Final Chapter of Heartbreak

It gets worse. So much worse.

This night is one series of drama after another.

Is it possible to feel numb and heartbreak all at once? I’ve been seeing what I thought was a wonderful man for nine months. He never talked about commitment and I never pushed him.

A few days ago, after an amazing date, out of the blue, he said we had to break up. He insisted that despite how great we were today, he didn’t see a future. A day later I flipped my shit and told him off, stating that he created a made-up future and didn’t even get my thoughts on this fake futurecasting.

Jeremy agreed and said we could talk to come up with a strategy for his concerns. The day to meet: Wednesday.

Last night.

It went bad. Like, soooo bad.

In anticipation of meeting up, I verified with Jeremy the purpose of talking. Was it just to gain closure? Or see if I could address his concerns? He assured me it was the latter. I told him I didn’t want him to placate me; if he wanted out, he was out. I don’t force people to stay with me.

This whole scenario was odd to me. Since I was fifteen, no one has dumped me. I’m not saying that to brag. I’m saying, I know men and I know the game. Jeremy has been my enigma. Sigh, my handsome, funny, and smart enigma.

Not wanting to look like I’m trying too hard but still aiming to look hot in case this was the end of the relationship, I strategized on my entire look. I’m emaciated at 95 lbs from almost a week of not eating because of anxiety.

I go with a cropped off-shoulder grey top and faux-leather Spanx leggings (expensive but I got them on sale thankfully). Jeremy loves my abs and with my unhealthy weight level, I look like a gym goddess. My hair and my makeup are en pointe.

He has executives in town and I agree to drive to his place. I don’t walk in because it feels too weird. I make him open the door. As soon as I step in, I put my forehead on his chest and flop against him. Jeremy laughs at my melodramatic entrance.

“Okay seriously, are you sure that you want to try and make this work? It’s okay if you just don’t want to see my face again. I’m not going to melt down like I did Friday.” I tell him as he putters around the kitchen grabbing us drinks.

“I want to see if we can make this work,” Jeremy assures me. I go to my car and grab an odd device. I bring it inside and plug it in. “What is that?” he asks.

I explain that it’s a paraffin hand bath (for manicures). “If our hands are dipped in wax and we have plastic bags over them, there’s no way I can get angry and yell at you when I explain why I was hysterical on Friday,” I reply. He laughs and agrees.

As we sit with plastic bags over our paraffin-slimed hands, sipping drinks, I begin my spiel.

“I’m aware of my place in the hierarchy of your life between amoeba and paramecium. I’m okay with that, it’ll always be family then friends then work. But this hasn’t been dating or a relationship, it’s been nine months of one-week flings. It’s all good and then things go silent and then all good again, over and over.

“But even though I have no effing idea what’s going on or where your head is at, I’m fine because I don’t want to push anything beyond your comfort zone. If that’s the pace you’re okay with, then so be it. And you’ve got more kids and sports, whereas when I don’t have my kids I don’t see them, so I’m fine that I’ve got more flexibility. I don’t even know if it crosses your mind that if we don’t see each other on the Wed or Thurs that I don’t have the kids, then the next opportunity is almost two weeks later. And I wouldn’t want to miss that, because then it’d be like seeing each other once a month. I always offer up Mon or Tues when my friends want to make plans just to increase the odds of being free if you are.

“And those plans are only decided the day or two before whereas my friends and I plan things weeks in advance to accommodate each other’s schedules.

“Again, totally okay with all that, because it still works. I switched my custody schedule to be more in line with yours because your ex-wife changed hers. Totally fine, I’m not being a martyr here but I’m saying, I’m cool doing that because I want to spend time together, I always leave feeling giddy and happy when I see you.

“But I’m always aware of the priority because I’m squeezed in after pickleball but before you turn into a pumpkin at 10, or at 10 when you’re in full-on party poker mode. I love hanging out with your friends for that, they’re hilarious and amazing, but it sends a clear message, especially when I have to jet in the morning because of some sporting event.

“And that even means driving through 40 lights to get here, and then an Uber, to see you because you want to squeeze me in after a work party which turns out, I spent most of the night talking to everyone BUT you and I know that’s the only time I’m going to see you for another week so I’ll even take you being in my vicinity, and then getting quality time with you when you’re falling asleep, and then that’s when you’re willing to tell me anything about what you think. And then the next day, it’s like the conversation didn’t happen.

“You always introduce me as your friend even though it makes me feel like a hooker.

“But again, it’s fine. That’s the pace, that’s what’s comfortable for you, and there’s a fine art of breadcrumbing here and I’m still so hooked that I will flex, bend, and compromise, and switch up my life to make whatever this is work.

“And when I think of planning a future with someone, even without kids, that means flexing, bending, compromising, and sometimes switching things up to be with the other person.

“You can’t decide whether something is viable when the entire relationship has been stuck at the starting line. We’ve never spent more than 24 hours together. I’m okay doing all the things to keep things afloat but if you’re going to make decisions that impact both of us then you can make a 1% effort to tell me anything.”

I take a deep breath. I tell him I wasn’t important in his life because, for Valentine’s Day, I didn’t even think that he would get me anything not because I knew he wasn’t into Hallmark holidays but because I wasn’t important enough to be considered. We peel off the slimy hand things and head to the couch.

After some joking, I tell Jeremy to lay it all on me and what his concerns are. They’re exactly what I knew he’d say.

He tried telling me about how I don’t like the beach and don’t take my kids there. I correct him and say I don’t like cleaning sand from the beach; if we take his truck, there’s no sand in my car for me to be pissed about.

He tells me how I’m picky about things like food expiration dates and how his kids would think he’s insane if he started labeling things. “Yeah, it’d be awful for them to know how to look at expiration dates in stores to maximize their dollars when they get older and broke?”

He tells me how my parents are ultra-Muslim and it’s important for him to be able to meet my parents and all that. I tell him he’s welcome to meet my parents but the ones that matter are my dead friend Nikki’s parents, who live here and have taken me in for every holiday for almost two decades.

Jeremy’s reasoning is infuriating. These were the things he thought were dealbreakers?

He tells me how he’s not stoked with how my ex-husband Joseph has raised my kids (he’s not wrong). I point out that his ex-wife and her new husband aren’t exactly gems but he needs to give his kids credit. They have a Ph.D. in blending families and my kids will be a piece of cake compared to theirs. Plus, someone like Jeremy would be a good influence on my kids.

All seems well. We keep talking and drinking. It’s after 10 pm and I know Jeremy is about to pass out so I yell at him to sit up. Eventually, he crawls over to me and snuggles up.

This is where it gets bad. Really bad.

In our light talking with his hand up my shirt, Jeremy mentions that he still wants to date other people.

“Wait…what?” I exclaim. I don’t even know what he said next. I remember snapping.

“Fuck that. Fuck all of this.” I jump up and head straight to the door. As I pack up my hand paraffin bath and get my shoes on, I rant. I tell him that I was jumping through hoops and willing to do anything to make it work and all he had to do was keep his dick out of other pussies.

I swing the door open and head to my car with Jeremy following. “Are you seriously walking me to my car?” I yell. “You’re an asshole”.

Jeremy replies, “I am.” This infuriates me. “You’re a bad person!” I stammer and slam my car door as hard as I can.

I’m livid. Even with my low self-esteem, I have a line.

This is where it got worse. And it needs another story.