The engineer with the houseboat and I continued to see each other after we had the where-is-this-going conversation that ended with the answer, nowhere. In fact, one of my best dates in Seattle was with him, several weeks after we technically stopped dating. We went dancing one night, made it home at 4 am, had sex, went to sleep, woke up, had sex again, and then... went to brunch. Brunch! The modern dating ritual that I hardly ever participate in because I generally don't want to spend a morning with the men I sleep with. Fourteen men have I bedded since my last relationship, and how many did I go to breakfast with the next day? I actually counted, and the answer is three.
At 3 am that night, on the corner of 12th and John, we were holding hands, and he gave me a lopsided compliment: "R_______, I'm so glad to have met you! I'm not right for you, and you're not right for me, but I am having such a great time!". I wanted to both smack him and kiss him. How was I not right for him? Show me another woman with my energy level, my passion for helping people, my commitment to my friends, my desire to live a more ethical existence, my independence and fearlessness. Yet he was correct, of course, and I truthfully was so glad to have met him as well.
I was certain of two things: 1)He would start dating someone else before I did, and 2) He would let me know in a text message. The difficult conversation had happened in person several weeks before, and I had the closure I needed. I wanted him to have an easy out and moreover, I wanted to be able to process that loss on my own. We had talked multiple times about my preference for text message endings, and he would never put me through a breakup conversation twice. This I knew for sure.
Yesterday we took the ferry to Vashon Island, bought a bottle of wine, and sat on the beach. He asked me if I had been on any dates recently, and I told him I hadn't. Why would I put myself through the shittiness of dating if there was someone I enjoyed spending time with?!? It was going nowhere but it was fun, and fun is more than I can say I had with 62 of the other 64 men.
Then he told me he went on a great date last week, a date with amazing chemistry and a connection that left his heart pounding when he kissed her. As soon as he described his excitement for this woman, I knew what he was implicitly saying. His interests had shifted, and he was going to pursue her. "I didn't want to tell you in a text message," he said.
I was so happy for him- really, really happy- but I was flabbergasted. I told him I wanted a text message! It was a violation of what I thought was a clear understanding. We were sitting on the beach, looking at Mount Rainier, drinking wine, and I felt panicky. I was ambushed an hour and a half away from home, and I had no escape route but to continue the evening with him and ride in his car off the island. I couldn't believe, after all the conversations we'd had, that he would choose to tell me this in person.
An argument ensued.
"I knew if I sent you a text message then I'd never see you again, and I didn't want that."
-"That wouldn't have happened! I would never not be friends with you because you're seeing someone else. I think you're great, and us not being romantically involved doesn't change that."
Back and forth, in the car, we were both stubborn.
"Don't I get a say in this?", he protested. "There are two people involved here! I didn't want to send you a text message. I wanted to tell you in person."
-"No, you shouldn't have a say! I told you the rules from the beginning. I wanted a text message! When you are the one ending things, you have to go by what the other person wants, not the way YOU want to end a relationship."
"But it wouldn't have been communicated well in a text!... Are we seriously arguing about this? You're upset at me for NOT SENDING A TEXT MESSAGE because I wanted you to know that I cared about you?!?
We were both laughing by now, realizing the absurdity of the conversation. He had tried to not be a dick, and it was blowing up in his face. I had tried to be casual and undramatic, and it was blowing up in mine.
The fight was over, and he grew quieter. "After that great date with her when I was so excited, you were one of the first people I wanted to tell about it."
It may be the sweetest thing a man has said to me in three years.
I had an awesome time with him that day. We spent seven hours together, none of which were awkward. It was sunny and peaceful on the beach. He brought me to a winery; we shared a bottle of rosé . The sunset behind the Olympics lit the clouds fuschia as we sat in the ferry line going home. We saw jellyfish.
To his credit, there are few men who can execute a breakup so well that they make a fun date out of it. To mine, there are few women who would be excited to keep a friendship with a man who ended a romantic relationship in the middle of a seven hour date.
At 3 am that night, on the corner of 12th and John, we were holding hands, and he gave me a lopsided compliment: "R_______, I'm so glad to have met you! I'm not right for you, and you're not right for me, but I am having such a great time!". I wanted to both smack him and kiss him. How was I not right for him? Show me another woman with my energy level, my passion for helping people, my commitment to my friends, my desire to live a more ethical existence, my independence and fearlessness. Yet he was correct, of course, and I truthfully was so glad to have met him as well.
I was certain of two things: 1)He would start dating someone else before I did, and 2) He would let me know in a text message. The difficult conversation had happened in person several weeks before, and I had the closure I needed. I wanted him to have an easy out and moreover, I wanted to be able to process that loss on my own. We had talked multiple times about my preference for text message endings, and he would never put me through a breakup conversation twice. This I knew for sure.
Yesterday we took the ferry to Vashon Island, bought a bottle of wine, and sat on the beach. He asked me if I had been on any dates recently, and I told him I hadn't. Why would I put myself through the shittiness of dating if there was someone I enjoyed spending time with?!? It was going nowhere but it was fun, and fun is more than I can say I had with 62 of the other 64 men.
Then he told me he went on a great date last week, a date with amazing chemistry and a connection that left his heart pounding when he kissed her. As soon as he described his excitement for this woman, I knew what he was implicitly saying. His interests had shifted, and he was going to pursue her. "I didn't want to tell you in a text message," he said.
I was so happy for him- really, really happy- but I was flabbergasted. I told him I wanted a text message! It was a violation of what I thought was a clear understanding. We were sitting on the beach, looking at Mount Rainier, drinking wine, and I felt panicky. I was ambushed an hour and a half away from home, and I had no escape route but to continue the evening with him and ride in his car off the island. I couldn't believe, after all the conversations we'd had, that he would choose to tell me this in person.
An argument ensued.
"I knew if I sent you a text message then I'd never see you again, and I didn't want that."
-"That wouldn't have happened! I would never not be friends with you because you're seeing someone else. I think you're great, and us not being romantically involved doesn't change that."
Back and forth, in the car, we were both stubborn.
"Don't I get a say in this?", he protested. "There are two people involved here! I didn't want to send you a text message. I wanted to tell you in person."
-"No, you shouldn't have a say! I told you the rules from the beginning. I wanted a text message! When you are the one ending things, you have to go by what the other person wants, not the way YOU want to end a relationship."
"But it wouldn't have been communicated well in a text!... Are we seriously arguing about this? You're upset at me for NOT SENDING A TEXT MESSAGE because I wanted you to know that I cared about you?!?
We were both laughing by now, realizing the absurdity of the conversation. He had tried to not be a dick, and it was blowing up in his face. I had tried to be casual and undramatic, and it was blowing up in mine.
The fight was over, and he grew quieter. "After that great date with her when I was so excited, you were one of the first people I wanted to tell about it."
It may be the sweetest thing a man has said to me in three years.
I had an awesome time with him that day. We spent seven hours together, none of which were awkward. It was sunny and peaceful on the beach. He brought me to a winery; we shared a bottle of rosé . The sunset behind the Olympics lit the clouds fuschia as we sat in the ferry line going home. We saw jellyfish.
To his credit, there are few men who can execute a breakup so well that they make a fun date out of it. To mine, there are few women who would be excited to keep a friendship with a man who ended a romantic relationship in the middle of a seven hour date.
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