This week I decided to make one final, God-honest attempt at friendship with Paul. I had my last therapy session — leftover from our “marriage counseling” days, when I was able to get him to come with me — before my benefits change and I spoke to my therapist about what to do with all this anger I have that just seems to be getting worse. He said that, if Paul were “as evolved” as I am, he would understand that I need him to apologize and tell the truth and start treating me better, given what he’s done to me. But that, obviously, he’s not. He suggested that I keep conversations with Paul brief and centered on the baby, and that only time will make us friends.
Well, I can’t do that. I can’t hate and distrust someone who watches my son half the time. It makes me want to explode. And so I texted Paul and asked him to meet me for a drink, and he agreed.
We met after I put the baby to bed, at a bar in the mall halfway between our houses. He didn’t recognize me when he walked in — and actually texted me to ask where I was while standing just a few feet away from me — and I like to think that’s because my hair was curly and I looked pretty awesome. Bonus points for me.
He sat down and ordered a beer to catch up with my Captain and Coke and I launched into it: how I can’t handle the anger I have toward him, how I don’t trust him, how I don’t want my son to be raised by people who didn’t suffer any consequences for doing something horrible. I even told him that I don’t want AWhore using her ridiculous teeny-bopper talk around my son — things like “I’mma be late” and “I luh you” (instead of “love”), I mean come on, you’re not a 16-year-old girl here, you’re supposed to be a grown woman — to which he rolled his eyes, but it’s true. I yell at my mother all the time for saying things like “sketties” instead of “spaghetti.” Anybody who knows me knows that there’s no way I’m going to raise my son not to respect language and proper grammar.
Anyway. So I laid it all out on the table, and told him that I can’t do this without him. I told him that I don’t want him back, and I’m not romantically interested in him anymore — in fact, I may have mentioned that he’s short, fat and passive-aggressive — and I said that, as devastating as this has been, I have been with guys since who have made me realize that Paul treated me like crap the past couple of years and that we’re not meant to be married. Fine. But that doesn’t mean that I’m OK with AWhore being around my son.
We both cried during this rant, talked about our families and how horrible it’s been that I can’t bring myself to speak to his and mine won’t speak to him, and he apologized for “going about this the wrong way.” The understatement of the century. He also said, “But you said it yourself — we’re not meant to be together.” And I reiterated that he could have gone about it a different way — like, maybe actually tried to work it out, finished things up with me before he moved on to AWhore. I also told him that showing even just a little bit of this type of remorse on a regular basis would go a long way when I get angry at him about things, or when I start to rant about something outside his house. Things like that he should realize — he’s got a master’s in public relations, for God’s sake.
We went back and forth like this for a while. I kept saying that I don’t want AWhore around my son, that it makes my skin crawl. He kept saying that he’s not going to keep them apart because “life happens.” I fought him for an hour or so, and then said that, if he’s not willing to be a good person and do that for me, then he needs to tell me what he’s going to do to make it better, to make it so that I don’t have this tremendous rage at the thought of her with my son. He said that she has agreed to meet with me, and that — however awkward it would be — we can set up that meeting. I said that I think it will make her less of a monster, and that I liked her at one time, back when we all were friends. (I also may have called him an “idiot” for “jumping out of the pot and into the fire” with someone so similar to — and even “worse” in some aspects than — me. For example, she doesn’t have one obnoxious younger sister … she has two.) So I think I’m going to have him set up that meeting.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes after that, each downing our third and final drinks. I thought about how, despite everything, I’m still comfortable around him, like he’s not a foreign body when we occupy the same space. I hope that means that I can get past this betrayal and hurt and remember that what was good about “us” as a couple can still be good about “us” as friends who have a child together. God, I hope that happens soon.
And it’s not that it doesn’t happen. There are plenty of times when I am happy in the moment and we’re laughing about Baby Z, or even about some small truth we know together. But those moments are few and far between, and Paul still doesn’t give me much to work with. I’ll text him with pictures of the baby, and I never get the same from him. I think it’s because he doesn’t want to upset me, but I’m going to have to get past that — otherwise, one entire half of my son’s life will always be a mystery to me. I can’t stand that thought.
Paul and I sat there for a little while longer and talked about Baby Z, whether or not either of us thinks he’s ready for potty training (we don’t), how we don’t understand why he refuses to hug both my Sister and BIL2 (Paul’s youngest brother) and some other quirky things he does. Then it was time to leave.
We haven’t seen each other since, but we’ll meet on July 4th to exchange the baby, and then again, at some point soon, to have a nice long conversation with AWhore. If she’s going to be part of this “family,” she needs to stand up and be a man, face up to this drama that she helped cause. I, personally, have a lot of preparation to do before this meeting happens. I need to be ready to speak my mind and ask them both for what I need to accept this situation. Whatever that might be.
