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XY Marks The Plot
There’s a reason I write about breaking up. It’s what I do. Some may call me a serial breakup artist. But I prefer The Relationship Journalist™. It’s not that I’m pro-breakup. I’m just anti-bad relationship. Which is why in my seventeen (yes, seventeen!) years of dating, I’ve accumulated so many Mr. Exes. And I’ve written about almost all of them. Not to be cruel, malicious, or spiteful. But to learn something. And figure out why breaking up with Mr. Wrong was SO the Right thing to do. But I digress…
This is not the story of an ex. But of an XY.
I met Mr. XY several months ago. During the best summer of my life. I had rented out my condo and was living with friends in my favorite L.A. neighborhood, was enjoying numerous career highs as a freelance writer, and had finally taken that extended vacay to Montana. And while there was once a time in my life when I looked longingly at my married friends, wishing I could join them, I was now in a space where I felt happily married to my single life. Cocktails with the girls on Friday. A date with any number of cute and interesting boys I happened to be meeting but had no intention of getting serious with on Saturday night. Fun with friends on Sunday. And numerous single gal adventures during the week. All in all, a fabulous summer!
And then one July evening when I was out with my best gal pal, I met Mr. XY. He just happened to be sitting at the table next to us at the lounge where Gal Pal and I were enjoying live music. We struck up a casual conversation that lasted the rest of the night. I was surprised by how easy it was to talk to this sexy stranger. We bonded over a mutual affection for the music of Pink Martini and the random musings of David Sedaris. I mentioned there was a play being performed in Hollywood written by David and his sister Amy. And when Mr. XY and his friends got up to leave later that night, he asked for my number, mentioning that he’d like to see that play with me. Surprised, I gave him my number and didn’t give it another thought. I wasn’t looking for a man that night. I had no immediate need.
The truth is, I was still recovering from earlier in the summer when I finally got up the nerve to confess my feelings for my longtime crush. Someone I thought was possibly the perfect person for me. But after my confession, he ran away. And in the silence that ensued, I wised up. And realized that I had been playing a game of cat and mouse for far too long with someone who wasn’t interested in me IN THAT WAY. And he wasn’t the first. I had been playing this game for far too long PERIOD. Trying to prove how fabulous I was to men who weren’t worth the time or effort. Men who waited two days longer than promised to call. Men who told me how fabulous I was and then ran the other way. Men who were both intelligent and successful, and yet completely incapable of emotional intimacy. It was men like this that I thought I wanted. And men like this that I finally realized I didn’t need.
And then there was Mr. XY. A man who waited less than 24 hours to call and ask me to dinner. A man who told me in that first phone call that he not only liked me, but he couldn’t wait to get to know me better. A man who was completely unencumbered by the rules of dating. I liked that. And it scared the hell out of me.
It scared me enough that I flaked on our first official date. True, I was out of town, but I’d known my schedule when I booked the date. Maybe I was testing Mr. XY. He seemed so young. So nice. So clean cut. I wasn’t quite sure why he was interested in me. After all, I was clearly older, not to mention deliciously inappropriate, and more than a little jaded.
When Mr. XY called to reschedule our first date, he had the nerve to ask me if I planned on flaking again. He wasn’t afraid of me. I loved that.
I also loved that when Mr. XY showed up on my doorstep that Friday night, he surprised me with flowers. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time a man had brought me flowers. And flowers weren’t the only indicator that this date would be different. Long ago, I had ruled out letting men pick me up for a date. Usually I insisted on meeting at our chosen destination so I had my own car and a quick escape route should I need it. With Mr. XY, I just had a hunch I wouldn’t need it. And I didn’t.
Over a spicy Thai dinner followed by drinks at a hip local lounge, I discovered that Mr. XY was not too young, clean cut, or nice for me. Yes, he was younger. But it no longer mattered. He had a wonderfully edgy sense of humor. An insatiable zest for life. And while many a man has been completely intimidated by the fact that I write about dating and relationships – and breakups – for a living, Mr. XY was not only NOT intimidated, he was impressed. And I was impressed when he told me he’d gone to my website to read some of my breakup stories but then realized he’d rather get to know me in person than through my writing. My doubts were quickly vanishing as I peeled away the layers of Mr. XY.
As he walked me to my door at the end of our first date, I knew I wanted to see Mr. XY again. I just had to get past my fears of our first kiss. You see, in my passionate pursuit of my single gal life, I had recently come across a string of bad kissers. There was Washing Machine Man (with his tongue that tied mine in a monotonous rinse cycle), Hostage Taker (who sucked my tongue so hard it took three tries to get it back from him), and Grandfather Tongue (‘nuf said).
Those last few steps to my front door were agonizing. I wanted to kiss Mr. XY but I was petrified. And so I did what any jaded single gal would do. I went for the sneak attack. When Mr. XY pulled me to him for a goodnight hug, I went straight for his lips. He almost fell down the stairs in his surprise. But he quickly recovered, returned my brief kiss, and said he’d call me again soon. Which, of course, he did.
My second date with Mr. XY could have been a disaster. We went to a Chinese Food festival where the food was bad and the intense sun was worse. But instead of getting cranky with each other, we washed down the so-so food with cold beer and continued getting to know one another. I couldn’t believe how comfortable Mr. XY made me feel. And how nothing I said seemed to faze him. Even when I confessed my Libran fear of commitment and my lack of desire for marriage or kids after he’d just mentioned hoping to one day have a child, Mr. XY just looked at me and smiled.
For our third date, Mr. XY invited me into his home and cooked me dinner. Something about the candlelight, the soft music, and the flavorful food inspired Mr. XY to confess his feelings for me. And while I was having similar feelings, I was far from capable of expressing them. Instead, I asked if we could get some air. Instead of being offended Mr. XY took me on a moonlit stroll in his quiet neighborhood. And then he really kissed me. And I thought that while Mr. XY was far from perfect, he just might be perfect for me.
When I returned to Montana for a month in September, Mr. XY and I kept in touch over email and IM. There was a part of me that thought things might fizzle while I was away. But in reality I found myself missing Mr. XY and looking forward to our daily online chats.
I returned to California in time for my big birthday bash in early October. I had long ago stopped introducing potential men to my friends but decided to make an exception for Mr. XY. I couldn’t wait to see all my friends again, and delighted in sharing them with Mr. XY. I felt free to laugh, be my obnoxious and loud tipsy self, and even left Mr. XY to chat with one friend while I snuck away to bond with others. As the night wore on, I began to feel a shift. At first, I thought it was all the cocktails. Or the euphoria of being surrounded by the people I love. But it wasn’t JUST that. There was more to it.
For my birthday, I received numerous thoughtful and fabulous gifts. And even more kind wishes for the coming year. But the best gift I received wasn’t something anyone could buy or wrap up in a neat package with a pretty bow. No, the best gift I received was when I woke up the next morning and looked at the person lying beside me. And I got my real birthday gift. Love. And for a cynical and sassy single gal like me, nothing could have been sweeter. That is, until moments later when Mr. XY looked deep into my eyes and said those three fabulous little words before I even had the chance. That was sweeter still.
There is a reason for each and every Mr. Ex in my relationship past. Because breaking up with the Wrong person is always the Right thing to do. And it gets us one step closer to our relationship present. In my case? An ex has always marked the plot. But Mr. XY? Well, that’s an ending that’s yet to be written. It’s in my relationship future.
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