Single State of Mind

by Andi Dorfman

  “Stop,” he said.

  “You told me you don’t want to do this.”

  “I know. Just stop and talk to me, please.”

  I stopped packing but remained seated on the floor.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “You just said you did.”

  “I know. I panicked. How could I want you to leave? ” He paused. “I’m in love with you.”

  This jolted me. Did he just say love? I looked up at him to see that he was serious. Not in a psychotic or drunk way but in a genuine, vulnerable way. I stood up and put my head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me. And in that moment, I went from feeling abandoned to feeling the safest I ever had. In that moment, I realized that the takeaway from the conversation wasn’t the fact that he’d just professed his love to me but that I was in a situation where a man was being irrational but was able to pause, collect himself, and rectify a situation before it got out of control. Drunk or not, panicked or not, he was the first guy in a long time who was able to own up to his ridiculousness and better yet, fix it. It was our first fight and it wasn’t a good one, but I had to take a step back and realize the situation we were in. We’d been spending every waking moment together, we’d been having this intense relationship, we’d been drinking. And when it all came down to it, perhaps we were just two people caught in the midst of this vulnerable thing called . . . falling in love.

  The next morning, we went to play golf, yet again, nursing our hangovers with mimosas on the course. We made light of the previous night’s debacle, joking around about the bloody footprints. I’d make comments like “But remember you love me,” and he’d laugh. He wouldn’t deny that he said it, but he wouldn’t repeat it, either. Everything was back to normal. Over the next two days, we hung out, went shopping, went to the market, and so on. All very couple-y.

  It wasn’t until a few nights later that another shitstorm touched down. Somehow, on our way home from dinner, the topic of exes came up. It’s a subject I don’t care about shying away from. I believe that you can tell a lot about a man you’re dating when you discuss past romances with each other. If he flies off the handle, he’s got jealousy issues, which will undoubtedly lead to control issues in the future. (Trust me, I know.) If he bitches and moans about how terrible his ex was, he has resentment issues. If he doesn’t really care that much or says whatever, it’s in the past, he just might be sane.

  He knew I’d been engaged, so we didn’t have to talk about that, luckily. But it did surprise me when he asked me if I’d ever dated any other baseball players. Shit, the Yankee. I told him “just one” and “very briefly.” When he asked who it was, I told him his name and how nothing ever came of it, that it was the kind of situation where we were never going to date long-term. He asked me if I had sex with him, and I told him the truth. I’d learned from my ex-fiancé that lying about sex is not a good idea. I also learned from my ex that if a man can’t handle the fact that you’ve had sex before him, then he needs to go find a fucking virgin. I could see worry flash across his face as we pulled up to his house and walked inside.

  I was brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed when he asked again, “So you dated and slept with another baseball player? ” Damn, what is it about me brushing my teeth that starts trouble?

  I crawled into bed beside him, and in an effort to comfort him yet again, I began telling him that it was a part of my past and that it wasn’t even worth spending another second on.

  “I just feel weird.”

  “Why? ”

  “I’m not mad or anything, just kind of surprised.” I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t angry, he was disappointed. “What if I play against him? Am I going to think, damn, he had sex with my girlfriend? ”

  “Who cares? ”

  “I do, that’s super embarrassing.”

  “So you’re embarrassed by me? ”

  “I’m not saying that but you don’t understand how locker rooms work, Andi.”

