and... honestly, my heart still speeds up to this day at the thought of it.  I awkwardly introduced him to my friends and then excused myself so he and I could talk outside.  Immediately, he took me in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.  It was.  I held him and cried and let myself marinate in everything that he made me feel.  And he had definitely lost weight.  He looked fantastic.  We talked-- I don't even really know about what-- but mostly held each other and kissed.  I decided to tell him that I would be taking Seth to the Children's Museum the following day.  We'd be there all day.  Now I had to get back to my friends, and he should probably come in and pay our bill, which he did.

The next day Seth and I arrived at the Children's Museum, where I really had been planning on going anyway, and I tried again not to obsess on the fact that I may-- or may not-- be seeing him.  Not obsessing is not one of my strong suits.  We hadn't been there very long when we were outside blowing bubbles and I saw that man, the one I had loved for so many years, walking up the street.  That confident, sexy walk.  He was oblivious to me for a good minute and I just drank in the visual.  My god, I had never been so in love.  I couldn't imagine ever loving anyone as intensely as I had loved him, and still did, damn it, damn it, damn it.  He finally looked up and saw me, smiled, and entered the museum.

Let me tell you, if you have small kids and ever want to have a clandestine meeting, a Children's Museum is the place to do it (the only risk, of course, being seen by another mom).  The kids are entertained, leaving lots of time to talk and lots of hiding places to kiss.  We did both all afternoon, and played with Seth.  We told Seth that FH worked at the museum, and Seth liked him.

The conversation was heavy that day.  He was in love with me, never wasn't, not for a second, he would do anything to show me he was better, he was ready, he wanted me and was begging for the chance to try again.  Incidentally, he'd succeeded at buying his company back and the deal was behind him, he the victor, as usual.  His life had calmed down significantly and he pleaded that I at least consider that we might still have a chance.  I told him that M had moved back in, we were back together.  I couldn't bear to tell him we were re-engaged.  He was too late, it was too late.  Wasn't it?  Was it?  Being with him had a way of throwing me all out of whack, not knowing what I did or didn't want.  That day, I wanted him.  I wanted to be with him.  But what the hell was I supposed to do?!  When Seth and I said goodbye to the man who "worked at the museum," I honestly had no idea what I was going to do about this.  I returned home to M and tried to act normal with him.  Actually, it had become so easy I didn't even have to try.

After a couple of days, I hand wrote a letter to FH (probably having to shake out close to a hundred cramps; that's something we sure don't do anymore!), describing on many pages all the reasons I couldn't be with him and that there were just too many fundamental differences between us that were non-negotiable to me.  The habits that repulsed me; spitting in public, for instance, littering, using soft-core racial epithets. The hurtful comments. The list and letter went on and on.  I couldn't, I just couldn't, please, please just let me go once and for all.  I mailed it to him, though I don't remember how I even knew his address.  Must not have gotten rid of everything.

M and I went on planning the wedding, but there was some distance.  When I came down off the high of preparing for the celebration, I really started remembering that-- who would have thought of this?!  -- it meant being married to him again.  Whoa, he was a great guy and all, but we got divorced for a reason.  Doubt crept in.  Around that time, I went home to Maine for my 20 year highschool reunion.  M came with me, and we called him my husband;  no one needed to know that he was actually my ex-husband and fiance both.  He somehow got along very well with the hick, hippie mountain friends that I'd grown up with, though he stuck out like a sore thumb.  I loved it.  I loved him.  Sometimes he was just so... great.  I was utterly confused.

I went on a long walk with my dad on that trip, and sort of admitted that lately I'd been questioning what I was doing a little, but because we'd already made all the plans for the wedding, I had to go through with it now.  I'll never forget what he said:  "You don't ever have to go through with it, for any reason."  Now, my parents both love M.  He has done such kind things for both of them and treated me so well that they truly adored him.  But my dad confessed that he felt like there is always an undercurrent of tension in the air between us, and he wondered if I was really happy.

After coming home from that trip, I got a text message from Leslie, my friend that FH had sought out at  Nordstrom.  It was a forward... from him.  He knew that I couldn't have his number on my phone bill, so he thought to send her a text to forward to me.  We had a new form of communication!  After being relegated to pay phones, we actually could text!  And we did.  She graciously sent messages back and forth, and they began to heat up a little.  Not sexually, but emotionally.  He wanted to see me.  I balked.  The letter I wrote, remember?  All the reasons?  But still....

