A few weeks had gone by since Lee had texted me. I spent the time getting plenty of rest, meditating, exercising, taking care of minor household projects that had been put off because I’d spent so much time with him, I hadn’t found the time to take care of them. It felt good to hang a few pictures and such.

I respected his need for space…for the most part. Yeah, I slipped once and sent him a link to a tragic song that I was listening to on replay. He didn’t reply.

As I mentioned, I got a lot of advice after telling friends that we were no longer an item. But here’s something you can use:

Don’t take relationship advice from someone who’s single.

Remember, as far as I knew, Lee still had a plane ticket for our California trip, and there was no way I wanted him tagging along on a family vacation given where things stood. I was sure he wouldn’t think of it, but we had made the plans together, which legitimately required some discussion. So, with the sensible guidance of a long-married girlfriend (not to mention numerous reassurances that several long-time couples had “taken a break”), I sent a neutral-sounding text:

Hey, it’s been a few weeks. Hope you’re well. We should probably discuss California.

No response.

If you’ve imagined that, by now, steam is coming out of my ears, you’d be right! I was pi-issed! (Yeah; two syllables.)

So after a few days, I sent an email laying out my assumptions…also restraining myself as much as possible to sound at least somewhat neutral, as if his response didn’t matter in the least to me. He replied, apologizing, confirming he wasn’t going to be on the flight (thank heavens!) and answering my logistical question. And then he tripped up:

“I will cherish much of the time we spent together.”

…which, at this point, was just unnecessarily rubbing salt into the open wound that was my heart. You guessed it — more steam coming out of my ears!

I replied:

“…much of the time…” Classy.

Two days later, he emailed back to — again — apologize, tell me he enjoyed every moment of our time together, acknowledge he’d behaved badly, say he hoped I could forgive him and that he’d like to connect after his divorce was final, and to wish me a fabulous vacation. Oh, and perhaps most importantly, he highlighted our trip to paradise and sledding among the best of our times together.

Now I wasn’t just angry; I was conflicted. I waited until vacation to respond, then affirming that he had behaved deplorably (because badly didn’t convey the egregiousness of his offense), that I was processing through a number of mixed feelings, and that I couldn’t have imagined that anyone could have walked away from what we had.

No response.

I want to wrap this up quickly because, as I’ve been writing about it, I’ve been processing through it all again, spending a few days in a very dark, very angry mood. I spoke with my daughter about it, apologizing for my crabbiness over a couple of days, and she said:

“Couple of days? Try the last six weeks!”

So I acknowledged that I’d been incredibly happy when Lee and I were together, and that I hadn’t dealt very well with this break, whatever it was… Part of the issue was ambiguity:  I’d had the rug pulled out from under me, and I didn’t have a voice in any of it. In writing the posts leading up to this one, I referred back to our text history — which further confirmed the wonderful exchanges of plans and feelings we’d shared — and brought a lot of feelings back to the surface. I didn’t know whether Lee would try to come back into my life or when, and I didn’t know how I’d respond if he did.

I’m generally pretty good at screwing my head back on straight, but this time I finally decided to set up time with my therapist. And then I emailed Lee again, asking him to be a dear and please put a few of the belongings I’d left at his place into the mail for me. I ended the message with “Goodbye.”

It was a small act, but it made me feel as though I’d had some say — that I could bookend our relationship, which I needed to do in order to move on.

Let’s take a moment to summarize what I’ve just experienced:  I was dating a man with whom I seemed so well matched that I thought the heavens had opened up, the angels had sung “alleluia” and my dreams were finally about to be realized. The people who knew me best loved him as a match for me. He had asked me to be in a relationship with him. Nine days later, he made a unilateral decision to exit. No fights. No problems. No warning.

Things weren’t perfect; no relationship can be that. But they’d been really, really good. Better than I’d ever imagined possible. We seemed aligned socially, politically, in terms of interests, values and perspectives on money, parenting and more… I thought I’d met a kindred spirit.

In my relationships since the divorce, I’ve always felt as though I was looking over my current date or boyfriend’s shoulder, seeking out the guy who was a better match, the one who was truly meant for me. (As you know if you’ve read here, I don’t really believe in the “one.”) I also know this says more about me than any of the men I’ve dated. But I never looked over Lee’s shoulder. I looked at him and accepted completely everything I saw.

