How I fell, part seven.

Things were moving right along with me and D. So smoothly, in fact, that it felt weird.

I’d never dated someone who missed me after just a few hours of being apart. I’d never spent so much time with someone where I recognized their smell, or their breathing when they slept. I’d never fallen into a routine with someone.

I’d heard about it, from other couples, but never experienced it.

I’d never had anything quite like this, and I didn’t feel like I had to put on an act around D, so why not spend the few free hours we had together?

The nights he had off from work, which were also the nights he had his daughter, we spent at his house. The nights he had to work late, he spent at mine—3 nights at one place, 4 at the other, so it was as equal as it could be.

After he met my friends, he asked me when I wanted to meet his parents. I was shocked. I’d never had someone want me to meet their parents. He assured me, they were going to love me.

Before I met his daughter, he had an agreement with his ex-wife that she would meet me, too.

We’d talked about meeting my family, which was awkward. Because my family has issues. So there’s that. I told him I see my family once a year, so he was more than welcome to come with me in November when I do so.

“We’ll be engaged by then,” he said.

Because yes, he told me he was convinced I was his wife.

One night, I was at his house enjoying a bottle of wine.

“I still do not get it,” he said. “Why were YOU single?”

I explained to him that I just hadn’t found my guy yet. We talked about the time we met a year before.

“As much as I liked you then,” he said. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Me either,” I said. “Besides, it seemed like you were just looking for a hookup with all of those late-night texts…”

“I was…” he said. “It’s a good thing you didn’t respond or else we wouldn’t be dating right now.”

Ummm…. not really the thing you want to hear from your boyfriend. I took a swig of wine.

“But you dated someone since then, what happened there?” I asked.

“She was crazy,” he said. “She was 19.”

Yet another thing you do not want to hear from your current boyfriend.

“But I do need you to know that she is a waitress at my restaurant,” he said. “I try to schedule her on the nights when I am not working, but I’d rather you hear it from me and not someone else.”

I appreciated his honesty, but felt a little uneasy.

“Before that, I dated this girl…Mary… she was so good to me,” he said. “But… it was right after my divorce and I was in such a bad place. I drank so much…and I treated her like shit. I was hammered all the time and she took care of me.”

I swallowed the rest of my wine and told him I was ready to sleep. We crawled into bed and he whispered to me.

“It sucks you don’t like me as much as I like you,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“You heard me,” he said.

I rolled over. He was drunk and making shit up.

“See? Fine.” he said.

I started to cry, letting the tears fall onto the clean pillow until I fell asleep. The next day, D didn’t remember anything from the night before.

I let it go.

D came home from work one Saturday night and told me the guys at work voted him, “The guy with the best girlfriend.” I laughed, “I believe it, but why?”

He had showed him a picture of the breakfast I cooked us that morning: (my version of “Green Eggs & Ham”)—toasted English muffins, topped with prosciutto, a fried egg, spoonful of pesto, and freshly cracked pepper. I served it with a tamer version of Irish coffee: hazelnut coffee with a shot of Bailey’s, topped with homemade vanilla whipped cream and a sprinkle of ground cinnamon. I served it on a tray, in bed, with a vase of flowers.

Because I really am that awesome.


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