  Now I was the one starting to get upset. He continued explaining his feelings and as he did I tried really hard to listen and understand and show a sense of empathy. And I did. In fact, I empathized with him so much that I took his insecurity and manifested it into my own. I started to feel unworthy of him. I started to feel like something no woman wants to feel like: damaged goods. My past was coming back to haunt me once again, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  The next morning, there was a coldness to him. It wasn’t anger; but he was still clearly bothered about my past. I only had one more day left in Seattle, but it was clear that we both needed a little break from each other. So, I went shopping downtown while he went to play golf with his friends. I came back to his house early in the evening to find him sitting on the couch watching television. As soon as I walked in the room, he stood up and gave me a huge hug and a kiss. I don’t know what had made him change his demeanor. Maybe it was the time off. Maybe the same way I sit on a bench above the Holland Tunnel and sort out the shit in my head, he sits on the golf course and works out his. I don’t know, but I didn’t want to question it. I didn’t want to call attention to a fight that felt over. And so, I just hugged him back. It was that easy with him. I didn’t need to be the winner of the fight. I didn’t need him to grovel. I just needed us to be okay. With our embrace, it was as if we had made a silent agreement to leave our pasts behind and were seeing each other for the very first time. The smile I adored was back on his face. It was so dramatic but yet so very real. So real that he told me I couldn’t leave tomorrow.

  “But I have to get back.”

  “One more day, please.”

  “Are there even any flights on Monday? ”

  He whipped out his phone and logged onto Delta. “Yes, same time, just one day later. Please.”

  I agreed.

  That night, we went to an early dinner and acted like those obnoxious lovebirds who couldn’t get enough of each other. Afterward, we sat on the patio and watched the sunset.

  On Monday morning, he drove me to the airport. It was a somber ride until he suggested we take a vacation to Hawaii next month. This was music to my ears, considering I’ve never been to Hawaii and that he was basically asking me out on a second date. It made me feel better about leaving him, because now I knew that wherever this went, at least there was hope that it could go somewhere.

  On the plane ride home, I analyzed the situation like I always do. It was kind of a mixed bag of emotions for me. Overall, the trip was incredible. Really, some of the greatest moments of the trip were just being wrapped in the arms of someone who accepted me. There was an underlying sense of companionship with us. We enjoyed being together, doing things together, things like golfing, hiking, drinking. There was a compatibility factor that was undeniable.

  But there were issues that were undeniable, too. His insecurity about my past concerned me then and still does now. Despite his seemingly having moved on, I couldn’t help but fear that perhaps he wasn’t really as over it as he led on. I was less bothered by him being upset and more bothered by how it made me feel. Maybe that was selfish of me. I hated the fact that my past seemed to continuously haunt me no matter how far I traveled. I couldn’t get away from it. First it was my ex-fiancé getting mad that I slept with someone else, and now it was the fact that I had moved on from my ex-fiancé with a baseball player. I couldn’t win, and I couldn’t get rid of the skeletons.

  And then, of course, I analyzed the night he panicked. To be honest, I was trying to erase that night from my memory forever. It hurt too bad to think about it and the fear of it happening again terrified me. I knew I was ignoring a red flag on purpose, I just didn’t know why. Maybe it was because I was trying to see the upside. It was, after all, a great week. Sure, it had its hiccups, but that’s life. I’ve dealt with way more shit from a man in the past.

  The truth was, a few nights aside, Mr. Seattle was pretty damn great. And I thought I was finally ready to accept a rela
tionship that might not be perfect but had a foundation. A relationship that wasn’t based on looks but was based on mutual respect. A relationship that was based on intellect, emotion, chemistry, admiration. And to be honest, foundation aside, it was good to know that I had found something I thought had been taken away from me: something I thought might have been lost forever. I had found that feeling again. I had finally found what it feels like to love and be loved.

  something is off

  I can just feel it. The same way that men have a sixth sense about when to swoop in and fuck shit up for us, women have a sixth sense about when something just isn’t right.

  It’s been exactly five days since I returned home from visiting Mr. Seattle. Though the number of times we’ve talked and FaceTimed has subsided gradually over the course of this week, that isn’t what has me feeling this way. That I expected. I know that it’s impossible to sustain talking that much that often. What has me concerned isn’t the quantity of conversations, it’s their quality. They don’t seem to pack the same punch they once did; they’re shorter, colder. I try to chalk it up to being an overanalyzing woman, but deep down, my gut knows differently. It knows he’s getting ready to dump me. Well, we’re not officially dating, so I can’t technically get dumped, but he did say he loved me, so it’s more than casual. I guess it would be classified as a “semi-dump.”