Anything I would have wanted to be different was minor or superficial… like that he had a Thomas Kinkade painting and liked Coldplay, his wardrobe needed some urbanification, he brought me Modelo Especial when I’d asked for Negra Modelo, I wouldn’t have picked him out as my physical type, and his lovemaking skills were exactly as you’d expect for someone who’d been in a lukewarm marriage for more than two decades. (Don’t get me wrong — the sex was satisfying, just not mind-blowing…well, there was that one time!)

I am, if anything, too understanding in my relationships. I have lived divorce from every angle — from being the kid caught in the middle, to the selfish 20-something telling my father not to date anyone with younger children because I didn’t want step-siblings, to a woman who had to make the very difficult decision to leave my own marriage. So I would have understood if Lee had come to me and had a conversation about however he was feeling and whatever forces were in play that caused him to feel he needed to dial things back, take some time, renegotiate our relationship, whatever… But he didn’t. And, while I wanted to believe he’d come back after a few weeks, that he simply texted me with virtually no explanation left me feeling gutted… and fairly certain I’d just been dumped.

Imagine, if you will, that you’re lying in the sun. It’s actually coolish out, but the sun’s heat is so powerful that you feel an intense warmth. And then a giant cloud obscures it and suddenly you’re freezing! That was my life — I had felt as though the sun was always shining for the time Lee and I had been together; suddenly, the stark reality of midwestern winter hit me and life was cold and bleak. Don’t get me wrong — I am strong, empowered and smart enough to know that I am solely responsible for my happiness. I was neither needy nor desperate; not before, during or after our relationship. Still. I soon found myself tripling the dosage of my dopamine enhancer and contemplating therapy to cope with this abrupt, dizzying change in status.

Somehow I suspect he thought he was doing me a favor by ripping the band-aid off, but the cowardly approach is never one I appreciate.

Here is what I hoped would happen:  I hoped he’d finalize his divorce, visit his children (who live out of state), then call me one night from the airport telling me everything was complete and that, more than anything else in the world, he wanted to come home to me. (I know; I am remarkably good at this romantic fantasy bullshit.) But weeks later, he hadn’t reached out so much as once to tell me he’d missed me…or anything. I was so confused, hurt, angry, grateful, resigned, and so much more…all at once.

Grateful because I’d experienced something magical, wonderful, practically otherworldly… this was entirely next-level relationship material. I’d been given at least a taste. I know some people never get that.

Angry for the way he’d behaved — for pulling the proverbial rug out from under me; for saying all the wonderful things he’d said and doing all the wonderful things he did and then abruptly leaving; for asking me to be in a relationship and then turning away from, rather than toward, me when he got overwhelmed.

And angry for what seemed like a cruel cosmic joke:  I’d spent five years searching for love and had finally found something that seemed real and true and like it might have staying power; he’d spent three months, found someone awesome and, not realizing how rare and special it was, let it go. Just like that.

Don’t get me wrong:  we’d known each other less than three months. By no means was I ready to leap to some conclusion that Lee would be in my life ’til death do us part. (And I sure as hell wasn’t going to commit to someone who hadn’t even managed to go down on me in our nearly two months of sleeping together!) But we were in a really amazing relationship that I believed had more potential than any other I’d been in before — and I thought we’d be in it until we discovered that we weren’t right for one another.

Who knows? Maybe he did…

My relationship with Lee was blossoming rapidly. And I might have been concerned about it if I’d had a moment to think about it… or if Lee had been anything but fully loving, constantly reassuring and absolutely wonderful in countless ways.

I had mentioned the spring trip I had planned for myself and the children:  we were going to California for a week to spend time with family. I suggested that he might fly out for a few days midweek and I could leave the children in the care of relatives while he and I got away.

