I know, I know. It’s been well over a year. It’s been a long time since I’ve put pen to paper (or thumbs to iPhone screen as it were) but I feel like it’s about time I tell you all (the people who still come here, which by the way, wow! There are a lot of you who still come here from time to time! What link on Google sent you here of all places?!) anyways, where was I, oh yeah, it’s about time I tell you all about the most recent disaster in my love life. I figure it’s as good a time as any really, I’m sick with a stomach bug, so while my body is a total shit show (har dee har har) I should also get out the bug that is rotting the inside of my heart too. Maybe it will be cathartic. Or maybe I’ll just end up crying on the toilet. Who knows, that’s the fun of an adventure! (And to any of you disgusted by my literal shit talk, you know what the bible says, let the first guy who has never had the runs be the first to judge the girl crying on the toilet because of her ring of fire. OKAY, I’M DONE NOW, but y’all gotta admit, some of you out there smiled at that, I know it!)
So the last time you and I were here together I had just gotten back into the same rut as always with Erik. We were seeing each other quite frequently at that point. But I knew that we were never going to be more. And I was the one pulling away. I started to be the one to go, “Well, it’s about time to hit the ol’ dusty trail.” And would be getting dressed and leaving before things could get too 2012 “Olivia falling for Erik” again. Cause I knew this song and dance. I wasn’t going to be the one getting hurt this time. I wasn’t going to let myself fall for him again knowing full well that he was never going to want me. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my feelings or the picture of a potential (albeit completely unattainable) future together stop me from finding someone amazing.
So, last year, on my birthday, May 30th (mark it in your calendars, next year I expect presents damnit!) I signed up (again) on the dating site. And by the end of that night I had started to chat with the man who would (spoiler alert!) eventually shatter my heart and world to a million pieces.
His name was Henry (it wasn’t really, but you know the drill) and he was pretty great. He was a few years older than me, he was smart, funny, had a good job at a bank, he played the guitar, and he was British. He was great, but not perfect. He had been married, and when we met his divorce was only in the works, but not actually final. And, he had two kids. A son (8yrs old) and a daughter (3yrs old). But besides everything, we hit it off, and I figured, what the hell, we could at the very least meet and see where that goes.
A week after my birthday we met at a restaurant here. Nothing fancy, just a nice place where we could chat a bit. Over the week since we had first messaged online, we had continued to text and had even had a 2 hour phone call a few nights before we met. And the more I talked to him, the more I liked him. On the phone that night I told him about my love of chocolate, and he informed me that there is a Cadbury land in England that is reminiscent of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. He also gave me the hot tip that Walmart sells giant ass Cadbury Dairy Milks in the British food isle for only 5 bucks. I was excited about that cause I was (and still am) both cheap and chunky. So imagine my sheer delight when he got out of his vehicle at the restaurant carrying a giant ass Dairy Milk. We hadn’t even known each other for 5 minutes and I knew that I liked this guy.
The date from then on just kept getting better and better. We sat and chatted for 4 and a half hours. We literally closed the place down, and didn’t even realize it. I really liked him. So when there was talk of a second date, then a third, and then we were officially a couple, I was over the fucking moon. It just all seemed to work. We saw each other as much as we could, but he had his kids quite a bit, so at the beginning I didn’t see him as much as I would have liked. But his kids came first, because of course they were, so it was fine.
Finally after about two months of us being together I finally decided it was time to meet the kids. I was just as nervous to meet his kids as I was to meet him for the first time. It was the first time I had ever been dating a single dad, and while I have two wonderful step parents of my own, and I work with children for a living, I really had no idea how I was supposed to be with his kids. I knew that how I was with them, and how they felt about me would be a big deal. We met at a McDonalds for supper. The kids seemed shy at first, but after the chicken nuggets were done, they were able to play in the play place, so I ceased to exist to them after that point. I would have had to be dressed up like Ronald McFucking McDonald to get their attention once the play place became an option.
After that evening I got to spend time with him and his kids way more. His kids seemed to like having me around. His son would show me all the stuff on his Minecraft game, and his daughter would beg me to play Shopkins or Barbies with her. Henry would tell me that they would ask about me when he FaceTimed with them, and when they knew I was with him when they chatted, they wanted to say hi to me too. And I was falling in love. Not just with Henry, but with his family. I felt like they were falling for me too. The way I would sometimes catch Henry just looking at me with this stupid smile on his face, or how his kids faces would light up when they saw me. I could feel like we were falling together. I was dying to tell him, but resisted, I wanted him to say it first, so I waited patiently for him to make the first move. (I know this probably says a lot about who I am as a person, but I don’t care) So you can imagine how thrilled I was when one night after spending the day with him and the kids, as I was on his front step, giving him a goodnight kiss as I was leaving, he whispered in my ear that he loved me.
Things were going great. I was on cloud 9. I started to think of our future together. While I was falling deeper in love with him and his kids, he was trying to speed up his divorce. And the closer he got to that, the more I let myself picture us moving in together, him proposing, the words I would say to his kids on our wedding day, and how the kids would react if they were finding out that they were going to have a little brother or sister. I even pictured life with him as a retired couple. He talked all the time about one day moving back to England, and I could picture us, old, sitting on a porch swing somewhere in England together, bellies full of Cadbury, him playing his guitar for me while I knit something for the grandkids. It was a lovely picture.
However, as you already know from my opening paragraph (and the rest of my blog, let’s be honest) that this story doesn’t have a happy ending. And in order to get to that not so happy ending, I’m unfortunately going to have to leave you all in suspense for a little while. Cause I’m tired. And feeling blah.
Be well for now, my blueberries.