This one’s shelf life made it almost a month… before he decided to have an epic freakout and end it after 9 days of near-silence.
Hell, what did he expect? I gave the dating site one last try and he found me. He pushed us from messaging, to talking, to a first date in less than 24hrs. Our first kiss stopped time and left us both shaken and stunned. He asked me to be exclusive with him on the 2nd date. He suggested we pull down our online dating profiles that night too.
He introduced me to his closest friends a few days later. We progressed to sleepovers and leaving the odd paraphernalia at one another’s houses the next week. We had the sex talk, and both wanted to make it to the 1 month mark, but of course that didn’t happen. The chemistry was too strong.
We talked often about wanting to travel. He wanted to show me Amelia Island, where he grew up. I’ve never been to Savannah and he promised a romantic weekend getaway for us. He wanted me to experience it with him, sweet man that he was. But the eyebrow-raisers came in the form of telling me that he was falling “all the way” for me. Telling me more than once that he had plenty of room at his place and I should just move in with him. Telling me how proud he was to be my man.
And let’s of course remember the horrific toothache he developed, which resulted in his needing a double root canal. And who was it that cooked him soft meals, held him close as he was loopy on painkillers, and bought him groceries so he’d be able to eat after the surgery? This girl.
And when my parents were coming into town unexpectedly, he enthusiastically offered to meet my family. Despite giving him every opportunity for an out, he insisted he was okay with it.
He met them.
And then he ran.
After three days of evading communication, he admitted that he was scared and freaking out. That meeting my family happened too soon, and he needed time to think. I gave him space. But after six more agonizing days of NOTHING, I’d had enough. A text and phone call had gone unanswered, so I emailed him. I made it crystal clear that his actions were hurting me, and I needed answers. That he had the rest of that day to tell me SOMETHING.
Masochist that I am, after work I went to the site of our first date to read a book and wallow and drink calorie-ridden iced coffee drinks. And it was there, in the very spot where his first kiss made my world screech to a halt, that I received his reply. His very lengthy email that went on and on about how wonderful I am and how I did nothing wrong. But that in the end, it wasn’t working for him. I read it again. And again. And again. But all I could procure from his words were that he. doesn’t. want. me. he. is. done. The tears started welling up. I quickly packed my things away and fled just before I became THAT GIRL weeping in public.
I steered my car in the direction of home, blinded by the physical pain in my chest and the tears rolling down my cheeks. But I didn’t want to go home. Somehow I managed to coax my fingers into dialing the number of a beloved friend, who picked up and quickly assessed through my incoherent sobs what was going on. “Come over. We’ll be there in ten minutes. I love you.”