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.
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