Almost Doesn’t Count

Our Evolution

All I ever wanted was for him to want me back. And this past spring he finally did. It started in the weeks before I got pregnant.

One text from him set the tone for the shift in our dynamic: “Can we not wait two weeks?”

We went from seeing each other now and then, to every couple of weeks, then multiple times a week.

I almost couldn’t believe he was making himself so available to me after being undependable and out of reach in the past. 

It got to the point where us hanging out was like clockwork. I expected to hear from him around a certain time every few nights. 

Then we started to set tentative dates to spend time — “What are you doing this weekend?” “I wanna see you soon.” “When can I have you again?”

It thrilled me. After my year began with brutal rejection, it felt healing to be showered in attention and acceptance. He became my safe space.

The quality of the time we spent together got better too. We had a little routine. It always involved drinking, music, a particular upper, and a card game — before culminating in slow, connected sex. It was our thing.

He quickly got comfortable helping himself to the contents of my fridge, cabinets, and drawers, grabbing whatever we needed to kick off our night when we were at my place.

I kept my apartment stocked with beer he liked, and it warmed my heart when he’d leave his weed, lighters, or other random belongings behind. Those things and the scent of him on my sheets held me over in the days between our linkups.

Mindfuck

During that time I remember saying to my therapist that our relationship nearly felt too good to be true…but the fact that he didn’t want to be my boyfriend kept me grounded.

It was misleading. He’d tell me that he wanted to spend time with me during the day and not just at night. He talked about wanting to take me to brunch, on hikes, or to this lake he really liked. 

He said he wanted to do these things, but that he didn’t want to give me the “wrong idea” about our FWB status. He warned that if he had to leave for an extended period to return overseas he didn’t want it to upset me, because his absence didn’t change the way he felt about me. I asked him to simply give me a heads up.

“I have no illusions about what this is,” I responded, attempting to sound self-assured. But on the inside I was trying to convince myself I had a grip on the situation. 

I brought up the Long Distance Girlfriend (LDG) and told him my concern — knowing that she existed made me feel like our relationship was shallow. He carefully used his words to address my unease. The main takeaways I got were that he didn’t see himself with her in the long run, and he was only making it work because they were running a business together. 

I challenged myself to step outside the confines of monogamy that society has taught us to uphold. I really wanted to appreciate our connection for what it was, and not be possessive. 

Breakthrough

My pregnancy brought us closer, but not before just about tearing us apart. Two days before my abortion I decided I shouldn’t see him anymore. I figured I’d terminate both the relationship and the pregnancy in one fell swoop. But I was tactless in the way I told him.

I sort of just blurted it out in a “by the way, this is the last time you’re gonna see me” kind of way. It infuriated him, which I did not expect. He snapped at me, calling me rude and shouting, “You’ve got my genes in you and you’re telling me this is the last time I’m gonna see you!”

“You like being sad,” he scoffed before adding, “I’ll leave and forget about all this tomorrow.” 

My heart dropped and I buckled. “You’re right. I’m so sorry,” I said. But I didn’t let him off that easily. “Think about how I feel,” I told him. “It’s heavy for me too. I hate that you put me in this position.”

Our boiling point turned to a breakthrough as our feelings bubbled to the surface. I suspected he did, but I was glad to have proof that he actually cared about me. Toward the end of the argument he softened, cracking a smile and reaching for my face to kiss me. Make up sex followed. 

Falling

After my procedure we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Going against doctor’s orders to wait two weeks, we had sex that night. In a way I felt like it was us against the world. We made our own rules and did our own thing.

For weeks, even before the baby situation, I’d notice him holding his gaze when he looked at me. When I’d say, “Stop judging me,” he’d assure me he wasn’t, and tell me he was “just looking.”

Moments like that showed he was getting attached. Other signs came in the form of him thinking out loud.

Unprovoked, he’d make statements akin to “this is why we wouldn’t work as a couple…”

It was like having a front row seat to his inner monologue. I could see that he was fighting a mental battle as he started viewing me as girlfriend material.

Twice he brought up my (former) job at a strip club — where we met! — and said things like, “Good thing you’re not my girlfriend because I couldn’t handle that.” He often asked if I planned on going back to it.

I brushed it off the first time, but when he brought it up again I had to say something. I blasted him for being judgmental and called him a hypocrite, because when we met he didn’t seem to have a problem with it. He attempted to soften the blow by explaining, “It’s not you; it’s my ego. If my girl does that it means I can’t support her.”

But I wasn’t his girl. His fixation on my dancing, combined with the LDG drove me to cut him off.

 It only lasted about a month before I let him back into my life. During those weeks he texted me regularly and although I mostly ignored him, I didn’t have the strength to block him. Eventually I gave in.

    While his feelings for me were growing, my feelings for him were swelling as well. I knew I loved him when I started saving my stronger, doctor-prescribed ibuprofen for his hangovers, and using the weaker, over-the-counter doses for my cramps. But I didn’t want to say it.

In the end

He was more forthcoming than me, but we both hesitated to say how we felt. The closest we got was when we reconciled and he sheepishly said to me, “I don’t not have feelings for you.” But then he backtracked, apologizing and saying, “This was supposed to be about sex and I started wanting to spend more time with you. That was my mistake. Let’s just focus on the sex again.”

Sure, I could read between the lines, but what did it matter? He was committed to someone else in another country. We almost got somewhere, but it wasn’t enough. Not enough to keep him from disappearing four weeks later, slipping right through my grasp like I feared. He told me he was going overseas for a month, but it’s been three months since I’ve heard from him.

I almost had Blake. When he wanted to see me more. When he impregnated me. When he started eyeing me through the lens of a long-term partner. But what did it really mean in the end?

“Almost” never counts.