Breaking things off with the Peach wasn’t a happy moment for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her; it wasn’t that we didn’t have amazing times together. It came down to logistics and what I thought was a pragmatic outlook on romance—I couldn’t envision “us” working out in the long run, between our age difference and locality, and I didn’t want to fall any further into infatuation with her than I already had. We were nearing a point at which it would make sense to introduce her to Simone so that we could spend more time together, and I couldn’t see any wisdom in that, either.
The conversation was short, couched in my assertion that I just wasn’t the guy who could meet her needs. She was understanding. We said goodbye.
I felt very conflicted about my decision, but I also thought it was the right way to go.
Lucky for me, the Peach didn’t agree.
She gave me two weeks before sending the email excerpted here:
“If I make you happy, then it’s healthy to allow yourself to feel that, right? Actually the way you’ve been acting is unhealthy and I think you should stop. Please don’t hold yourself back from being my friend and being open. It’s summer (tomorrow!), let’s allow ourselves to have fun. Don’t you think you need that more than anything?
“So please stop acting crazy!”
So I tried to stop acting crazy, and we started seeing each other again, on a very low-key basis: she’d meet me on Boulder’s outdoor mall during the day for iced tea and kisses, or we’d talk for a few minutes on the phone to catch up. Occasionally, I’d meet the Peach and her friends for happy hour, then stay in Boulder that night.
One of those June evenings was momentous. It was a clear and dry Boulder night and we were on the roof deck of a rustic downtown bar, drinking too much summer ale with her friends. I’d brought her another pint, and she kissed me.
“Too bad it’ll never work for us,” she said, smiling.
“Too bad that doesn’t stop me from loving you,” I slurred.
We both laughed, kissed again.
That night, in her un-air-conditioned apartment, sweltering then reveling in the occasional mountain breeze that would slip through the bedroom window, listening to her roommate move around in the next room, Peach turned to me as she turned off the light:
“I love you, too.”
But I didn’t commit beyond that, and the summer drifted along effortlessly, except for growing work stress, which manifested itself in my withdrawing from everything but going to work and taking care of Simone. Our lighthearted conversations during rare mid-day rendezvous turned into diatribes of discontent, vignettes of vituperation. And then I cancelled a date just hours before we supposed to meet, and she gave me the earful I deserved.
A few days later, sitting in a park and sharing a fresh chocolate chip cookie from a local bakery, she gave it to me again.
“I do love you,” I said, in some misguided attempt at self-defense.
“Yeah? Are you going to do anything about it?”
“Not today.”
I didn’t realize until much, much later how what I thought was a clever-but-honest remark stung her.
Leaving my job at the beginning of August caused a seismic shift in my outlook, and the Peach’s support and immediate apparent forgiveness of my deficiencies made me feel hopeful again. So I invited her to come to the apartment for Friday night dinner with Simone and me.
In my mind, it would be a casual deal. Simone would enjoy dinner with one of my friends, and the Peach would get a true taste of the Eric-Simone dynamic.
We all had a lot of fun. Dinner was laughter-filled and no one puked, and Simone led the way to the bookstore afterward for baked goods and picture books. The Peach waited on our balcony while I got Simone bathed and read to her in bed. The two young ladies got along well, but the connection was brief and tenuous. Perfect.
The Peach and I spent the next two hours laughing and communing, connecting like we hadn’t in months. We even cried a little bit as I let her peer into my baggage. I felt good, like things were back on track again.
As she kissed me goodbye at the door a little after midnight, the Peach said, “This was really fun tonight. Simone is great. Thank you for inviting me over. But we can’t be friends anymore—it doesn’t make sense—I can’t go through this heartache any longer. I hope you understand.”
She kissed me again, softly, on the lips, her hand on my cheek, and left me speechless.
Next: Peach, Part 3: More of the same, but better, eventually.
Great tale! ...Awaiting part 3, impatiently.
Posted by: Chassy | March 05, 2008 at 12:09 PM