Wish You Were Here
I almost asked her out a few days before our first kiss. We got off the subway train after school and I was ready to ask, but instead of sitting on the bench like usual, she started leaving the station. Turns out she saw the guy she lost her virginity to — the guy who also slept with her best friend — on the train. It was distressing for her. As she left in a hurry I was about to ask anyways, but I didn’t. In the end it was better not to start our relationship with her past relationship looming over us.
Right now those thoughts are far from my mind. Right now I’m hanging out with her, having fun on my bed as we connect parts the way they were meant to connect — i.e. we’re building a Lego model she got me for my birthday.
She’s going back to Halifax tomorrow. It’ll only be for three days, but the last time she left for Halifax we didn’t see each other for three years, so it’s a bit of a sore spot for me. We’ve also only been back together for less than three months, which means we’re still in a honeymoon phase that makes us overly dramatic when we anticipate time apart. She has to go, though, to pick up some things she left behind.
My apartment’s quiet, and after a quick walk through I confirm that it’s because my family’s stepped out. I return to my room, move the plastic bricks off of my bed, and give her a more adult send off for her trip.
When she gets back from Halifax I meet her at her stepmom’s house, but it’s a little weird. She’s standoffish and there’s clearly something on her mind, but she won’t divulge any of it until we’re away from the prying ears of her family.
We hole up in her stepbrother’s music room and she tells me about her trip. She describes how she visited a friend of hers, a girl she went to school with whose place she fully expected to stay at, but their apartment was under some heavy renovation. On such last minute notice she was forced to stay with her ex.
She describes to me how the time they spent together was platonic, divided between cooing over the cat they used to own together and watching Netflix. She also tells me, regretfully and with a heavy heart, that he kissed her. He was pledging to her his own undying love, and took the opportunity to lock lips a last time. She describes his actions to me in a dire tone.
I’m not upset. I let her know this and she’s relieved. Sure, I’m not enthused about the kiss, but ultimately I know I’m the person she cares about more — and I almost never speak in absolutes. I’ve just got to expect that, after three years, this past relationship of hers is something that will, from time to time, loom over ours.
I still hate Halifax, though.
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.