One night I had a dream.  It remains vivid in my mind.  I was having dinner with M at a restaurant, and FH came in.  He walked right up to us and said to me, "You need to choose, once and for all."  I looked at M and said, "I'm sorry," and got up and went to FH.  He looked in my eyes and said, "It's our time," and that was the end of the dream.  I woke up dazed.

M started noticing "the look" again and grew concerned.  He wanted to talk about it, and I had a hard time looking at him.  He asked, "Are you doubting again?" and I still couldn't look at him.  "I can't fucking believe this," he said and stormed off.  It didn't take long before everything was scrapped.  I  e-mailed everyone who'd been invited, cancelled the venue, the caterer, the DJ, told the dress maker we were no longer on a schedule and it was done.  Done, I was sure, forever.

Right as it was all falling apart, I agreed via a text through Leslie to talk to FH.  He would block his number before he called so his it didn't show up.  I took my dog for a long walk and he called.  I spouted everything; told him that M and I had gotten re-engaged, and that I'd just barely broken it off, how close we had come to getting remarried, but it wasn't going to happen.

He then told me that he had been praying like crazy, whenever he ran (which he did often now, hence losing the weight), sometimes pressing his hands against the ground and sending his energy into the earth, just willing, praying, hoping that I would feel it, I would feel him, I would hear him.  I was short of breath. I told him about the dream I'd had and we were both in awe.  It almost felt unreal, supernatural.  Was this happening?  He told me that he was different, to please let him show me.  He had been working with a life coach for the past year and had learned a lot, mostly about himself; that he wasn't the guy that I described in that letter, that the things I didn't like about him were things that he didn't like about himself and that those weren't behaviors that were really who he was.  To please come and see him, to feel who he was now.  He was coming to West Palm Beach with his daughter and her friend to stay at a friend's beachfront condo in just a few days.  Please, would I just come talk to him?  I finally consented.

Chapter 5; Together, Take One

2007

I felt exultant.  FH and I were going to be together, and for the first time there were no obstacles!  No marriages, no "things to sort out."  He had been dating a girl who knew about me, and he told her with no hesitation that I was back and they were over -- it was a thrilling, heady feeling and I felt as though my dreams were coming true.  FH was terrific with my son, now almost 3, and all the pieces were falling into place.  His business, now eleven years old, had grown to impressive proportions and merged with another company; he was better off financially than he'd ever been.  I would have been thrilled to be with him without a penny to his name; his success was mere icing on the cake.

I actually went to Philly and stayed with him for the first time at his beautiful new bachelor pad; what a feeling to be able to be so open!  We didn't have to hide, there was no sense of subterfuge.  He introduced me to his friends, his sister; I was his girlfriend, finally for real.  Things were as I had dreamed of them being for years.

He happened to be coming to FL with his daughter for an unrelated trip.  She was now thirteen and he claimed to have told her about me.  I thought, what a perfect time for me to meet her.  They were going to be so close that I thought it would be an ideal opportunity to introduce us briefly, just a casual, friendly run-in, no pressure, but I would at long last meet his daughter, who I'd known about for six years now, and she could meet me.  He would not go along with it, said "she wasn't ready," and I was wounded.  I argued that she would never be ready and at some point it had to happen anyway, but he wouldn't budge.  That stung, and I couldn't understand but I gave up and tried to let it go.  They returned to Philly without my ever seeing either of them.

One weekend we took a trip to the Outer Banks in South Carolina and luxuriated in a fun, romantic getaway in a beautiful setting.  It all felt good until, in the middle of the night, I woke up in the hotel room and began to cry.  And cry.  I left the room and wandered the grounds in the darkness, sobbing for no apparent reason except that things just didn't feel right.  Again.  I eventually went back to bed, and the next morning, eyes swollen, shared my feelings and told him I wasn't sure if being together was the right thing.  He was stunned; we had just had a fantastic, intimate weekend together and he didn't understand how I could switch gears so suddenly.  Neither did I, but there it was nonetheless.  As was typical, by the time we had returned home I'd switched back again and reassured him that it wasn't really how I felt.  I loved him and of course I wanted this.  He was a bit shaken but accepted my reassurances.

