Our lesson plan today: What not to do when the open-ender comes into town.
Simon will be in town for a wedding this weekend. He finally called me last week when he was back from traveling. Hearing his voice was a relief—to know that I actually hadn’t imagined dating him.
He’s coming on Friday. He’s staying with me. He said he was really looking forward to it. Are there any lines to read between? I told him he couldn’t bring any bridesmaids back to the apartment after the reception. I had to set the boundaries for our first platonic meet after the open-ended break up of our non-relationship.
I’m wondering, though, if this visit is coursing through the same vein as meeting Sam at the beach in July. Sam who I used to “love,” who has never lived near me and who broke my heart a little after we sort of tried a long-distance non-relationship. Sam who in July, decided that it could work out (or would work out if we lived in the same city, meaning I should move). He told me this on my first night at the beach, a trip I thought was supposed to be platonic since we decided (a year and a half ago when he broke my heart a little) that friends was the only way “we” could work.
We were cuddling. I shouldn’t have been doing that. Mostly because you’re not supposed to spoon with someone you don’t plan on hooking up with or don’t want to be romantically attached to (the daiquiris made me forget). He grew five tentacles the second the light went out, and I spent 30 minutes fending him off before announcing I would go to another room if he didn’t stop with the grabby-hands. (Throwing out a “you really hurt me” worked like a charm, too.) Clearly I was sending the wrong message by sleeping there, though judging from the seven (seven!) condoms I saw in a sandwich baggie with his toothbrush and Crest whitening gel, he had a (very busy) agenda before I even started mixing the signals or the daiquiris.
Lesson learned (kind of): Simon will sleep on the couch, I will wear body armor and I will supply the toothbrush and the toothpaste so he doesn’t need a sandwich baggie full of anything.
The thing about this visit that’s killing me a little is that I know it’ll make me sad. But not because I’m yearning for Simon and will be devastated at having to keep it “just friends.” I think it’ll be actually quite the opposite—and I won’t have those feelings for him anymore. It signals an end, so I must mourn. Again. It’s stupid. But, hey, I also got weepy after Bart killed the ladybug who’d been hanging out on my sink. That’s just me.