There’s a great Diana Krall song called We Just Couldn’t Say Goodbye, and that was me last night.
Oh, Tony. What a fucking crazy night filled with highs and lows.
We had arranged to see each other Friday afternoon and evening. Other than my conversations via phone and text with him last weekend, our only communication was setting up the date and time to see each other.
I fully intended to break up with him. I knew that it was likely we would have sex, but my plan was to have a conversation with him about the fact he’d made no progress in the last three weeks, and tell him I needed more from him than he could give. So I would set him free, as much as it would hurt.
Friday at 4pm he showed up at my door.
We greeted each other with long hugs. He told me how good I felt. He didn’t kiss me and at that point I thought he might know what was coming. But then, as I was in my kitchen getting drinks for each of us, he came over and kissed me. His hands roamed and I was reminded yet again of one of the things I adore about him.
He has always every only wanted still water (I always have sparkling or still). But this time, he wanted me to use my Soda Stream so he could check it out. He kissed and touched me some more. It was about to pour and he suggested perhaps we could see a movie. Or just stay in and watch movies.
We both love the rain. I had all my doors and windows open so we could hear the sounds.
I fed him a rotisserie chicken I bought earlier from the grocery store down the street. We talked about how much we had missed each other – but he said he didn’t realize it had been three weeks, because of work it had all been a blur.
We finished eating and he asked if I wanted to go upstairs to my bedroom to hear the rain.
Our sex was some of the most intense we’d ever had. He keeps his eyes open the entire time, looking into my eyes. I can see in his eyes how he feels about me and how much he wants me. It was three hours (with a couple short breaks) of sweating, writhing, biting, growling, pounding, can’t-get-close-enough sex. He let me get on top, which he doesn’t usually do.
It was, in one word, incredible.
At times, clinging to him or nestled in his neck, I had these moments of deep sadness when I thought about letting him go. I really do think I could be in love with him but I know it’s not reciprocated.
After our fourth round, three hours later, we were famished. The rain had stopped. My bed was soaking wet from sweat and the fitted sheet had been pulled off. He suggested we had earned pizza. He asked if I still had the bathrobe I lent him before – of course. I got dressed and he put on the bathrobe and slippers I have for him. He took charge of pizza ordering and we first watched one of my favorite sports teams, then decided to watch Netflix – a series called “Chef’s Table”.
He was lovely with me all evening. He told me how comfortable he was, how he’d rather be nowhere else, how he always has such a good time with me.
He fell asleep during the second episode; we were lying on the couch together, all tangled up. It was only 9:30pm. He had planned to leave that night because he had to do something for his son at 7am the next day; but I asked simply “do you have to go now” and he decided he would stay over and just leave early.
I knew I’d run out of time to have the talk, and wasn’t sure what I could do about it. I definitely wanted to let him sleep; he was obviously tired.
So I took him upstairs and put him to bed. He was asleep before I’d finished brushing my teeth. I wasn’t all that tired, so I texted a few friends to tell them my breakup plan was being foiled and I wasn’t sure what to do.
I started to think about what I’d been up to for the past three weeks, and wondered what he’d been doing. Did he go on any dates? Has been online dating? Has he been honest with me this whole time?
I realized it would be very helpful for me to say goodbye if I knew he’d done things that hurt me. I know it might sound crazy, but it made sense to me in the moment.
His phone was charging downstairs. He doesn’t have a passcode on his phone. So I decided to do something 100% terrible: I went downstairs and opened his phone to see what he’d been up to lately. I don’t need the lecture – I was trying to find something that would allow me to move on.
First I looked for any online dating apps. There were none on his phone.
I looked at his Twitter account, as he mentioned he had a “secret” account where he looks at naughty things. Only two old tweets; one which referenced a date from when he was still married. He was following what seemed to be every member of a local escort agency. And, as I knew, he had a predilection for transsexual women.
I wondered whether the escorts were how he got some of his sexual experience after his marriage. He did mention to me that his experiences were with “nobody worth dating”. It was curious to me, but didn’t really hurt. Although a part of me wondered whether he had seen any escorts recently.
Then I looked at his texts. He uses them a lot for work so there were a ton of them. The past several weeks I couldn’t see a single text that wasn’t work related, or with the couple of female friends he’s told me about, both of whom are married. I started to feel okay, then bad because I was violating his privacy.
But then, just as I was almost going to go back upstairs, a text exchange caught my eye. It was definitely not work, and it was from the beginning of March.
My heart started pounding as I scrolled back to find the very beginning of their text history. It started in December, before he met me, and he had obviously met her on a dating site and they had taken their communications to text.
I got ice cold while reading – it’s the one sign I am beyond furious. He asked her out for the first time after we’d had our first few dates. But we weren’t exclusive until January 18, so fine. They hadn’t managed to connect with each other, each postponing or cancelling. Three days after our exclusivity conversation, they went on a date. I noted it ended at 11pm so figured it hadn’t ended in sex. I had been away on a work trip and I recall being frustrated at his lack of communication with me.
Two days after that, he asked her out again. She rescheduled. They went on their second date at the beginning of February, which ended at midnight. I was in the city that week and saw him two days after their date.
But the thing that made me want to storm upstairs and tell him to get the fuck out of my house? He went on two dates with her in the middle of February. One night I was out with my friend Katherine, and the other – get this – was when I was away with my son for the weekend. He had her over to his place overnight on Valentine’s Day. With oysters. In their post-date flirting, he mentioned he was recovering from the long night and morning.
After that, there were no texts except a few innocuous ones the very beginning of March. Seven weeks after we’d agreed to be exclusive.
I was so angry I could barely think straight. I closed the stuff I’d opened, put his phone back, and went upstairs. I stared at the ceiling and tried to figure out what the fuck I was going to do when he woke up.