I felt like a little girl in a grassy field, holding a daisy in her hand.
I love him.
I love him not.
I really like him.
I don’t know what I want.
I felt like a woman of a certain age, sitting on a porch, fanning herself.
I might love him.
Ooh! I need some lemonade. These hot flashes are getting out of control!
I might just like the fact that he’s been around so much.
When will these prescription drugs get out of my system?
I had this idea that a date night with Best Boy would clarify everything for me. (It might have been the steroids or the menopausal hormones clouding my mind.) Could one night in public – our first since we had started sleeping together and I had started chemotherapy – help me figure out what, if anything, I wanted out of our relationship?
We decided to meet at halftime during the Conference Championship Playoff games at Café Milano. (I had lost a bet six months prior and knew I needed to pay up with a nice meal. But, since both of us were sports fans, we didn’t want to miss the game.)
Dinner was nice. The conversation was nice. We both looked nice. That’s a lot of “nice,” huh? But, all that niceness didn’t feel great. In fact, as dates go, it was rather dull. We were both exhausted from our respective weeks so neither of us was our usual extroverted selves. And, the game wasn’t particularly exciting by that point so the televisions didn’t provide much distraction.
I wondered if our dynamic didn’t translate well when we weren’t at my place. For several months, we had a great mode as friends who would socialize together. And, then, we began having sex right after I had my lumpectomy. Casual brunches and lots of time at my place had replaced our light-hearted and flirtatious conversations at bars and events. Did our relationship only work when Best Boy was taking care of me, or we were at my house?
I also wondered what, if any, role my upcoming beach trip with my ex-boyfriend and very close friend, Philly Matt, played. Earlier in January, I had shown Best Boy the house that our group was going to rent for President’s Day Weekend. He and I had sat on my couch, clicking through the photo gallery of the amazing 11-bedroom rental.
I had let Best Boy know that I wasn’t sure if the trip would be “Friends Only” or not, and that I was waiting to hear from Philly Matt about his plans. I had figured that I would invite Best Boy, if Philly Matt invited his girlfriend, Tammy. When Philly Matt said that he wasn’t going to invite Tammy, I decided not to ask Best Boy to join me. I also indicated to Matt that I had hoped to meet Tammy over dinner when I was up in Philadelphia in March for a conference.
I wasn't sure if it was just work and the holidays that had caused Best Boy to be less available to me. Was he tired of coming in second? In May, I had chosen his best friend, Mr. Exec, over him, and then in September, I chose Mr. Agency over him. Now, I was seemingly choosing a guy with whom I wasn’t even having sex! As easy-going as Best Boy is, that pattern might not sit well with him.
When Best Boy and I arrived home after our dinner date, we both had trouble keeping our eyes open, and yet, we still managed to have sex. There was more of the same in the morning before he headed off to work.
I had hoped for fireworks, but instead, there were only a few sparks. Why was that? And, was it coming from me, from him or from us? Maybe it was just too soon to tell. I didn’t feel overwhelmed or sad about the situation so I felt it best to simmer some more.
My mantra with Best Boy had become:
Time will tell.
And, as we all know, it always does.