“No, you don’t,” I responded.
“I do. I really do.” He laughed some more. “You really have no idea how much.”
“So, this is the part where you say you love me so much, you push me away?” My voice was ladled with sarcasm.
His face lost its smile and his laugh ceased. “Yes.”
I scoffed.
“I’m serious. I love you so much that I push you away. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want this monster inside of me to hurt you. So, I keep you at bay. Because I love you that much.”
Tears filled my eyes again. Maybe he really did. Maybe he really was trying to protect me from whatever evil lurked inside of him. Why else would he still be there? Why else would he still be coming around? He wasn’t getting anything from me at this point. Sex had been long gone and I wasn’t giving him any money. So, why couldn’t it be possible that he really did love me, and he really was trying to keep me safe? Couldn’t it be that I made him happy? Or that being with me was the only time he could really relax and laugh? That it was the only time he could get away from his own fear and insecurities?
“You have a ridiculous way of showing it,” I took another drink of my wine.
“Give me that.” He reached out over the pile of clothes that had now gathered around him and took the bottle by the neck, taking his own, long drink. Over the next two hours we sat together, vacillating between talking, laughing, and crying. He shared his life with me and I with him. We compared stories over two bottles of wine and, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop talking or listening or staring at me, even as he missed six calls from Number 3. He told me all about how he grew up always wondering who he was and how he never really felt connected to his adopted family and how because of that, he had just kinda become this wandering, unidentified man with no roots and no place to really call home. He told me how he ached to find his “real” mother because he knew deep down that she must be looking for him, too. It was one of the few times where I saw him that vulnerable. And, for me, that vulnerability translated into honesty. And that’s where the hook was. He spent so much time telling me what a monster he was that by then showing me this really raw side of him – I had no choice but to believe that what he was saying was real. After all, according to him – I was the only one who really understood and the only one he could rely on.
“It was always you,” he told me. “It’s always been you.”
You just have no idea how much I desperately wanted to believe that.
IS HE DEAD?
Obviously, he missed Christmas dinner with Number 3. And, after the whole closet incident, he started treating me like we were a couple again but, of course, we were taking it slow just to see how it would go. At this point, I didn’t trust him, but I also had just been fed a “love crumb” and I was scrambling to hold onto it. Just before the new year, he received word that his adopted dad had suffered a stroke and he had to get to Seattle immediately. I received his call at 5am, while I was on my way to work.
“Hello?” I answered him on my blue tooth.
“Hey. I need a favor.”
“What’s up?”
“I have to get to Seattle today. My dad is sick.”
“Oh no, sure, how can I help?” I pulled into the parking garage.
“Can you come over and feed the dogs and let them out? Once in the morning and once at night?”
“Yeah. I can’t come this morning, though, but I will come tonight.”
“Okay, thanks. You’re the only person I trust with a key. It’s under the mat. I’ll check in later.”
“Alright. Drive safe. Keep me posted.”
I hit the end button on my steering wheel and suddenly felt totally vindicated. You see, I told myself, it’s true. He does love you. You’re the only one he trusts.
As soon as I was finished working that evening, I made my way towards his house. And just before I got there, I texted him.
“Did you make it okay?”
“Yes. At the hospital now.”
“Okay, heading to your house.”
“You’re so sweet to me.”
“You better believe it.”
“Oh, one thing, the water pump froze. I have a call into the landlord. There is enough water in the fridge for the dogs tonight, but you’ll need to take those milk jugs and fill up water at your house and bring it back tomorrow.”
My heart was happy. Everything I wanted was coming together. He had finally seen the light. He finally figured it out. He finally valued what I brought to the table and we were going to build a life. He had finally picked me. It was me.
The snow flurry only made my heart happier. It was exciting and beautiful and with the new snow came our new life. Everything was going to be wonderful like the winter wonderland I was driving in. I got to his farmhouse and pulled my car onto the long driveway, convincing myself that it was okay and there wasn’t enough snow to get stuck, yet. I opened the chain link fence gate, walked in, closed it and made my way down the path to the door. I stomped my feet on the concrete porch to get the snow off of my shoes, found the key, and opened the door. The dogs came running.
“Oh hi, Hunter. Hi Chloe.” I petted them as they danced around me and then shot out the door to do their business and catch snowflakes. I quickly found their food and water bowls, filled them up, and gave them a treat as they darted back into the kitchen.
The kitchen was attached to the mud room and it was obvious at some point that the kitchen had been remodeled. The mud room was large with a concrete floor and lined with cabinets from floor to ceiling. To the right was a laundry room and bathroom that was largely unused for anything but laundry, as there was a larger bathroom just on the other side of the kitchen.
The galley style kitchen was my favorite room in the house, with its long counters, wood floors, and matching long planked wood ceiling. The owners had thoughtfully mounted pressed rusted tin signs into parts of the wall, exposing only parts of the words of whatever it was the sign read in the past. There was more character in this room than any of the others, which were reminiscent of an older manufactured home with small rooms, cramped spaces, and lots of carpet. But it was the land that sold the place. That large field I told you about before but also how it overlooked the river next to the garage that was detached and off to the side.
I put the jugs by the door so I wouldn’t forget to take them. I immediately noticed what a mess the kitchen was. He had, obviously, left in a hurry. The poor guy. He was probably so worried about his dad. I channeled my inner Sissy from “Urban Cowboy” and thought I would help clean up. I picked up all the dishes and put them into the sink. I turned on the faucet and nothing happened. I promptly remembered what he had said about the water pump and that there was no water. That wasn’t going to deter me. I found a plastic bin, loaded all the dishes into it, and dragged it out to my car through the blanket of snow that was quickly piling up. It was the least I could do. I would do the dishes at my house and bring them back the next day so, that way, if anything really bad happened with his dad, he wouldn’t have to come home to a messy house. I felt bad for him. He had dropped everything to run to the side of a man he wasn’t even sure ever really wanted him, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. He was just going to go help him. I mean, it could be possible that I was wrong about him the whole time and he was really just very, very misunderstood.