Dating someone who is not out of the closet
When it goes from complicated to over, it's too much like having a public break-up. Although Shane and I communicated by email and IM on Facebook all the time, our connection there was, like him, in the closet.
It must be nice to have a boyfriend who occasionally comments on your status updates or at the very least "likes" them, but I wouldn't know what it's like to be "liked" publicly by someone who claims to love me privately.
He was already doing it to practically everyone in his life. But I knew it was more about not arousing suspicion than about breaking a roommate code. They had to be wondering where he was waking up and with whom.
Or why not just say he was off to see "a friend" -- or the Wizard of Oz? Eventually, love/lust got the best of him, and 15 minutes later he was knocking on my door.
What didn't happen on Facebook was the least of our problems, though.
Relationships are more about what happens when you're face-to-face -- or they should be.
Although I didn't ask how he'd stolen away unseen, it bothered me that he'd had to.
Isn't part of the point of having a boyfriend having someone with whom you can share romantic dinners out, a travel partner, someone to kiss in the rain if the mood strikes you both? I am, however, a big hugger, and at the end of our third and final public meal -- as usual, lunch -- after Shane and I broke up the first time, he held out a hand as we were saying goodbye. I think it may have been the first physical contact we ever had outside.
Love makes us do crazy things, which is why I no longer judge people for staying in bad relationships. I'm not in any of the ones I have of him, and he never took any of me.
I can even muster up a smidgen of sympathy for women who fall for married men because I'd be a hypocrite if I couldn't. What I regret most is that I have no memories of candlelit dinners in highly recommended restaurants, romantic road trips, or us dancing together on a Saturday night, making out under a strobe light. I'm no fan of selfies, and we were rarely around other people who could take a picture of us together.
So one night, when he was dying to see me after going out with his roommates and returning home, he had to make a tough choice, lest an awkward interrogation begin: Should he try to slip out unnoticed or just go to bed?
After reading his text detailing his dilemma, I suggested lying.