So, on Valentine’s Day, after a couples’ massage, we sat down and — instead of planning to fly out and join us for a few days — Lee booked flights exactly matching our eight-day itinerary. I gulped back any reservations about how my children might feel about this… And then we reserved a rental car, figured out hotels for the first, second and third legs of the trip, and talked about what we might do while there. Lee was excited about the possibilities of inviting his own children to join us at a beach resort or some friends to join us for a winery tour. I was excited that this man was so serious about us that he was planning a week-long family vacation.

In fact, he asked me officially to be his girlfriend that day — “not that you weren’t already.” I happily consented.

I left his place to spend the afternoon with my children and, by dinnertime, he was texting me:

I miss you. In fact, I missed you 5 minutes after you left.

And then he brought his dinner over, watched Downton Abbey with me and spent the night. We were glorious!

The following weekend we went to a fish fry in the basement of a Catholic church in my neighborhood, then ended up taking the children out for dinner the next night. We talked out how much money to give as a wedding gift to my girlfriend and her husband-to-be. He asked me to look at the MLB schedule and pick out some games, even suggested we get six tickets so that each of my children could bring a friend. And he joined me and my sister’s family in taking my father out for a brunch to celebrate his birthday.

I’m telling you all this so you’ll understand the crazy in what happens next…

On a Monday (now eight days after Valentine’s Day), something turned weird. He texted me this:

I’ve got some personal business to take care of tonight. Is that ok babe?

We were both strong and independent personalities, so it struck me as weird for him to suddenly ask my permission — at least weird enough for me to note it. But I replied by suggesting we have dinner the next night. After all, we’d been spending a lot of time with my children, friends and family, and I sensed we could use some time alone together at his place. He replied:

Yes, please.

Tuesday morning, just nine days after he’d officially asked me to be in a relationship, I got this:

Hey babe. This might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done but I need a few weeks to sort some stuff out and focus on me for a bit…bad boyfriend.

Aaaaannnnd crash.

Among the girlfriends who met Lee early on, right after we’d returned from paradise, was a woman planning a wedding. So it was no surprise to get her invitation in the mail a few weeks later. What was surprising was how it was addressed — to me and Lee. The obvious (wedding budget-friendly) message in this approach is this:

“If you’re still seeing this guy a few months from now, then you’re legitimately in a relationship and can bring him as a date to our wedding. If not, you’re going to be seated among the singles.”

I had to admit to myself that, despite Lee’s regular assertions that he planned to be in my life, I felt a momentary pang of anxiety about sending in a response card for us to attend a wedding nearly three months in the future. Yet I knew I could always inform the bride-to-be if things changed; there was simply no way to know what might happen in the next three months. And perhaps for the first time in my life, I was in a relationship in which I was not afraid to confess this anxiety to my mate, even via text. He responded with a reassuringly heart-filled and syrupy string of emoji.

The next afternoon, he asked me to meet him for a kiss on the way home from work. We grabbed a cup of tea at a coffee shop convenient to both of our commutes home. Barely into our conversation, Lee reached for my hand across the table and told me that I hadn’t needed to feel anxious about sending in the wedding invitation. He told me he planned to be in my life.

I wondered aloud:

“I know it’s not that big of a deal, but it got me to thinking:  My heart palpitated just a little, just for a moment, thinking about planning three months from now. How far ahead are you willing to look before you start to get anxious or aren’t willing to make plans? Please don’t answer that right now…I mean it hypothetically. I was just musing about it.”

And that’s when he dropped this bomb:

“I love you.”

I was stunned — and ecstatic! I thought this may be coming, and that perhaps he’d whip it out on Valentine’s, well over a week away. So I stammered and finally told him that I could feel it, and that I thought he could tell I felt the same way too. He said he wanted to say it when we weren’t drinking (or in bed, I thought). Mostly I just smiled and took it all in. What a wonderful feeling!

Later, after I’d arrived home, I texted:

My gas tank is empty, my phone battery is nearly dead, but my heart is so full it feels about to burst!

And this, from him:

You’re just so right in so many ways…it felt right to say it

Ahh, what a high! What happiness!

 

I wondered what would happen to us, now that we were back home and back to real life. We arranged a date that first weekend after we were back.

