Tim was perfect. He was everything I looked for in a partner: employed (hello, doctor), stable (no crazy exes lined up around the block or stories about how he wanted to punch people), and kind. He didn’t drink too much or spend all night fighting with strangers on the internet or say passive-aggressive things and then gaslight me when I called him out about it. He had a retirement fund. He always found interesting things to talk about.
He was perfect.
We’d been dating for almost six months and it seemed like now was the appropriate time to Get More Serious. To be honest, at this point in my not-quite-disastrous but also not-quite-fruitful dating life I wasn’t even sure what getting more serious was supposed to look like. I guess we’d go exclusive and, having done that, we’d make more of an effort to see each other? Move in together eventually, get married, combine our finances, buy a house, adopt a kid or two?
It was a little heteronormative and cookie-cutter, but that didn’t trouble me much; whoever it was who said that thing about no battle plan surviving contact with the enemy could have said it about relationships. All of my friends had fallen in love and paired off, and their relationships took whatever shape made sense to the people involved—not necessarily the shapes they would have predicted.
Tim and I would find our way. That’s how it worked, at least judging from observational data.
Which is why, when he said, “Should we discuss where this is heading?” over wine at a fancy restaurant, smiling at me with all the assurance in the world, I should have been elated.
Wasn’t this what I’d been waiting for? Wasn’t this exactly what committed adult dating looked like? Two grown-ups, fancy restaurant, having a Serious Conversation About Their Relationship?
So why was there a heavy sensation in my gut, a weight that held me back from all the excitement I’d expected to feel in this moment?
“Yes,” I said, or forced myself to say, pushing down that feeling and willing it to disappear. “Let’s do that.”
“Well, Mason.” Tim lifted his glass. “I really enjoy what we’ve been doing and I’d like to do more of it.”
“Me too,” I echoed, clinking my glass against his. He was a busy doctor, I was a less-busy-but-still-working-full-time-with-a-solid-social-life bank sales associate. We saw each other once a week. It’s not like he was going to give up his doctoring to see me more—and I wouldn’t want him to—so I guess that meant... I’d be giving up things in my life?
But no, I was just being paranoid about this after the many, many times I’d dated people who expected me to make all the allowances for them without getting anything in return. Tim wasn’t like that.
Tim was the perfect guy. Who was now looking a little uncertain.
I was officially screwing this up. “Sorry, a lot on my mind. Let’s definitely do more of this, um, of everything.” I smiled at him, which wasn’t hard, because Tim was the guy you smile at. We’d met through a dating app and from the first texts back and forth he was always easy to smile at, even when he was just words on a screen.
He shook his head slightly. “I’m doing this all wrong. I was so caught up in having this conversation I skipped over all the usual catch-up things. How was your week? Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything is all right, sorry. Just having an off night, I think?” I wasn’t going to compound my weirdness by inventing a crisis. That was a thing younger Mason might have done, and while I slightly envied his willingness to make something up when he didn’t know what to say, I was no longer that careless with the truth. At least that’s what I told myself as the silence grew awkward.
“My timing is terrible,” Tim said. “I apologize. Let’s table this for right now and revisit it when we’re both fully present. But for the sake of my future reference, this is something you want to revisit, isn’t it? It’s completely okay if it’s not! Only I would appreciate knowing that now.”
“Definitely.” The relief of being let off the hook made my voice firm. “Very definitely.”
“Okay, good. Now let’s pretend I never brought it up.” Self-conscious laugh. “I just signed up for a training I thought you might find interesting. If you want to hear about it?”
I did want to hear about it. More than that, I wanted the conversation to return to something completely neutral, which didn’t demand I have or think about my feelings.
We went back to my place after and had exceptional sex—Tim wasn’t just a pretty face, let’s be clear, he had the skills to back it up—and then he went home because he had early appointments the following day.
And I nominally went to bed. By which I mean I stared at the ceiling for a long time. And then sent a snap to my best friend. I was too lazy to turn on the lights so it was just a shifting pattern of darkness and less darkness while I spoke, though I turned on a sparkle filter to give Declan something to watch.
“Okay, date recap, I fucked everything up? He wanted to talk about our relationship and I froze like—” I paused, trying to come up with a really good metaphor. And failing. “Like a freaking deer in headlights, Dec, what is wrong with me? He’s perfect. He wants all the things I want. He’s a doctor. He’s nice. He’s stable. Why am I not over the moon right now with an exclusive boyfriend, picking out table toppers for my wedding Pinterest board?”
