Over time, Derek’s attention seemed to be gravitating my way. Now as I look back, his interest was obvious. But then, I was so nervous about getting my hopes up only to have them later squelched, I questioned every invitation and the motives behind them. I wanted to believe they were indicators that he was interested, but my fear took over and told me to protect my heart and not get excited. He asked me to go out for dinner after work, to go to coffee on our day off, to pick him up from the airport when he came home from a weekend of visiting mutual college friends. It’s obvious now, but my insecurities, my fear of eventual abandonment, told me then to protect.
Finally I got it. He was more forthright, and I was ready to hear. We were both in wonder that our lives were connecting. It was wonderful, full of wonder, that this handsome, strong, sensitive, Jesus-pursuing man would be taken with me in the same way I was with him. There was an understanding that this wasn’t a casual relationship, a “let’s just date and see what happens.” We were sure if this “worked,” it was for a lifetime.
And though it felt wonderful, it also felt terrifying. I didn’t want to do anything that would prompt him to leave. So I avoided tension. He decided on our dates, what we did, where we ate, how we progressed. I’m not really sure why he continued pursuing me. I was generally silent and wide-eyed, a pretty boring girlfriend. He now says it forced him to step up and initiate, but he agrees I was a mystery in many ways.
“I think we should do pre-engagement counseling,” Derek told me one day.
My heart stopped. What did that mean? Was engagement the direction he thought we were going? Was the counseling going to determine whether or not he proposed? If so, it sounded like a loaded activity. Loaded with potential affirmation or disaster. I stayed silent.
“Well, I’ve heard of other couples doing it,” he continued. “You know, once you’re engaged, you’ve kind of decided you’re getting married.”
This was sounding like an even worse idea.
“Besides, our health insurance will cover six sessions. We should do it before we leave.”
It was spring at the Dale House, and we had about five more months before we moved on. Not wanting to sound like I had anything to hide, I agreed. “Sure.”
Before our first session, we went to the counselor’s office and filled out a questionnaire.
“Sit apart, where you can’t see each other’s answers,” the counselor instructed us. I looked at Derek. He rolled his eyes. I tried not to laugh.
We used number two pencils to fill in bubbles to questions about extended family, finances, and hopes for life. Many of the topics seemed irrelevant, things I’d never thought of before. Did I consider myself a saver or a spender? I’d never had any money to determine one way or another. The topics that weren’t irrelevant seemed obvious. I knew what I wanted: a traditional family, kids, division of labor, stability.
We turned in our computer answer sheets to the counselor. “You’ll get your results in two weeks when you have your first appointment,” she said as she took our papers. I didn’t think I could wait two weeks to find out if we were considered compatible.
The counseling sessions were rather uneventful. I went into each one hoping she would declare us a guaranteed success as a married couple. Instead she commented on how quiet I was. I did my best to answer questions with “whatever he said” without actually using those words.
At the end of our six sessions, she declared “no red flags.” Then she turned to me. “There is one thing that I think you need to explore.”
I felt the spotlight blaring down.
“I don’t think you’ve fully worked through your father’s absence.”
What does that have to do with anything? I thought. With my relationship with Derek? Though there was a tiny part of me that knew it was true.
“I’m fine,” I answered, my defenses up. I tried to catch a glimpse of Derek out of the side of my eye to gauge his reaction.
“I would recommend you get some counseling on your own to come to some resolution there.”
She was calling me out, exposing me as damaged goods. Even though I’d tried to call as little attention to myself as possible during our six insurance-covered sessions, the needy, pathetic girl who was abandoned was still obvious. Who had daddy issues that any suitor should steer clear from. I was the problem getting in the way of us moving forward.
“Other than that, you seem pretty compatible on the big things.”
Other than that. Other than me and all my baggage, we should be fine.
Weeks later in Derek’s apartment, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I was done trying to hide, keeping my wounds covered, living every moment afraid that he would see enough and decide I was too much of a basket case to go on. I let my sobs fall into his shoulder. I cried for the girl I was who desperately wanted her daddy’s attention and never got it. For the teenager who worked so hard to be perfect to prove her worth. For the scared young woman who had fallen in love and was terrified she wasn’t worth sticking around for.
“Trust me,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I tightened my grip around his waist and surrendered to trust.