  And as much as I’d like to wait and let things play out until I get semi-dumped, I can’t. I’m out to dinner with Ava and Jess at Tartine, this tiny BYOB restaurant in my neighborhood. My wine shop is on the way, so it makes for the perfect cheap Friday night. Ava, Jess, and I each bring a bottle of wine to share. By the time we open our third bottle, they’ve heard all about my trip, even though I kept them updated throughout so there wasn’t much new to say. But with the coming of the third bottle I’m feeling loose—loose enough to admit my concerns about how I feel like he is pulling away.

  “You don’t know that. Maybe he’s just really busy.” Ava is playing the optimist of the group, like usual.

  I am playing the pessimist. “He’s not busy, he’s dumping me.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” says Jess, even though I can tell by her tone that she agrees with me. She’s trying to look on the bright side, which is impressive, considering she’s still reeling over Douchebag Mike, whom she hasn’t heard from at all.

  Ava is sweet but delusional. Jess doesn’t have the heart to be the I-told-you-so type of asshole friend. They, too, know he’s about to dump me, right?

  “Why don’t you just text him and say something like, ‘Hey, everything all right?’ ” Jess says.

  Of course, I listen to her, because she’s Jess and I always listen to her. I whip out my phone and start crafting a text.

  “Hey, babe—”

  Delete! I cannot call him babe right now.

  I retype, “Hey! Everything okay? ” That’s better. Send.

  Immediately, there are three dots coming from his end. Shit, he’s typing! “Yeah kind of.”

  Three dots. He’s typing more. Double shit. “I don’t know how to say this.”

  Here we go. “Say what? ” I reply.

  “I want to be single.”

  I turn the phone facedown on the table, pretending not to have seen what I most definitely did just see. My entire body, from my ears to my brain to the tips of my fingers, is pulsing with numbness. My face is burning with shame and fury.

  “What did he say? ” Ava asks.

  “Exactly what I thought.”

  “Wait, what? ” Jess asks.

  I slide the phone across the table. They take turns reading the text. Their eyes are lit with shock.

  “Aww, honey, are you okay? ” Ava asks.

  “Yeah. I knew it. I just had a feeling.” Tears are welling up in my eyes. My jaw is clenched, and I’m trying to hold back the merciless tears that are on the verge of pouring out.

  Ava reaches her arm and rubs my shoulder.

  “What a fucking asshole. To say that in a text! I swear to God, men these days.” Jess is pissed. She starts ranting about what a tool he is and that I am going to be better off without him, blah, blah, blah.

  I know she’s right, and I’ll eventually agree with her. But right now, I’m in complete disbelief. Despite knowing it was coming, I feel like I’ve just been hit by a freight train. Like I was standing in the middle of the track watching the train come at me, and when it did, I was stunned. I’m an idiot!

  There’s nothing any of us can really say at this point. Just like that, two texts have changed not only the mood of our girls’ dinner but also the status of my relationship. Several minutes pass before we ask for the bill.

  My phone rings, and it’s him. What the fuck? He has the fucking nerve to be calling me right now? I am in even more disbelief than before. I decline his call. He calls again. I decline again. Jess and Ava watch incredulously.

  I text him: “Can’t talk right now. At dinner.”

  Three dots. He’s typing. “Please, can we talk? ”

  I don’t respond. Instead, I finish my wine and say goodbye to Jess and Ava, promising to fill them in on all the juicy details tomorrow morning.

  I walk the two blocks home. It feels like two miles. I’m still numb. The moment I walk in the door, I open some wine and start drinking straight from the bottle. I sit on the couch and pull out my phone.

  Wiggling my fingers like a pianist, I’m trying to craft the perfect response. “You are single.”

  He responds: “I know. I think it would be unfair to you right now because I really don’t know if I’m ready for anything. I know you are at dinner, though, so we can chat later.”