Meanwhile, my girlfriends reached out, demanding details. Three of us decided to meet for a cocktail to celebrate the New Year and one of the girls’ birthdays at a local bar. Lee agreed to meet us at the bar and submit himself to their interrogation before we ventured out on our date. And my girlfriends were ecstatic to observe someone who was clearly into me and was willing to play along with ever-evolving plans.

Lee and I saw each other a couple of times a week under “normal” circumstances. We continued to grow closer and enjoy each other’s company. Sooner than later, we had talked about exclusivity.

I was so taken with the ease and naturalness of our time together. Lee was expressive in word and deed — and touch. For the first time in a long time (maybe ever), I didn’t have to think about (analyze, perhaps?) anything… By that, I mean, I would easily invite Lee with me anywhere or to meet anyone without a second thought. [A few months ago, I had more casually been dating a blue collar guy (Brad) who, I recall thinking, I would have difficulty explaining to some girlfriends…they would have wondered what I saw in him.]

It goes without saying that he understood my full-time, single-parent status. Out of necessity, we were soon talking about his meeting the children. Not in any formal sort of way, of course, but just coming over to hang out on the sofa after a dinner out, for example…Netflix and chill without the expectation of a happy ending.

And, considering the treatment my two had given the only other boyfriend they’ve met in six years, they seemed amenable to Lee. Perhaps this connection had some potential…

So, here we were, finding greater comfort and ease with each other in paradise than either of us had bargained for…

The afternoon of our third day, we ventured out for massages in a nearby village. I was delighted to learn that Lee had arranged for 90 minutes for each of us (an hour is just such a tease when it comes to relaxation!). It was just another of the many ways in which we’d shared such a perspective on life.

After the intensely relaxing treatment, we ambled down the street to an oyster bar. I took a call from home to learn that one of my children was seeing a doctor and needed to be treated. I think Lee found the protective “Mama Bear” in me appealing. He had even told me how much he enjoyed hearing me talk about my children — I had described them so vividly, he explained, that he felt he already knew them.

We made our way back to the resort, walked over to the bar for a drink and decided to walk down the beach to dinner. After scaling a fence or two, we found a spot, ordered a bottle of champagne and marveled at how lucky we’d been to find ourselves there, together, enjoying each other’s company so thoroughly.

The champagne had a little-blue-pill-like effect on Lee. We’d walked barefoot back along the beach, our arms around each other, potentially stumbling just a little, and then enjoyed an extended and athletic session before finally collapsing into slumber in each others’ arms.

We were scheduled to fly out in the morning, so we ran, as usual, grabbed breakfast and went back to our room to pack. We’d allotted 30 minutes for the beach before showering, checking out and heading to the airport. It was comical how, as we sat in our beach chairs, we both raised our watches into view at the haptic notification. Our flight was delayed. Shortly after, another tap on the wrist alerted us that our flight had been delayed again. We would now miss our connection and likely not make it home that night. Within five minutes, Lee had booked us on flights back the following day, extended our stay by a night and I’d arranged for another night of care for my children.

That day, I barely moved from my beach chair. I went to the restroom, cooled myself in the ocean, sunned myself and read. The well-tipped staff were so thrilled their best tippers were staying, they brought a bucket full of iced water. Lee fetched everything else, from sunscreen to lunch and margaritas. I reveled in feeling so pampered! We stayed in those beach chairs until the sun had set completely, then found a modern diner in the center of town for dinner.

Later that night, I curled into Lee’s arms and, just as we were dozing off, he uttered “I love you.”

I’m sure I jolted awake at the shock, but tried to suppress any physical or other response. I understood it instantly for what it was:  We had enjoyed four perfect days together, not only enjoying each others’ company and conversation, but also feeling increasingly connected to one another — and, while waaaay too soon, it was the most perfectly natural thing to say in the moment.

I pretended to sleep; I didn’t want to ruin the feeling with a response…even if it was misplaced.

Another moment passed… Lee said, “I didn’t mean that.”

I continued to pretend to be asleep.

“Say something!” he said, desperation in his voice.

“Mmm sleeping,” I mumbled and relaxed into his arms even more deeply, sighing and, eventually, falling to sleep for real.

It was, however premature, the perfect end to our perfect days together in paradise. And I couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive about what our return to reality might bring…