The best thing about him was that he never tried to hurt me. After the final slice to the heart, I needed to know that there would be no exit wound.
“Boyfriend” was more than I could muster. Strictly speaking, he played the role of a “companion,” which is a euphemism for an old man. n. A person with whom you spend time or share the experiences of others, especially when they are uncomfortable or unwelcome. Plague friends.
I looked at his cheekbones and wished I had worn eyeliner on our first date, a two-hour travelogue brunch last July. After paddle boarding we had our first kiss by the lake. On my birthday, while I was singing karaoke, he danced in front of my one-man advertising team. I told him I didn’t have much hope for the long term. (I had doubts that I would move out. Plus, I was half-dead inside.) He deleted his dating apps anyway, even if it wasn’t for good. I said I just wanted to do this. We settled on a dedicated companion.
I texted and he texted back. He let me know if he was going to be late. When we cooked together, he did the dishes.
He lived about an hour south, so my house was close to his office, so we spent all weekdays together. He texted me, “Hey, you’re beautiful!” Make a plan and then arrive Thursday or Sunday with your gym bag. He greeted me with a sea breeze voice that surprised me.
We were lucky enough to receive permission to hike various mountains from someone we had been applying for for 10 years. Over the course of our four-day, 20-mile adventure, we not only perfected our tent play, but also learned how the mountain’s reflection was painted on the water, how the baby goats yelped, and how the mountain We ended up being the only ones who remember what happened after we jumped in. At the lake, as we lay beside each other to dry on sunny rocks, the passage of time narrowed in his mind, beating against my back.
He invited me to meet his friend who was visiting from his hometown. I took him to eat at one of the matriarchs’ tables on an island off the coast of Seattle that was filled with adorable bunnies. The day I did my photoshoot, he texted me, “May your beauty shine and your radiant energy be captured with every click.”
As we saw in December, Mare of East Townone character says, “Things don’t have to last forever to be important.” Was he also fighting the urge to look back? My doubts about moving turned into plans to live somewhere I could afford to take care of myself. I stopped in New Mexico and he had a flight booked for his birthday.
We had agreed not to give presents for Christmas, but before I went on vacation with my family, he gave me a wrapped gyuto. Instead of partying with friends in the New Year, we drove down the Oregon coast, past Cannon Beach, to an A-frame on a cliff overlooking the ocean shivering in powerful gusts. He woke me up in the middle of the night, kissed me, and wished me a happy new year. What I read on the morning of the 1st is Atomic Habits As we sat by the fire he had built, waves were crashing on the sea column below. Even though we never got around to calling it a relationship, I hum with something like love, gratitude for this man who made me soft towards life again. I realized myself.
As I was driving home, I decided to ask him if he could give me a ride to the airport in two weeks. He said yes, but the question itself struck me and I remained facing the window. When we arrived, we just stood there with him holding me.
Even though we spent a lot of time together, I didn’t post much about him on social media. Here was the silhouette, there was the second leg, there was his car on the ferry. I didn’t want to explain it. But in the New Year’s photo, I finally tagged him. he insisted. He has been with me for six months now.
Two weeks later, I hurried through the boxes, grateful that he was there to help me move the last of my belongings into storage. In the morning, I wave to him and say goodbye to 10 years in Seattle.
I collapsed on the couch for a break and scrolled. Maybe you checked your social media message requests (essentially your spam folder) just to procrastinate one more minute. Then I found a message from a woman whose profile picture could be mine. Plump lips, sunglasses, and a hiking backpack.
“Hi, Paulette. You don’t know me, but I just got off the phone with a guy I was seeing last month. Apparently you were seeing him too.”
screenshot. A photo of his sunlit profile that I took while hiking is accompanied by a message to her: “Hello, beautiful!” Then a photo. His fingertips traced her cheekbones along the side of her face, smiling in the sunlight.
“He’s coming to Portland to spend the weekend with me.”
The sobs that came out of me brought me to my knees.
Her cryptic username and profile read: “Calm down. Refuse to die.”
She said “I’m so sorry” and then we texted all morning. I started by asking her name.
