Dahlia B., our newest guest contributor, ventures to be as honest as she can with her experiences on love, life and relationships. All names have been changed to protect their identity.
On one of my most recent business trips, an overseas co-worker who I’ve developed a close friendship with despite a large time difference told me she finally did it. We were at the bar around the corner from the office and we had just taken a shot of tequila. It was Thirsty Thursday after all.
At my lack of response, she then proceeded to tell me in great detail how just a week prior, she broke up with her boyfriend of 8.5 years once she found out he was going to propose. What is it with the women I know who are dating guys that don’t want to get married or breaking up with those who do? Well at least they know what they want.
“It just wasn’t going to work. We hardly saw each other anymore even though we were living together and I remember one night when we were trying to sleep; he just wanted to cuddle and I wanted to scream – I knew then that I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
Apparently she had known for over a year but like the determined girl I knew she was, kept on at it to make sure she did as much as she could before she called out ‘time of death’.
The situation obviously called for another round of shots, stat. After doing another round, or two, she then just kept staring at me and I asked if I needed to shove her into a cab to get her back home. I’m nice, you see.
But she just gave me a look and I knew what she was getting at, or wanted to get at – James.
She knew all about my trouble-making ways – or some of it at least. I felt a little safe knowing she was half-way around the world from where I was.
“There’s absolutely nothing to say. Your situation is different from mine and you know it! I’m happy – content.”
And then I promptly ordered another round of shots to punctuate this tabled discussion.
She wasn’t having any of it – bitch, especially since I had paid for the last few rounds – and badgered me about if I was really happy or just comfortable and settling for less.
The details are fuzzy on how I successfully evaded answering her. I might have either drunk her under the table or pushed the very-cute-now-off-duty-bartender towards her now-single-ass.
The last bits of the conversation I remembered were to just really think about the situation and if I’m really happy: so be it. The damned harpy did make me think about it and for a while, I wondered if I had made the decision to stick to what I have because I didn’t think I could find someone who loved me for who I am – I evolved into someone I didn’t recognise at times or the fact that I was scared of the honest truth: that James just might not really be the one for me.
I then swore that was the last time I debated my relationship status over tequila shots because it was just insecurity and notions of romance dawdling in my head, and I didn’t need that crap.
On the long plane ride home I snorted and rolled at my eyes at the thought of ending things with James because I was ‘settling’. I had a good thing going and I really did love him for who he was. I didn’t need someone telling me otherwise. Someone else’s idea of what a good relationship makes had no standing with me whatsoever – especially when they aren’t the ones making the decision.
Once I got out of the arrivals hall, I sank into James’ arms and kissed him with whatever energy I had left. The warmth that spread through me, told me I wasn’t settling.