“My mom literally hounded me daily about how wonderful, handsome and perfect Greg was. Basically, doing everything in her power to convince me he’s God’s gift to women. I finally caved after the Christmas party. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it turns out momma knows best. He proposed to me after we dated for six months and the rest is history,” Susan says, holding up her hand to display an obscenely large diamond engagement ring.
“You know, now that I think of it, Greg’s mother does cause the majority of my aggravation these days. Maybe you’re onto something with the whole not telling friends and family. I wish I would have thought of that for Greg’s mom. But my mom would have spilled everything anyway. It would have never worked. There’s no such thing as a secret from an overbearing mother,” Susan says, flashing a mischievous grin.
Susan’s smile is infectious and I return my first genuine smile of the afternoon. “It works well for Blake and me, but it’s not for everyone. I’m not particularly close to my family. I can see how you might value their input if they’re an important part of your life.” I say, hoping to put the conversation to rest once and for all.
“Definitely,” Susan nods in agreement. The few moments of silence that follow as she sips her coffee give me hope that she’s ready to move onto another topic — maybe something about clothes, or food, or even the weather. That would certainly be a welcome change of pace.
“Do you think either of you will ever make a move to close the distance? I mean, you aren’t going to live in two separate states, permanently, are you?”
I can hear the groaning in my head. So much for changing the subject. Over the past five years, I’ve gone great lengths to avoid addressing this very question and here it is laid suddenly before me by the most unlikely person. All of Susan’s prodding has me wanting to justify my relationship with Blake. It’s as though she’s challenging me to prove that a long distance relationship is just as healthy and normal as a local one. Even if I hadn’t already been on my guard from the moment Susan joined me on the elevator for lunch, this would be a sore subject. One of the reasons I’m private about my personal life is that I don’t want to have to explain or defend my decisions.
“Well, it’s complicated,” I say, feeling compelled to make my case. “Blake’s whole life is in Texas and that includes his job and all of his friends and family. My whole life is in Washington. It wouldn’t be a small thing to ask him to leave all of that behind. I think it would be a culture shock for me to move to Texas. The idea of uprooting my life for a guy seems extreme. Besides, I doubt I could ever get used to those 100 degree summers.” I say, trying to make light of a heavy topic.
Susan looks me over skeptically. “Are you seriously saying you aren’t moving to be with your longtime boyfriend because of culture shock and the weather? Aren’t you in love with him?”
My smile fades, what should have been an innocent lunch with light banter and little substance has turned into an examination of my relationship choices. Still in defense mode, I feel obligated to answer Susan’s questions. The logical side of my brain tells me I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t require the approval of Susan, or anyone else. These days, my logical side doesn’t get much heed. So I retreat to where I’m comfortable — my impetuous, emotional side. I want someone to understand that long distance relationships can work. All relationships are complicated after all. Distance is a surmountable obstacle when core values are shared. Even as I think this, I can’t stop my mind from drifting to all of the values that Blake and I don’t share.
“No, it’s not just the weather,” I say, shaking my head as I peer at my half eaten sandwich. “Blake is a great guy. I feel very fortunate that he’s in my life. We have so much in common and we’re great together. There are a few things that I know he wants, and I’m just not there in my life. Not yet anyway.”
“Like what?” Susan asks curiously.
I hesitate for a moment before answering. Then I realize, I’ve needed to say this out loud for a long while. Only, I’ve never had anyone to tell. I can’t exactly tell Blake, can I?
“His ideas of how a relationship should work tend to be more traditional than mine. He wants children and I definitely do not. He wants to get married and I can’t see myself married to anyone. It’s not as though I’ve hidden my feelings from Blake. I’ve told him these things on several occasions. Sometimes, I get the impression that he thinks I’ll eventually change my mind. He’ll often casually mention how one day when he has a son, he’ll teach him this; or when he gets married, he’ll do that. I’m not sure what to make of it. I have to wonder if he imagines a future with me, or someone else.
“Then there’s the issue of faith. He comes from a family of strong Christian roots. He spends almost every Sunday morning at church and occasionally goes to Bible study.” I can’t help but grin as I imagine all of the very non-Christian things Blake says to me during our nightly hour of sin. “I’ve never felt an affinity with Christianity,” I continue. “I’m not sure how that would work for us. I like where we are now. We’re taking things slow, with neither of us pressuring the other to change. It’s nice.” I look searchingly at Susan, not sure who I’m trying to convince.
“Have you changed your mind?”
I sit back in my chair looking thoughtfully at Susan. “I haven’t, and honestly, I’m no closer to wanting those things than I was when he and I first met. I don’t think I’ll change my mind — not now, or ever.”
Susan shoots me a troubled look. “I guess if that works for you, great. I don’t think I could ever do that. I mean, the thought of being away from Greg for one night is agonizing to me. Not that I’m judging you or anything. For me, personally, I need the kisses and the hugs, the hand holding and all the other physical things that come with being in a relationship all the time. But you know, to each her own.”