They had a whirlwind five weekends. she put on her backpack. That year, he hiked 20 miles “with friends.” they cooked together. He also did the dishes. One day at Cannon Beach, he said he wanted to show her this island he knew that was full of rabbits. When she said she forgot to write it down, he suggested: Atomic Habits. She used to live in Albuquerque and he asked for restaurant recommendations for an upcoming birthday visit with an “old friend.”
She canceled plans with her girlfriend to spend Christmas with him. She went camping with the kids in the new year, and while the wind whipped on the roof of the yurt, he texted her to talk about how snowy it was in Seattle and how he wanted to enjoy 2022 with her.
Before him, she was married to a cheater for 18 years, but stayed married for the sake of their children. Then, breast cancer awakened in her a desire for authenticity. She was divorced and had finished chemotherapy, and although they started dating a year ago, she had trouble trusting others. When she confesses her betrayal, he takes her hand, looks her in the eye, and says, “I don’t need to worry about that.”
The day after that declaration, she happened to view a photo tagged with him on social media.
In classic middle school fashion, I called him while listening to her. She needed to hear him coming in the same voice he had promised her he would never lie to. After he reviewed our plans, I said, “There’s just one problem.”
We are set free—hell hath no wrath, squared.
“Okay,” he said firmly. Then, cornered, he accused her of trying to hurt me.
“Don’t put this on her!” I yelled, a pulse of defense rushing through me. He immediately hung up. It was cold, so I put on my winter coat and talked to her for nearly an hour, surrounded by boxes that I had to carry alone.
Every lie I learned about him during our conversation hit me like a bullet. Just that Thursday, he drove directly from my hug to my goodbye. It wasn’t a gym bag. The message he sent me for my photoshoot must have been secretly sent by him when she came out of the room. As we drove home from Oregon, we passed her a few towns north. She and I both trembled in the same way even before we knew each other.
At night, I used to text him about the day, but now I texted him, “I hope you make it through the weekend.”
She added: She wrote “Refuse to die” in her bio after seeing it in street art during her final farewell and starting to feel that softness was impossible.
“He felt like a safe option for my emotional healing,” she wrote in a message. “Right now, the thought of even trying again makes me sick to my stomach.”
I thought I had gotten through all kinds of breakups, but none of them served as an introduction because I had so much in common with the person I had just met. Usually you get through it alone. No one is more obsessed with trivial things than you are. Your friends want you to practice “healthy coping.” An acquaintance suffocates you with emotional quotes.
We weren’t. Our dark friendships are formed as if we were neighbors in a love life hospice, focused on temporary relief from suffering rather than hope for healing. Ta.
People who share other people’s experiences, especially when they are uncomfortable or unwelcome. I had a different kind of companion.
As she made me laugh and spoiled me, and I tried to do the same, the protective care I had felt for her returned to me. I said and listened to every word I offered to comfort her.
“I was an easy target,” she texted.
“You’re not an easy target,” I replied. “You’re just a good person.”
It’s only when softness meets sharpness that softness seems like a bad idea. Our brains knew it made sense to keep it soft, but with decades of scarring, we couldn’t bring ourselves to recommend it. Still, we tried to use our morale shards to remind each other that we were humans, not targets.
Women all over the world are trying to grapple with how the world of online dating treats us and the smoke and mirrors it creates. We subscribe to online groups and post about the men who have hurt us. We even meekly post pictures of men who are doing well, hoping no one will say anything about them.
How, she and I wondered to each other, do you keep going back to who you were before you got your piercings? How do I keep my teeth and claws at bay, even though I know I might miss out if I meet the right person this way?
Neither of us pretends to have the answers. But with the Valentine’s Day gift card I sent her, a shirt with a sunset over a forest on it, a tent, and the words “I Hate Humans” written on it, I think we’re both one step closer to that. I felt it. Because she deserves a good surprise – and so do we.
Just as I hope for her faith, the laws of physics require me to remain at least open and soft to the possibility, as I hope for myself.
Paulette Perhach’s work has appeared in The New York Times, Vox, Elle, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, and elsewhere. She is the author of Welcome to the Writer’s Life, one of Poets & Writers’ best books for writers, and works as an accountability coach for creative writers and a business coach for freelance writers. She blogs about writing, business, personal finance, and the joy of work. Welcome to thewriterslife.com Lead a meditation or writing session. A very important meeting.
This article was first published HuffPost In 2022.
