I wish my question was hypothetical. Unfortunately, this supremely unlucky situation manifested itself last month, and I have been pondering it ever since.
It sounds like a plot point out of a predictable rom-com. Too staged, too forced, too unrealistic. But there "A" racing through Trader Joe's with five items in his cart and one in his mouth. Typical. He wore tight workout clothes that showed off his impressive forty-nine-year-old physique. Typical. He probably just came from yoga. He's probably still sleeping with his instructor or a fellow student. The bastard. His head of hair was still gorgeous: full, thick, and curly. Indeed, A's the only man I've ever been attracted to in the flesh with gray--no, silver--hair.
He looked just as I remember from exactly a year earlier when we ate together at a Thai restaurant before taking in a showing of The King's Speech. I had bought a sparkly blouse for the occasion. When we emerge from the theater, the sky exploded into torrential rains and gusting winds. We made a mad dash to our respective cars, deciding at his suggestion to say goodnight then and there because we would be seeing one another the next morning. As I followed A to the highway, he continued on in a surprising direction, which made me wonder if he was going to see another woman that Valentine's Day night instead of heading straight home. I tried to shake off the tinge of insecurity glomming onto me like a leech in a pond. I reminded myself that I would be with him again in less than twelve hours. And I was. Yet being left with a question in my mind definitely put a damper on an otherwise lovely holiday evening. Shame on you, A! A broke up with me eight days later. We had been together only three months, and Valentine's Day was our last date.
He cited a reason that I--as an older single mother by choice--had found all too familiar: My children were too young. At fourteen and eleven, his kids were not a great deal older than mine. Still, A was not interested in having a long-term relationship with a woman raising kids younger than his. Chris was seven; Charlie, nearly five.
Period. End of story.
During our drawn-out breakup, which took place over two phone calls and one emotional get-together, many issues were discussed. Yet the fact remains he always had a great time with me. However, he reverted back to his overanalytical ways after each of our dates, his mind landing on the child problem and being unable to get past it. I encouraged him to live in the moment; he couldn't get out of his head. That was pretty much the roadblock in a pistachio nutshell.
As we sat at his kitchen table breaking up one morning, A said he believed we could be good friends after some months had gone by. I didn't know what to make of that statement. Like most women, I have heard the platitude "I just want to be friends" many times. But that's not what ends up transpiring in my experience. Too many hurt feelings, too much proverbial water under the bridge.
Did A genuinely want to be my friend? Or merely cushion the blow he'd dealt me?
I have run into him since the breakup, though only once that I can say for sure. Not long after my upstairs toilet caused an indoor flood, I bumped into A outside Starbucks. He was in a hurry, of course. He was wearing his workout clothes, of course. Banging someone from class again? (My mind always conjures up the worst-case scenario.) In any case, he seemed really happy to see me--even attracted to me despite my glasses and sourpuss demeanor on account of the flood. We chatted briefly, mostly about my misfortune and not at all about someday becoming friends. When we parted, I did not look back.
About six months later, my sons and I were making our way through REI to the outerwear section for boys in the back. My older son heard a man's voice say very softly, "Hi, Shelby." He turned but didn't see the man amid all the clothing racks. By the time Christopher told me, I couldn't find the owner of the voice either. I suspect it was A. He shops at REI, and he wasn't interested in meeting my sons. Since I was with them, I could imagine him choosing to remain hidden--as odd as that sounds. He had a troubled relationship with his own son that seemed to make him anti-kids. At least that's the impression I got. Besides I couldn't think of another man I knew in the area who would not come forward to show his face after recognizing me.
Fast forward: Valentine's Day 2012, Trade Joe's. Again A acted pleased to see me. Actually, a little overly pleased as before. Truly, the same amount of pleased as when we were dating. Did he miss me? Was he sorry he broke up with me? Did he want me to contact him to initiate the "friendship"? As we briefly caught up on each others' lives, he noticed my full grocery cart. Well, of course, it was full. I have two growing sons. Then he noticed the flowers in my cart and said, "Oh." Was he making an assumption that I was cooking dinner for a boyfriend and putting flowers on the table? Only the latter was correct. For his part, his cart contents bore no clues about any lovebird holiday plans.
While I am a very perceptive person, I am molasses slow on the uptake--especially when it comes to men. Correction: I am completely dense. So after he left the store, typical, I wondered if I should have made it clear that the flowers weren't what they looked like. On the flip side, I gleaned a certain perverse pleasure from the notion that he might have thought I had a hot date.
I was so hurt, angry, and stunned when he dumped me. "Pulled the rug out from under me," essentially, is how I describe being jerked around by him. The split came too soon, ahead of spring, before we could even try out warm-weather sports together. We were on the cusp of taking the relationship to a deeper level, but he decided not to go there.
Well, I decided not to go "there" (friendship) in return. It took me a long time to get over. I liked him very much. In fact, I had told him I was "crazy" about him. But I ultimately felt he had not been honest with me in the relationship. Nothing turns me off faster than dishonesty.
So perhaps I am answering my own question. Since running into A on Valentine's Day, I am reconsidering my decision not to be his friend or--since I don't know if he was just feeding me a line--my decision not to ask for further clarification.
Why does this business of the heart have to be so confounding? Why did I run into him--the first time in nearly nine months--on Valentine's Day of all days? Was it for the purpose of telling me we could have some kind of a future together? Or that we should or could strike up that friendship to which he alluded? Or was the accidental meeting meant to be thought-provoking for A if he misinterpreted my grocery-cart items as preparation materials for a romantic dinner? Did he believe I had a new boyfriend? How did that concept make him feel? Did he hold any regrets?
Oh, Cupid, why are you playing this trick on me?
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