I can’t help but smile with amusement. She’s been so candid with her questions; I feel obligated that my responses should be just as ruthless. “I’m sure that will eventually pass. You’re still less than two years into your relationship. Besides, Blake and I visit each other all the time. It’s not as though I never see him.” I am quite the fibber today. Blake only makes the trip to Washington a few times a year. But no need to air all of my dirty laundries.
Susan smiles sweetly and nods. “I’m sure you’re right. Greg is the first person I’ve ever been in love with. Right now I can’t imagine being away from him. Over time I’m sure those feelings will pass, as they do with most couples,” she replies, her eyes eclipsed with doubt. “So, how long did it take for you to feel like you could stand the thought of being without Blake?”
If any other person had asked me that question, I might have thought it an attempt at cattiness. Susan has a way of appearing perfectly innocent in her curiosity, which compels me to answer her as honestly as possible.
“Well, I’ve never really been without Blake. We were friends first and we definitely took our time to cultivate the relationship. He attended the University of Washington at the same time I did for his master’s program. We actually met in the cafeteria. It was crowded at that time of day and there was nowhere to sit except a chair that held my backpack. He took that as an opportunity to strike up an impromptu conversation about something involving college politics; I’m sure it seemed very important at the time. We eventually started meeting every day in the lunchroom, to discuss random current events, or gripe about our professors and before we knew it, we were friends. He only stayed in Washington for a couple of semesters before moving back to Texas. His mom had health problems and he wanted to be closer to his family in general. I thought that would be the end of our friendship, but he emailed almost as soon as he arrived in Texas. Then, one thing led to another, and five years later we’re still dating. We’ve talked nearly every day since—so I guess, in that way, you can say we’re pretty inseparable.”
As I offhandedly chronicle my relationship with Blake to Susan, I silently acknowledge
that I’ve caught myself in yet another lie. The past year has brought a lot of changes to our relationship. Blake started a new job and we haven’t been as close. We don’t talk as often, and when we do, it’s mainly because he wants to engage in activities that typically result in my nakedness.
It used to be he would try to answer all of my calls. If he couldn’t answer them, he would text or call me minutes later. Now, I can barely get him on the phone except at night. On the rare occasion he picks up for me during the day, it’s to say that he’s busy or out with the guys. At first, his change in behavior was painful. Especially since my organic skin care business was quickly spiraling into oblivion. I needed a friend, a confidant, and he wasn’t there. I never told Blake any of this. Perhaps, some part of me thought that if he truly cared, he would sort it all out on his own. He hasn’t, and I’ve grown distant in the interim. Our conversations seem like a performance and I’m always playing a part. I doubt he’s noticed.
Susan looks deep in thought, stirring her iced coffee with a straw. As I wait for her reply, I realize how surprised I am that she would find anything I say important enough to ponder openly. I’ve been so intent to single her out as a self-centered narcissist that I haven’t even tried to give her a chance. For someone so into herself, she sure is amazing at extracting information from a misanthrope like myself. Maybe I’ve gotten her all wrong. There’s something in her style that’s very magnetic and charming. I can see why others are drawn to her. She has an accessible quality that might tempt a more trusting person than myself to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets. I’ll never have that problem. There’s always a few secrets that I prefer to keep under wraps.
“Are you okay,” I ask, breaking the silence. “Or have I bored you with my uneventful love life?”
“Oh, no!” Susan replies with a light giggle. “You haven’t bored me at all. I think it’s interesting. I’m happy for you. Relationships are tough and making one work long distance for so many years is definitely an achievement. It honestly makes me feel hopeful for Greg and me, that we could be apart and still make it work. I just noticed, you never answered my question,” Susan says with a frown.
I shoot Susan a look of confusion as I rack my brain. What question could I have possibly not answered? This woman knows things about my relationship that I haven’t even told Blake.
“You know … are you in love with him? You never said.” Susan replies expectantly.
“Oh,” I say, realizing I’m not sure I know the answer in full myself. We’ve never exactly expressed a solemn vow of our undying love for each other. We often end our conversations with a “Love ya,” or “Super love ya, babe.” But then we’ve never been overly romantic with each other. We went from being friends to lovers. Blake never truly had to court me.
One closely guarded secret that Blake and I share is that we are each others first. Blake had only ever gotten so far with women before he stopped himself. I could never get out of him the reason he didn’t have sex with his former girlfriends. He’d certainly had the opportunity. He tells me it’s because of his Christian faith. I don’t understand that. He sure seems to forget his faith when he’s with me.
My reasons for waiting are far less complicated. I’m just good old fashioned afraid of commitment and intimacy. I have my traumatic back story, as every person does with a similar complaint. I don’t dwell on reasons: I simply acknowledge my complex and content myself with the reality of its existence the best I can.
Blake and I were three years into our relationship before we slept together. He was undoubtedly the aggressor. I was far more cautious. Although we could talk for hours on almost any subject, I felt strongly that our intellectual compatibility was not enough. I wanted more. I wanted to pine for him, cry and despair at the thought of being without him, to look at him and feel aroused to the point of orgasm. I wanted to be out of control, insanely and passionately in love.