The little hurts, however, continued to add up.  There was a comment "Where did your eyes go?" after I'd washed off my makeup.  Another time a flip remark about my breasts, how it "almost looked" like I had some when I was lying a certain way.  (I had proudly nursed my son for over two years, mind you!)  I would obsess about these comments and others, and I found myself thinking that M would never have used words that stung; he held me on such a pedestal he never even saw any faults, let alone remark on them.  And, B drank.  He always had, more than I preferred, but in the past I could justify it because we saw each other so infrequently it was always a celebration when we were together.  Now, it began to bother me.  One night he drank to the point of passing out on a hotel room floor one night, immediately after giving me oral sex.  I was torn between leaving him on the floor or helping him to bed.  I chose the latter but felt a sense of mild disgust.  He drank so that he would crave a burger late at night, after we'd had dinner, and once again I felt rather repulsed as I stared at him wolfing down the burger, completely oblivious to my distaste.  I noticed more and more the extra pounds he carried, and in my mind I criticized him for things as superficial as his appearance and as significant as his contemptible habit of littering, as notable as his tendency to spit in public, right on the sidewalk.  UGH.  I found myself keeping score.  Things about him that I didn't like added up in my head and instead of voicing them, I just silently counted.

One morning, about a month after the Outer Banks trip, he was in FL with me and I woke up with the now familiar sensation of wanting out.  I was distant, and when he pried, I voiced what I was feeling.  He cried and argued feebly, but I could see that he had had enough of my vacillating, and ended up getting on the next flight out; I drove him to the airport in silence.  That night, I panicked and booked a flight to Philly for the very next morning.  I texted him when I landed that I was there and could we meet?  He was with one of his friends that I'd met and liked very much, and I joined them at a restaurant where they were having breakfast.  I apologized, took back what I said, explained it away as a moment of confusion and annoyance, and I really did want to be together.  Although he was understandably exasperated, things were good again, for the time being.

There was a deal in the works with his business.  The merger was proving to be a bad fit, and he wanted to buy his company back.  The dynamics of the deal were highly intricate; he was going to attempt to disentangle from the other company.  If it worked, he'd own the majority of his company, but most of his friends as well as business mentors were suggesting that he walk away, that it was too complicated and he wouldn't be able to pull it off.  It was taking up a lot of his energy, and he was so focused on it that I began to feel neglected.  There was a Christmas party coming up, an almost decade-long dream coming to fruition to actually be his date at one of the events that I'd heard about for years-- only it was never me on his arm... until now.  I couldn't believe it was really happening, and the dress was a big decision.  When I found the right one, I e-mailed him a picture of me wearing it.  Two days later, he finally commented on it, and again my feelings were hurt.  This was such a big deal to me and he couldn't tap out a quick reply about the picture?  Things got tense, and we started butting heads on other issues as well.  Where were we going to live?  He wanted me to move with my son to Philadelphia, and I refused; I had always maintained that I would never leave FL; I wouldn't take Seth from the city where his dad lived.  He began arguing that he couldn't relocate either because of his daughter, and it got heated.  He had promised me countless times that he would do anything for us to be together; now that it was time to take action, he was clearly unwilling to follow through-- or even discuss the possibility, especially in the midst of this high-pressure deal.  How could we plan to ever be together if we were both unwilling to move?  One of us suggested that we put the relationship on hold until the deal was finished so that he could concentrate on business and I wouldn't feel neglected.  It wasn't a bad idea, but I wanted to go to the Christmas party so badly.  To finally be his date at a party he'd attended in previous years with his wife, and then other women, was so meaningful to me that I didn't want to give that up.  He thought I was overly attached to going to the party-- to him it was just a party, but it was more than that for me; it was validation.

This party may have been the straw that broke the camel's back.  I kept pushing to go, explaining my reasons; he said it didn't make sense for me to come if we were "on hold."  I think, perhaps as a pre-emptive strike, that I said maybe we should just call it quits.  No being "on hold," no nothing.  It just was becoming too much work, too much conflict, too much hurt, too much.  He agreed with little hesitation, and that was it.  We were no longer together.  Done.  Yet again.