how lucky are we?

In my dream, I am throwing vases against the wall. This is what I get for falling asleep in the afternoon, but I am angry. I am angry and I am throwing them. And he’s just sitting there, smiling. Each shard of glass keeps missing him. And I am getting angrier and angrier and angrier and looking for more glass to pick up. But nothing ever hits him. He just sits there. Smiling.

-

“A broken man will punish you for loving him because he doesn't know how to receive love without feeling unworthy or fearful of it.”

I come across this quote on my FYP, and it immediately made me think of that Tell Me Lies scene where Lucy tells Stephen that she knew exactly who he was and still loved him. “I loved you. So why do you punish me for that?”

It’s Monday night, and I am sitting beside a man I’ve known for a few months. 6 to be exact. I met him on a day where, ironically me and OFM had gotten into yet, another one of our fights. He was acting like he couldn’t care less if I lived or died, so I told him I was going to go back to Rome (I may or may not have thrown in: “I will just go back to the guys in Rome then”, to which he ignored (rightfully so) and instead, asked for help picking out white shirts for a business trip. I told him no. He chose to get mad at that (lol), so I decided to go shopping for myself.

It was the day my vintage fur found me, so afterwards, I took myself out for pizza and wine to celebrate a victorious purchase.

The man pours me a glass of white. I do my usual: sip my wine, read old newsletters, have a slice of pizza, rinse, repeat.

“Another?” He points to my empty glass. Actually, I don’t even think he asked. I think he just poured.

“I’m in the middle of moving - so yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even talk to me about moving.”

We spend the next little while complaining to each other. I tell him that I just got back from Rome, and left the majority of my wardrobe there. I also weirdly want to tell him about OFM, how we are trying to work on things yet again, and yet again, we are failing at that. But to my surprise, he brings up his ex first.

“When did you guys break up?” I ask.

“8 months ago. But there’s a quote I saw somewhere. It’s not about the love lost, it’s about the love had.”

I don’t say anything for a while, but I write this quote down. I look at my phone. The last message I see is OFM telling me he’s “not a fan” of my fur. “I just think you can do better.” I roll my eyes.

“He has his good days - but they’re so few and far between now.” My best friend texts me.

-

I remember my first summer in Rome. It was 2022, I was sitting on the couch, 2 days post of heatstroke. On a Zoom call, my spiritual healer asks: “What is the most important thing for you to feel in your next relationship?”

I thought about PN’s girlfriend and child. OFM’s up and down and hot and cold-ness. What our relationships lacked - was the very thing I needed.

“I want to feel safe.” I tell her. “I just want to feel…safe.”

-

Now, 6 months later, I am sitting beside this man from the bar. In these 6 months, this man has met a few of my friends. He introduced himself to my dad and shook his hand.

“I hope my daughter’s not causing too much trouble.”

“It’s not a problem. We run a babysitting service here.”

He’s probably overheard numerous conversations about OFM, and god knows what else.

“The first time I relapsed, my ex just held me. And she told me that we were going to figure this out. And it was the weirdest feeling. To be held, to feel like someone cared about me.”

My eyes water. I haven’t gotten teary eyed sitting beside a man in a bar in almost 2 months, so it was time.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you sad. I’m just very open about everything. There’s shame that comes with it. Being an addict. You don’t feel like you deserve the help, even when it’s being offered to you.”

“I understand that. It’s this almost like, tornado of self hatred.”

He nods. “Exactly.”

“With my ex…I didn’t want to end things. I loved him, beyond all of it. I did. And I always will. But I felt like… I was going to get sucked into that spiral.”

“And then you felt like you were bailing on him.”

This is when the tears fall.

I nod. “Which is why I will text him out of the blue to tell him that I miss him. Because I want him to know that I still care.”

-

The man from the bar walks me home, but does that thing where he switches sides - so he’s walking on the part of the sidewalk that’s closest to the road.

I pretend to not notice, but I do. I wonder if men can tell that I’m not used to this whole thing. Chairs being pulled out. A meal. Reservations. Meeting at a time and a place.

“Dates” in Rome began with “I’m coming over after my shift ends.” Which was fine, it was what I wanted at the time. I mostly excused a lot of it, and thanked God I never actually ended up in real relationships with any of them. It would have been limiting. It would have all been too limiting.

We get to the front of my building. We’re facing each other, my arms are folded across my chest. He’s a bit hard to read, but he keeps talking. About the building across from us. The park. The hotel around the corner.

The moon is full, it’s almost 1 in the morning. I am getting tired. I’m wearing my favourite black cashmere sweater and an army green bomber that I got in Milan. Spring is coming. Relief is in the air.

“Well. Thanks for tonight.” I tilt my head to the side and smile. We go to hug each other. But it’s one of those hugs that lingers.

Thank god. I tell myself. Part of me was hoping that this moment would happen, but part of me wasn’t sure that it was going to.

The man from the bar kisses me. And this kiss, in particular, throws me off guard. Because it’s the first kiss that I’ve had in a long time, that lingers. He presses his lips against mine, and they stay there. And I’m not even lying when I write this next sentence: my foot pops. My foot. Pops. My olive green Ganni boot pops into the air. And I place my hands at the back of his neck. And I am so thankful. Because this has been the first kiss since OFM where I actually have felt something.

And not in the anxious, butterfly way. But in a calm way.

A safe way.