The Never-Ending Goodbye

Our relationship was doomed from day one, but he still wouldn’t let me end it.

So, I dated the fun guy, I dated the nice guy, and I dated the business guy. I dated the guy who wanted to get married and I dated the guy who wanted me to wear a strap on. An interesting collection of first dates, for sure.

But here’s what I figured out from all of those close encounters – I had no interest in getting serious anytime soon because I was really good at being single!

I began dabbling in a new career, I upped my running, I started a blog (hello, followers!). The journey I set out on when I became Ungaged opened a world of new experiences for me and I wanted to leave that door open and go wherever the path may lead.

But am I asking for too much when I want someone to hang out with and maybe watch some football with? To drink some beers, eat some wings, and make out with? Can’t I do all these things with someone and not have to worry about him meeting my parents and without me constantly over-analyzing where all this is going? Without considering if he’ll be good father material, or if I can see myself with him forever, or if our monogrammed towels will look stupid with our initials on them?! (Yes, because monogrammed towels usually do.) Can’t we just have fun together for a little while and then one day just shake hands, say “well, thanks, that was fun” and go our separate ways?

And because of these reasons, Joshua was perfect. At least he should have been.

A grad student at a fancy-shmancy NYC university, Joshua didn’t see himself getting married, he didn’t want to have children, and he wanted to move south after graduating. I, on the other hand, wanted to eventually get married and have some kids, and never really considered myself a southern belle. Our relationship was doomed to reach it’s inevitable end, so getting serious was impossible. Excellent.

It was such stuff that casual relationship dreams are made of. The first time we met, we grabbed coffee and ventured around the snowy Upper West Side of Manhattan. He was a few years older than me and possessed a manly demeanor. He had a good wintery scruff going, shiny hazel eyes, gently-styled longish hair, and a dark burgundy scarf atop a gray tweed coat. How academically handsome without trying too hard. Well done, sir.

He accepted that I was putting my work first and I was happy to understand that his first focus was school. We chatted easily about our families and, of course, we discussed food. He tempted me with the offer of slow cooked short ribs he had going at his apartment, but I, with all the refined and ladylike behavior that you’ve come to expect from me (stop laughing), declined the offer. Yes, I turned down delicious falling off the bone short ribs and a handsome man at midnight on a Saturday in the middle of a beautiful snowy city. I knew what would happen if I went there, you know what would have happened if I went there, and I knew I had way too much to do in the morning to go down that road at midnight. Go ahead and say I have no self control.

Just as we were about to part, he grabbed my face in his paws and kissed me three hard times on the cheek, laughed a little, and said “goodnight, Peach.” “Peach?” I asked. “Yeah, I like peaches. Their cute and remind me of summer.” He smiled at me, turned, and left.

I’ve always fashioned myself an autumn kind of gal, but, peach? Well. That’s kind of sweet.

Oh, calm down. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I did get to hear a little more about his post graduate plans and this guy was waving long term red flags all over the place – definitely not husband material, and certainly not who I’d like to contribute to half of the makeup of my children. He was a free spirit, for sure, and his plans were whimsical and idealistic, which can be really fun and cool, but not when they are based in absolutely nothing logical or realistic. I’m all about being a dreamer and keeping my head in the clouds, but I also like to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground - preferably in a sweet pair of boots.

But, since this was destined to be a short term thing, all I saw were green lights. See ya later, red flags! This was a mistake.

I did agree to let him cook me dinner on our second date. As he answered the door in a weathered green t-shirt and ripped jeans with a dishrag over his shoulder and a bit of hair falling over his forehead, a delicious aroma surrounded him, wafted onto the threshold, and wrapped me in its warm embrace. God, I love food.

“Hey Peach, come on in!” He kissed me on the cheek. “I hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty!”

Can I just tell you that graduate student housing at a fancy-schmany NYC university is NOTHING like it was at my little private college in New Jersey (which I loved by the way). I mean this place was flanked with windows, had stainless steel appliances in its full-size kitchen, and ample closet space. No bunk beds, no cement block walls, and no risers under the bedposts for extra storage space.

He handed me a knife and pointed to the veggies that needed chopping. I rolled up my sleeves and accepted the challenge. We laughed, we chopped, we peeled, we stirred, we ate, there was wine. And it was good. Dessert was way less complicated. Just a jar of Nutella and two spoons. I mean, really, do you need more?

Sitting on the tall island benches at his counter, I surveyed the mess we made. There was food everywhere and my fingers were sticky from something delicious. I looked at Joshua, who was trying not to laugh.

“What. What?!” I imagined I had something yellow in my hair or green in my teeth. “You have Nutella on your chin.” “Oh.” I breathed little sigh of relief, but of course I did. I’m 29 and still can’t feed myself. “Here,” he said as he stood over me. He ran his thumb over the spot on my chin, and looking down at me, placed his hand under my jaw and lifted my face up to meet his in a tasty kiss. He followed it quickly with a deeper kiss, which I won’t lie, took my breath away a little.

There it was. Laughing together, enjoying food together, and a good old fashion make out session. Yes. It was all happening and there was not a thought of the future anywhere in sight.

Joshua pulled me off the bench and pressed me against his counter. He kissed my cheek and down along my chin (part of me wondered if he found more Nutella), then returned to my lips.

Breathlessly, he looked down into my eyes. I knew what was coming next, you know what was coming next. He whispered,

“Let’s make a baby.”

…

No, not exactly what you were expecting either, huh?