  Oh, now he wants to leave me be? Fuck that, we will talk when I say we’ll talk. “Okay. No worries. Nothing to explain later. Not going to lie and pretend not to be disappointed after such a fun week. But I clearly read it all wrong. You should do your thing right now and not let anyone hold you back.”

  “I know. You know how I feel about you. It’s tough because this is great but I know if I’m feeling like this now then I’m not ready. That’s not fair to you because you are awesome and shouldn’t be with someone who only has one foot in.”

  I take a few more swigs from the bottle before responding, “It’s just bizarre. Something had to have happened in the last two days to make you do such a 180.”

  “Nothing happened. I promise. Maybe just time to think.”

  “If you weren’t ready to begin with, then why fly me out? Was I just a hookup? ”

  “Not at all! I swear to God this was real. I thought I was ready and I’m just not.”

  Bullshit. It’s all fucking bullshit, and I know it. “K. Well, you feel the way you feel, and there is nothing I can do but respect your feelings. Not sure what suddenly changed your mind, but all I can do is say okay and accept it.” Wow, why am I being so fucking understanding? Is there some kind of sedative in this wine?

  “It’s like that night when I freaked out. I’m still feeling that in a way and I don’t want to get into something serious because it will only make it harder.”

  God, this guy is even more of a self-sabotager than I am. “I get it. I don’t want to be someone’s second best. You are justified in being scared. We both are. I guess better for you to back out now. Might keep us from something great but might keep us from both getting hurt, too.”

  “What do you mean? ”

  “It’s the second time you’ve given up. Sure, I’ve thought about walking away from it all, too, but you’ve actually done it twice now. I’m not going to fight for someone who operates out of fear. I’m just not.”

  “I know you’re right. I’m just trying to be honest.”

  “What is it exactly you are scared of? ”

  “Having a girlfriend. I had one for eight years and I’m not sure I’m ready to get into something again. That’s the truth.”

  “Fair enough. Nothing I can say to that. It’s hard for me to compre
hend someone walking away from something that was going well, especially when there hasn’t been any pressure to label or define it, but again, nothing I can do about it. Thanks for being honest, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry. I hate this feeling. I really hope you don’t hate me.”

  Of course I fucking hate you. “Not at all. Take care.”

  “This sucks. I honestly want the best for you and for you to be happy. Hopefully you know that.”

  I can’t even bear to respond. I’m too dejected and too angry right now, and I know that if I respond, I’m going to say something I will regret. I just know it. I need to put the phone down and put myself out of my own misery and just go to sleep, but I can’t. Not before sending one last text.

  “Are you drinking, or is this for real? Because if this is for real, then fine, you will never hear from me again. My mind is just blown. Everything was fine, and now here we are having this conversation.” I cringe with embarrassment as I send the message.

  “I’m not drinking. This is for real. I feel like I’m going to cry but I know this was going to happen eventually and it would only be harder the longer we do this. I’m not ready for a girlfriend.”

  I can only muster up a one-letter response. “K.” With that, I turn my phone on silent, put the wine away, and slip into bed.

  But I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about how quickly this escalated. I can’t stop thinking about what the fuck happened. There has got to be something more. There just has to be. You don’t spend that much time courting someone and physically being with her if there isn’t something there. And then to just turn it off in an instant? Someone must have said something. He must have found out something about me that he didn’t like. Maybe I’m delusional, but with every fiber in my body, I just can’t believe that it’s as simple as not being ready. What really happened?

  The entire weekend passes with no word from him. Not a single text, nothing. Just like that, it is over. It isn’t until Monday night that he has the balls to reach out to me on FaceTime. I shit you not. The same guy who dumped me in a text is now FaceTiming me. What, did he have a bender this past weekend and now suddenly wants to come crawling back? Did he realize that dumping someone in a text is a cowardly move? What could he possibly want? I don’t know, I don’t care, and I sure as fuck am not answering. I decline twice in a row before receiving a text from him.