Right out of college I dated a few people. Most of the relationships had an ebb and a flow to them, a natural half-life, seemed to make sense.
But one was particularly memorable because of how it ended.
I made her a cup of tea.
She hadn’t asked for one, but I knew she liked tea and I was getting one for myself. I hadn’t asked her first because we had both been reading in my room, and she was very into her book; I didn’t want to disturb her so just kind of got up quietly and left the room.
In the kitchen, I started some water boiling, then made toast (it was in the morning).
I remember thinking, “Why not just make another piece?”
So I did.
Then I looked at my mug, sitting so attentively, waiting for the water to get hot and thought, “Why not just make another cup?”
So I did, and five minutes later I walked back down the hall to my room, quietly pushed open the door, placed one cup next to her with the piece of toast on a little plate I’d balanced on top of it, and then sat back down and picked up my book.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s tea.”
“Why did you bring me tea?”
“I was getting some for myself and thought you might like some. I made toast too… we haven’t eaten in a while.”
There must have been a beat of four. One. Two. Three. Four. That sounds about right. It couldn’t have been longer than that.
Then she closed her book, stood up, and began putting on her shoes.
Once they were tied, she stood right in front of me and said,
“I can’t go out with you anymore.”
“Whapfh?” I had a mouth full of toast. “Phfwy?”
Exhale. “You brought me tea because you thought I might like some?”
This question was a trap, I knew that, but I couldn’t figure out where it had come from. I swallowed the toast as fast as I could.
“Yeah. You don’t have to drink it, it’s… just… tea.”
She winced, as if I had entirely botched that answer. “See? I can’t do this.”
“We didn’t have coffee. Do you want coffee?”
“Listen,” she began putting her things back in her shoulder bag, “I normally would just walk out, but you’re a nice guy and I want you to understand. My last boyfriend made me do his laundry. If he said he was calling, I would wait all night and sometimes he’d be four hours late. I made him dinner once and he ate it and left and I think he went out on a date with another girl. He even called me fat once in front of my friends.”
“Wow.” I kind of said.
“The boyfriend before that was ok, but he cheated on me all the time.”
“Did they both make you toast or something?” I had this theory that I’d triggered a deep memory by accident.
“No, that’s just the point, they would never make me toast.”
Ok, now I was just confused, and this was obviously not gonna go my way, and I had this distinct feeling of just wanting to understand what was happening, even if I knew I wasn’t gonna like it.
“See, in both of those relationships, I was the good one. He would do all this awful stuff, but eventually come beg for my forgiveness, and tell me I was an angel for dealing with him. I didn’t really have to do anything.”
“…ok...?”
“See?”
I did not. My face must have said that.
“You open doors and ask me about stuff. You have NEVER been late to meet me, not once.”
“…uh, I can be late....”
“I’ve ASKED you to now, it… it’s not the same. I try to think of nice things to do for you, but it’s a lot..”
“I’m sorry if I haven’t been appreciative - “
“ - no, you DO appreciate it, and then it’s MY turn again. It’s exhausting. I am not the good one, here. You are. You win. I’m the one trying to be on time and be considerate, but I don’t like it. I don’t feel good anymore. I’m sure there’s other girls who would love this, but it’s just not my thing. You see?”
I did. “Sure. And I’m sorry about the tea.”
“It’s not really the tea, but…it is. Y’know.” She gave me a hug. “Take care, ok?”
“…ok.”
And she was gone. Less than a fortnight later we all saw her at a cafe, walking with her old boyfriend. Well, behind him, kinda.
I was in my early twenties and had experienced a breakup, so my friends took me out drinking – but I did not tell them this story. It had occurred to me, as it must have occurred to you in reading it just now, that it sounded like an excuse, an easy way to let me down for some other reason… but then why give me all those details?
I asked if I should maybe try to be more standoffish and demanding.
“You’re not gonna be good at that.” my friend told me. “Just stay in your lane.”
A few weeks later I met someone who knew my breakup from before / somewhere, and for no good reason I DID tell her the whole story.
“Oh no, that’s just the way she is; it’s all about her. I don’t think she likes the people she’s dating, she likes who she is in their reflection or shadow or whatever. She’s been like that forever. Why would you go out with her?”
I did not remember the beginning, but that was the end, and it’s one of those stories that, for various reasons, I do find incredibly supportive from time to time, when I’m lost in Not Understanding someone, because the glossary of human interactions and motivations I built from these experiences is one that I still use, even to this very day, to try to make sense of confusing situations. In this case, I thought it was about the guy…I was too focused on him. But in the end it wasn’t really about him at all.
Anyway, I’m sure the two of them are incredibly happy.
Well. Maybe one of them.
Share this post