And send. That’s how I’d pictured this moment, when I’d imagined it, but now that it was here I couldn’t even be happy about it.
I expected Dec to be asleep and get back to me in the morning, but a few minutes later my phone buzzed.
He was using a filter that gave him a cowboy hat, which was a funny juxtaposition against the rainbow shower curtains in what was clearly his partner Sidney’s tiny apartment bathroom. “Wait, what happened? I’m confused. Also oh my god, make Sid stop editing, I’m sooooooo tirrrrrrrrred. But tell me what happened, because I don’t know what you fucked up and I want to be supportive.” He pointed. “Supportive face, now tell me how I’m supporting you.”
I was just about to reply when a new series of snaps came through.
“Also, nothing’s wrong with you. You say he’s perfect when you know there’s no such thing. If I’d drawn a picture of who I thought was perfect for me it’d be a picture of you, which is obviously not true, and I’d have never been open to Sid, and then we’d all be super sad. Romance is not a formula in a spreadsheet, Mase!”
One more snap, this time no cowboy hat, just Dec with his hair mussed in front of a plastic rainbow.
“This is me not apologizing again for leaving you at the altar. Please note my emotional growth.” Then he stuck his tongue out at me and added, “I haven’t grown that much.”
I flipped on my lamp and said very solemnly, “I see your emotional growth and I appreciate it.” I left a long pause where I did not stick my tongue out in return even though he’d be waiting for it, just to mess with him. And I really didn’t need him to apologize again for leaving me at the altar when we were twenty-two. “But seriously, why am I like this? I’ve been hoping that dating Tim—or anyone—would get to this point and now it has and I can’t even be happy about it? Am I self-sabotaging? Should I call him right now and propose? Ahhhhh.”
Snapchat is like a super-sped-up version of the telegraph, where you send a message and then wait for the other person to watch it and record their own, then they wait while you do the same. Sometimes I kind of like all those pauses. The lack of immediacy can be perfect and allow me to virtually chat with my friends throughout the day while actually hearing their voices.
Right now the lack of immediacy was super annoying because I wanted Declan to tell me how to fix this thing with Tim.
Which he didn’t. He did send four entire series of snaps, this time from Sid’s kitchen, with a chicken on his head. Not an actual chicken, a filter of a chicken, which was one of his favorites and also let me know that he was trying to reassure me with a calm, meditative chicken filter, even though he himself was pacing and gesturing and couldn’t stay still.
“Okay, first, you are amazing. You are an amazing human being, there is nothing wrong with you, you’re wonderful, and of course Dr. Tim NoLastName wants to lock that down, because you’re a fucking catch, Mase, okay? So stop acting like he deserves better than you! He doesn’t. Literally no one deserves better than you, you’re the fucking best, and I say that as an authority on the subject.”
New snap. “Second, you should definitely not call him up and propose, oh my god, don’t even say that.” He shook his head violently and the chicken filter glitched trying to keep up. “Seriously, take it from me, that is the exact wrong thing to do. I know ambivalence is scary when you think you have everything you want, but listen to it. You’re not doing anyone any favors if you pretend you’re more into something than you are.”
New snap. “And Sid totally backs me up on that, FYI, but anyway, I don’t think it’s self-sabotage. You just need some time to think about it, and you’re allowed to need that. Just because a guy seems ‘perfect’—” aggressive air quotes “—doesn’t mean he’s perfect for you. Like maybe he is? But you don’t have to decide that tonight.”
New snap, with his face closer to the screen. “Ummmm also Sid’s done editing so we’re kind of on our way to bed—or going to do something bed-related anyway—but I’m totally here for you—both of us are here for you—but don’t propose to Tim, just take a bath and read a book or something, okay? I love you sooooooo much! There is nothing wrong with you.” He got even closer, his eyes slightly out of focus. “Mase, you’re incredible. I’m so lucky you’re my bestie.” He blew me a kiss.
By the time I’d seen all the snaps I had a text that read, Also if you need me, we can phone?
In other words, he’d put off having sexy times with his partner if I was freaking out. Which was sweet, but no. I’m fine, you two kids go have a good time, I sent back.
And I was fine. Mostly. Just confused.
Ambivalence? Was that what this was? This...this feeling of meh when I expected feelings of yay? But I liked Tim. We had fun. I respected him. He respected me. Sure, it wasn’t a formula in a spreadsheet, but when you added up all the good things, shouldn’t that still equal hell yes, let’s take this to the next level, baby, I’m totally in?