Your order is leaking. Not my fault.” Our Chinese take-out guy shoves several plastic bags at Beau and exits as soon as he gets his money and tip. Leaking indeed…kung pow sauce drips a trail from the door to the kitchen.
“I’ll clean that after we eat. Deal?” Beau asks as he pours our numbered dinner choices onto paper plates.
“Deal.” I’m ravenous after hours of crying and blowing my nose. I keep looking at the key on my bracelet. Now it and what it opens are all I will have to remember my friend by.
In silence we chow on Chow Fun and speak not of the loss of Tess. This silence also surrounds the email I still keep in my pocket. The email that asks me if I want this relationship to be real, serious, and possibly long-term.
I don’t know if the email is disconcerting because I have had enough change to last me a while or because the long-distance relationship has protected me from having to think about what the next step might be. I’m not someone who grew up with grand visions of the white fluffy dress and the white picket fence. Fantasies about lifestyle and career crowded out the whole “I do” plotline.
Apparently Beau has been thinking about this. A lot.
“So, Mari…that last email I sent you. Was it too much?” He is looking right at me because he is the kind of guy who can look you in the eye when talking about real things. Even a shared zip code.
I am tempted to use the news of Tess’ death as an excuse to avoid this conversation, but I know our in-person sessions are few and far between. It matters, I tell myself. Speak. “No. Not too much. Just…so soon. I don’t know.” My favorite line in life is “I don’t know,” as if this becomes a universal pass to avoid any confrontation. I can see it doesn’t exactly meet Beau’s need for information.
“Do you not know about us? Or is it about moving? Because I gave that a lot of thought. You have just found the ideal job…so you should stay. I should be the one to move. If anyone moves.” His nervousness is palpable. My heart wants to send him a lifeline.
“It isn’t the move. It’s…” What is it? “It’s the expectation that comes with such a move.” Don’t guys feel this kind of relational pressure? “I thought asking you your opinion about my new car choice was a huge step of commitment. What if you move back here and it doesn’t work out? Then what?”
“That ‘what if’ doesn’t matter. The ‘what if’ that matters is ‘what if we don’t give this a real shot?’” He speaks seriously and unintentionally waves a wonton at my face until he realizes he is waving a wonton at my face. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been…I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”
“Neither have I,” I offer. I don’t know much about most things, but I do know I have to admit to the feelings that I have. I am almost thirty; if I cannot learn from past mistakes by now, I never will.
“We’re back to the age-old question: Where do we go from here?”
I’m silent. My mind is scanning all the recent events of my life: meeting Beau, my posh position at Majestic Vista, my hair color alteration, my name change, the loss of Tess, having real conversations with a significant other. Talk about systems overload.
“If I ended up here…in Tucson…you would be okay with it?” He rephrases the question.
Wouldn’t it be nice to spend more time with him? To have him ask me over for a game night with friends? We could go for walks in the morning or meet up for coffee or lunch or dinner. This is a life I could envision…right?
I sound confused as I pour out my thoughts. “I admit that the long-distance relationship has been convenient, but if you had been living here when we met, I still would have been excited about getting to know you better.”
Noodles hang from Beau’s mouth as he considers this somewhat compliment. “So this is a yes to us living in the same town?”
“I’m still worried about expectations. What if—”
“You bought a wonderful new car. That is a commitment. You didn’t seem to dwell on what-ifs over that. No more using the what-if defense. Mari…you are what…almost thirty?” Beau seems energized by this and takes a bite of hot mustard.
I sit back in the couch and give him the evil eye. I can barely get past the car comparison to our love life, but if he uses my age in a line of reasoning about life being short or the ol’ biological clock argument, he will have to reckon with my diabolical side.
He glances at my look but doesn’t waver. “I’m a few years older. Don’t we both know by now that what-if’s make life harder, not better? I just want to move forward…with you.”
This is the first thing that makes sense to me. Hasn’t my entire past year been about moving forward and into the life I am supposed to have? And today, walking toward the finish line and seeing Beau waiting for me was a moment I will treasure forever. But in this moment of intimate conversation with plastic utensils, all I can offer is a smile and a quick nod.
Elmo curls up in my lap and purrs as if there is not a life-changing choice on the table. I pet him in order to avoid looking into Beau’s eyes. “I want to be someone who can move forward too.” I do. So I say it to the first person to really get me in a long time.
I gaze into Beau’s brown eyes.
“Mari, this is new for me too.” He looks away just for a moment, as if to gather courage. “But I want to give it a real try. This distance thing…it is too easy to make it all about convenience or a future possibility rather than a now reality. You know?”
“I know. I just need time to think about all this.” I have to be honest. My emotions are very raw from the news of Tess’ passing. The force of my sadness causes me to stab my plastic fork into my mound of noodles. A loud snap follows.
A quick look of disappointment passes over Beau’s face, but soon it is replaced by a look of understanding. “It’s been a hard week. Take your time. We’ll find our way, Mari. We will.” He hands me his fork.
This is exactly what I need. An offering. A gesture. And some time to ponder this question: When one faces the fork in the road too early in a relationship, is there any hope that a single girl will reach her intended destination?