Familiar
I take a second from making out with her on the edge of her bed to look at her. I run my fingers through her hair.
“I can’t believe you finally cut it,” I say. She’d been threatening to cut off most of her hair and donate it. Now, what used to cascade down to the small of her back, stops just above her shoulders. Sitting across from me, holding me in a half-embrace with her robe half open, she looks so different. Amazing, but different. “It’s the end of an era,” I comment in mock-disappointment.
She starts to giggle.
“Don’t you mean,” she says, stifling laughter, “It’s the end of a ‘hair-a’?”
My head sinks in more mock-disappointment. I laugh along, though, because my love for her puns hasn’t changed.
The months after our breakup and subsequent reconnection are a blur. We’re not dating. We are, however, seeing a lot more of each other than we did towards the end of our relationship. We’ve been going out for brunch, hanging out in her room, watching movies, and even shopping for her new betta fish (which she’s lovingly named Adolf Fishler). We’ve also been hooking up, but that’s not enough for us to make this a relationship.
During these months I wonder about what happened between our breakup and us reconnecting. Did she want to date someone else but they didn’t go for it? Did she hook up with someone else, but that’s all she wanted to do? Did she try dating someone else, but it didn’t work or feel the way she wanted so she went back to missing me? The first scenario’s unlikely for her. The second scenario could’ve happened, but if so then I wish she would’ve just cheated, never told me, and saved me the bullshit of the breakup. The third scenario I’d understand because I’ve experienced it almost every time I’ve met anyone else.
In the future I won’t remember if I ever express any of those thoughts to her. I probably don’t. There’s no need to. By removing the title of “relationship” we’ve gotten rid of any obligations or expectations. We simply indulge in each other’s company. When we’re apart there’s nothing tying us to each other, and it’s refreshingly liberating. The morning of Halloween I spend with her, watching Army of Darkness in honour of our time in high school; that night I spend in a different city, in a different bed, holding a different person altogether. I know she’s free to do the same.
I’m honest with myself about how much I need her. I’m also honest with myself — and with her — about how much we can realistically be together before things get messy. She’s honest about the same things, too. I have no way to categorize what we are but for the first time I don’t care. Right now, this works.
It’s the start of winter. The break between our meetings has grown each time, and now we haven’t seen or spoken to each other in almost a month. I wonder if we’re weaning off of each other. That’d really be the end of an era.
She texts me and asks if I’d like to head over to hers. I realize how much I’ve missed her.
When I get to her place we lie down in her bed. We have no plans to go out in the snow but we’re also unsure about what we’ll do indoors. We could watch a movie or something, like we usually do, but with this much time apart and who knows what people in between, we don’t really know where we stand. We look at each other, wordless.
I watch her as she observes me, gauging my face. Her eyes are fixed on my lips. She hides a shy smile. Hiding it doesn’t help; I can see her smile widen. She’s elated to have me here like this in front of her. I know she’s wondering if I’m going to kiss her.
I smile, too, and lean in, because my love for her hasn’t changed.
Way It Was is a writing project and ongoing attempt to work through a lot of relationship related shit. Find out more about it here.