The transition from my mid to late twenties brought with it the realization that all of my ideas of love were the stuff of novels, romantic comedies, and the occasional daytime soap. In reality, after the loving couple falls into each others arms declaring their everlasting love for one another, life happens: they marry then divorce, support each others dreams then grow apart, cheat then exact revenge. It’s a constant roller coaster that seems to cause more heartache and agony than it’s worth. If misery is the inevitable result of unadulterated passion, then I can certainly stand to do without that brand of love.
Blake and I have a mature love that’s not subject to the whims of ephemeral lust. We’re lifetime friends and loyal companions. We don’t hurt each other or cause the other to ache. We trust one another. I guess that’s love. That’s what love eventually becomes anyway. Blake and I are there. We just skipped all the disagreeable anguish in between. All the complicated stuff that causes otherwise sensible people to do crazy things.
So the question of whether or not I’m in love with Blake becomes simple after all. Of course, I am. How could I not be in love with my best friend? The very idea that passion and love should go hand in hand is a plot sold by Harlequin romance novels. It’s a fantasy ideal, a fiction notion. I live my life in reality, not bound between the pages of a book. In real life, you take love where you can get it because it is a rare thing indeed.
“Yes, very much so,” I answer with a grin.
Susan breaks into a gleeful smile, relief showing on her face. “Then let’s make a toast,” she says, lifting her half empty iced coffee. “To love, may we always be graced with its presence.”
I pick up my glass of ice water and clink it with Susan’s coffee.
“To love!” we both say in unison, before each taking a sip of our beverage.
4
Opposing Ends
“I want you naked and in bed in five minutes,” Blake growls over the phone, his country twang debauching an already filthy request. Blake decided to visit me in Seattle over Labor Day weekend. This morning, he rang me with cryptic instructions to meet him at the Four Seasons hotel at six o’clock PM, then hung up without saying another word.
When I got to the hotel lobby, I found a key card waiting for me at the front desk. I was intrigued, to say the least, five-star ratings and luxury brands are not typically Blake’s style. A country boy through and through, he’s content to stay a few nights at a cheap motel with the occasional cockroach and questionable bedspread. Not that he can’t afford more deluxe accommodations; as a business consultant, he certainly has the funds. His stinginess is left over from his days as a poor college student who lived on breakfast burritos and hot dogs; and where a trip out of town cost an entire semester’s worth of savings. These days he’s loosened his wallet a little, primarily towards his two favorite past times — booze and boxing. Well, there is one activity he favors more, but he doesn’t have to pay for that.
Once in the hotel room, I barely have time to close the door and set my purse down before my phone starts ringing. Rustling through my purse, I scurry to answer it. “Where are you?” I ask, with a delighted laugh.
“I’ll be there real soon babe. When I get there, I don’t want to see nothing covering up that sexy body of yours. Your Beast is going to ravage you tonight.”
I can’t help but giggle when he refers to himself that way. One night after a spirited romp in the bedroom, Blake and I created his alter ego: The Beast. It’s kind of like The Hulk, but instead of anger as his source of strength, The Beast relies on libido. Blake and I reasoned that since the potency of anger pales in comparison to his sex drive, The Beast would easily demolish The Hulk in a fight.
“How far away are you?” I ask curiously. “Are you out of SeaTac yet?”
“I’m about five minutes away,” Blake replies playfully. “I want you to make yourself real comfortable. I’ll be there soon,” Blake says before abruptly ending the call.
Taking Blake’s advice, I have a seat on the edge of the bed and slip out of my black stilettos. I changed clothes in
the bathroom at work; I couldn’t exactly meet Blake wearing the frumpy blouse and slacks I wore all day. We haven’t seen each other in ten months, and I want his head to spin with lecherous fervor the moment he sets eyes on me. Under my work coat, I have on an exceedingly tight and revealing black dress that I’m certain Blake would have thoroughly appreciated, had he seen it. Too bad he’ll never know. This whole naked on arrival business changed the game. I suppose I’ll have to find some other way to play with him.
After undressing and neatly folding my dress onto a chair, I take a moment to scrutinize my surroundings. It appears Blake took my remonstrance to heart. I threatened to withhold any and all nudity, while he’s in Seattle, if he didn’t shell out a few extra dollars for nicer accommodations. I can’t exactly get in the mood when I’m worried about what might crawl in my hair. Besides, Blake never makes much of an effort when he visits. I decided to make him work for his reward this time around. He certainly outdid himself tonight.
This is the first time I’ve ever stayed in a five star hotel. I’m not sure it’s everything I ever dreamed. Perhaps I’m thrown by the contemporary design: white linens and boxy furniture with graphic patterns. Modern decor doesn’t exactly scream luxury to me. On the plus side, it is the cleanest hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. That’s a nice change of pace from the chipped furniture and dusty surfaces I’ve endured at the standard three-star accommodations that fall within my budget.
Normally we’d have our fun at my apartment, and then he’d return to his motel afterward. Blake always books a motel when he stays with me. The thought of us eating, sleeping and waking up together is anxiety inducing. There’s something comforting in maintaining the buffer of distance between us. When the buffer doesn’t happen organically, I do my best to create it. Blake understands, it’s just one of my many quirks.
Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1) Page 3
