The Last Peach: December 2008

You asked for it, so I’m squeezing eight months of events into a single column.

Here’s what happened:
1.    The Peach read Peach, part 3 and decided to end things. My indecision and inner turmoil pushed her away. And, in the midst of all that was happening in my life, as sad as I was to see her go, I didn’t try to stop her. We both cried when she kissed me goodbye, and then she was gone.
2.    Except for the rare phone call, or the time she was apartment hunting in my area and came by my place to use the bathroom. She left so fast it gave me the kind of emotional whiplash that lasted for days.

That’s when I knew I needed help. So I started seeing a counselor. It was past time to sort out what was broken inside me, and get to work fixing it. I told the counselor to press her thumb hard where it hurt, to dig in and help me get fit to be in a relationship before I did more damage. From the beginning, I gave my full intention to our sessions.

3.    A couple months later, I was ironing my clothes and getting ready for a date when the phone buzzed, the Peach’s name on the screen.

“Hi,” I said.

“Eric? This is [Peach]’s friend.”

My heart started racing, my stomach started running for my bowels, and my vision dimmed.

“I want you to know that [Peach] is okay,” she said. “But she was in a really bad mountain biking accident. She broke her leg, and is in surgery right now.”

“Oh no,” I said, not sure what was expected of me, or why she would be calling.

“I think it would be good if you were there when she wakes up.”

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to ask her if the Peach had asked for me, or if this was her friend’s misguided idea.

“She told me she wanted you there.”

And that’s all I needed to hear. I cancelled the date, packed a few overnight items, and flew out the door for Boulder. I stopped at Target and made a little gift bag of DVDs, ready-made foods, a magazine, and some Vitamin Water.

I was at the hospital before her friends arrived, not sure how they would greet me. The friend who had called gave me a hug; another friend wouldn’t make eye contact. We sat on couches waiting for the Peach to emerge from the elevator. I was quiet, humbled and out-of-place. An interloper.

Thirty long minutes later, we followed the Peach, who was on a gurney, to her room, and stood around her after she was settled in her bed. I leaned against the wall, not sure of my place. The Peach was still groggy and drugged up, but I could feel her eyes on me. She’d broken her leg in two places. It was the beginning of summer.

Eventually, she told everyone she was fine, and that we could leave. I went to the sink and wet a washcloth, to wipe the grit and crusty post-op adhesive from her face. Everyone else drifted away.

She held my hand. I helped her with the intake nurse’s questions. She talked to her dad on the phone, and told me he was happy I was there. We didn’t say much, but I curled around her on the tiny bed and kissed her forehead. The nurse offered to bring me a cot for the night, and when I said yes, the Peach shook her head and told me to stay at her place. I crawled into her bed that night, alone, wondering what it all meant. (I don’t have any answers for you to this day.)

I was there at her bedside early the next morning. She had that morning-after edge in her voice; she was embarrassed to have asked for me. She asked for a hug, then sent me away. She told me I could check in on her via text if I was thinking about her.

Over the next few weeks, I had the difficult challenge of being there for her when she needed me while keeping my own heartache in check. I didn’t want her to think I was only there because I wanted her back. Given the chance, I would have spent every hour with her, caring for her and being around her. But I didn’t want to press. We were talking again, and that was promising. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I didn’t want her out of my life.

4.    When her Boulder lease ended, she went home to Chicago for a couple of weeks. The new place she’d found, less than a mile from my apartment, wasn’t ready, and her parents would be able to take good care of her while she healed.

When the Peach did move, right down the street, we started to spend time together again. It was too hard not to. I’d drive her around, help her pick out rugs and furniture for her new place. And, sometimes, she’d have a meal with Simone and me, or we’d hang out at her place, the two of them chatting on the couch about school while I installed the blinds on the giant windows. We told Simone we were just friends now, nothing more.

We left things undefined, and she could never resist changing the tone of a warm, loving moment by reminding me that we’d never be together again. I knew I was being tested. I would pass the test this time, I told myself.

5.    But then I didn’t. I didn’t invite her to an event I was co-producing. I had my reasons—I couldn’t define our relationship, I wasn’t ready to share her—but to her, it felt like a breach of trust, and she told me we needed to stop talking for real. That lasted a little more than 24 hours. We couldn’t disengage. There was just too much love, too much passion for us to make a real break.

Meanwhile, I continued my work, looking back at previous relationships, their dynamics, and my tendency to sublimate what I wanted and needed for the sake of harmony. How it was always easier to acquiesce than to argue. Really, from the time I was a little kid.

So I started to tell people what I wanted. I tested it out on my friends first. And, miraculously, they didn’t stop loving me when I started saying “no.” In fact, my friendships grew stronger as I expressed my own needs, and even asked for help when I needed it.

All the Peach ever wanted, she’d say, was for me to tell her what I wanted. To trust her enough to be honest. So I practiced on her, too. But that didn’t go as well.

Because our relationship was still undefined, my assertions of needing space and nights to myself sounded, to her, more like excuses to go on dates with other women. And the more she pushed back about my need for “me” time, the more resistant I became. It was a messy spiral, where our needs diverged even as we pushed to get them met. Her concerns that I was being selfish sparked selfish reactions from me, until neither of us could compromise.

And that’s what really killed it. I’m grateful for those extra months with her, because, as much as I love her, the experience finally proved that we were not meant to be together. We have very different needs from a relationship, and though we always knew that at some level, we thought we could work through it.

Of course I miss the Peach sometimes. But this breakup feels fundamentally different from the previous ones. This time, we rode things out to the end. The relationship just finally ran out of gas. After a road trip that lasted a year and a half (off and on), we sputtered to a halt and walked away. There’s no residual sense of possibility anymore. I miss her as a person, as someone I care about, as someone I trust with Simone, but the longing has faded (mostly), with a sense of relief taking its place. I learned so much from her.

The months have passed. My work continues.

Comments

[Clare]

I enjoyed your blog post, thank you for sharing. I found you on Twitter actually. Reading your bio, we have some things in common! I'm a single parent with a website (iHeartSingleParents.com online community), a print magazine coming out in January (Single Parent, spmagonline.com), and live events starting in January! I would love to connect with you. Our online community reaches many single parents who might be interested in following your blog. Happy blogging :o)

[Christine]

Such heartbreak....Hugs, my friend.