I put both hands on his chest, pushed him just far enough away so that not one single millimeter of his body was in contact with mine, and looked at Joshua with all the composed confusion that I could possibly muster at the time. He laughed. Why are you laughing about something like this?!

He explained that he had just read this thing in class about our innate desires to procreate and make babies, which is why we so desperately want to have sex and why it feels so good and blah blah blah. Well, I mean, duh, but is this really a good time to joke about our primal instincts or making babies?! Plus, you’re the one who doesn’t want kids, and I definitely don’t want them right now, or with you. Your man desires are not coming anywhere near my lady parts.

Mood. Killed.

Let me tell you some of the other strange things Joshua decided to bring up at inopportune moments.

When he picked me up off the floor, “Wow, for a girl with a tiny waist, your ass really keeps you grounded, huh?”

- Yes, I have an ass, it’s no secret, and I’m quite proud of it, thank you very much. I’ll take the tiny waist comment, though.

When I said I didn’t like To Kill a Mockingbird, “You obviously can’t comprehend good literature.”

- Actually, my degree in Literature would disagree with you on that. I’m also an English teacher, no big deal.

When I mentioned Bob Dylan’s less-than melodious vocals, “You don’t like Bob Dylan’s voice? You are not worth it.”

- Isn’t his nasal sound part of his folky-charm? Even Dylan’s biggest fans don’t want to hear him sing something from La Bohème. So that makes me not worth it? Yeah, well, you can go have primal instincts with yourself, asshole.

Normally, I would never have put up with this kind of crap, but since our relationship was destined to be short, and because the rest of our time together was a lot of fun, I let these stupid comments roll right off my back. No need to harbor resentment or hostility.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me drop some knowledge that at this point should be pretty obvious: red flags are red flags are red flags. No green lights. No passing go. No collecting 200 dollars.

Then, there was the time he asked me about my last relationship and why I had ended my engagement. I didn’t think it necessary to go into the full details, since it wasn’t really his business, so I said that I left the relationship when it became dangerous for me to stay.

“Were you being abused?” “Physically, no. But emotionally…” I didn’t finish my sentence, first because I had never really thought about it, but yes, it was emotionally abusive, and second because he was laughing.

“What are you laughing at?” “Sorry, but if you weren’t being abused, then it wasn’t dangerous.”

Fuck you, dude. You have no clue, nor were you ever going to because this is over.

The inevitable end was here, but I decided to try and not be an asshole about it. I’m not really sure why since assholery deserves assholery in return. This was another mistake.

I tried the end-it-before-it-gets-bad approach. I said that he was clearly feeling the effects of not wanting to get serious since he was saying such rude comments. He told me that it was just because he liked our chemistry but was lashing out and trying to get a rise out of me since he knew I didn’t want more. Is this fifth grade where we pull each other’s hair when we like someone? Didn’t you also say you didn’t want serious?? I told him that this wasn’t fair to me.

He still wanted to hang out.

I tried blaming work. Things were swinging into high gear and I told Joshua that I needed to refocus my energy there. I admitted that this was not a good time for me to be involved with anyone because it just wouldn’t be fair to them. He told me that I wasn’t that busy and that I was being selfish. Um, yes, I am, and I already admitted I needed to be selfish. You even agreed to these terms. That’s why I’m ending it.

He still wanted to hang out.

I tried to be amicable. I said that we were going in two different directions, and while we had fun together, it just wasn’t going to work. He told me, and yes, he actually said this, “I don’t feel like being nice so you don’t get to be amicable.” What the fuck does that even mean?

He STILL wanted to hang out.

I even told him in the bluntest way possible, “Joshua, this isn’t working anymore. It’s time to end things.”

HE STILL WANTED TO HANG OUT.

Over the course of two months, I tried four different ways to shake hands and say “well, thanks, that was fun,” and then go our separate ways. My wistful dreams of casually ending a casual relationship were casually sashaying right out the damn door. Is it really this hard to end things on good terms?

Then, a week went by and I heard nothing from him. But just as I thought he might finally be letting go, I heard my phone. It was Joshua.

He sent me an article about Charlize Theron “ghosting” Sean Penn as they split. Apparently, she completely cut off all communication with him, like BOOM, no more Charlize. This article was accompanied by “You are a classic ghoster!”

Oh no. Oh hell no. No more Mrs. Nice Peach. You don’t get to be a complete judgmental prick and then make me the bad guy. I cracked my knuckles and with two thumbs put my English degree to good use and set fire to my iPhone keyboard.

"Did you even read that article? Because if you did, then it's YOU who can't comprehend literature. Go ahead. Take a look. I answered your texts, even after I told you four times that I was ending it. I even apologized for ending it. I tried nicely to end it. This is the complete opposite of ghosting but for some reason, you just cannot accept that I do not want to date you anymore. This is exactly why people ghost, so maybe I should have just done that instead. Actually, thank you for sharing this! What a great suggestion! I’m going to ghost classically now.”

Mic. Dropped.

I sat back in my chair and hit send knowing that this would surely make my point. Again, I was wrong. I saw the little gray ellipsis. Really? Really?!!

“Shut up.”

REALLY?! But wait, there’s more.

“You talk to much and listen too little. Don’t text me ever again.”

Oooooooo, this fired me up. I believe that you, Joshua, were the one that didn’t want to listen. And never text you again? That is exactly the plan. Want to see ghosting? THIS is ghosting. He was the kind of guy who needed to have the last word. He needed to set the last flame. He needed to get the last jab. And you know what, I let him have it, otherwise he was never going to let this end. I didn’t need this shit. I never text him again and I haven’t heard from him since.

And now everything is just peachy.

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