Pulling Out Should Never Be Plan A

The beach picnic with the “You Can’t Sit With Us” trio had been planned for that Friday night for over a week. A last minute venue change due to weather and time change due to bullshit at work put a tiny hiccup in the plans. We were now meeting an hour and half later than planned at the playground/picnic area of our favorite local park. I sat on a bench waiting for Jess and Shan to arrive as my little girls ran around the equipment, making friends with the sixth graders playing “grounders”. After checking my messages and responding to a long distance friend, I spotted an open picnic table in perfect proximity to the playground. I wandered over to it, only to spot a tall, good looking man in a button up denim shirt, casually making jokes with a group of people not 25 feet from me.

Panic set in. Quickly followed by disbelief. I called Jess, knowing she was picking Shannon up and I breathlessly whispered into the phone.

“You’re never going to believe who’s here,” A beat passed before I heard Shannon’s voice on the other end.

“The Fisherman? I can’t remember his name.” we laughed. I had nicknamed the eligible bachelors months ago because it was easier for us to keep them straight. Plus, it provided an excellent code to keep our small town gossipers at bay.

“Yup. The one and only. Are you guys close? I just can’t,”

Four minutes later, I watched the Fisherman walk away with his date, crossing the road right in front of my friends, as they waited at a stop sign in Jess’ little blue Toyota.

When my girlfriends spotted me, I waved and then hung my head, shaking it. As they sat at the table opposite me, we collapsed into our customary giggles. Jess spoke first.

“What the actual fuck?!” she drawled in her Essex accent as I shook my head in disbelief. What were the odds?

“You’re not still talking to him, are you?” Shannon asked, unpacking a box of vodka sodas.

Jess and I exchanged a look. I had messaged her that morning and filled her in on the very eventful preceding Thursday night and had not actually planned on divulging my indiscretion to anyone else. But there we were, and it seemed as though I was always meant to regale Shannon with the escapades of the night before.

“I slept with him last night,” I replied, pulling the Plan B out of my pocket. I pushed the tiny pill out of its blister pack and cracked a drink. “Cheers!” I mocked and swallowed the pill.

And then I started in on the story.

The night before, I hadn’t put my phone on Bedtime Mode as I normally do through the week. Since I wasn’t getting up for anything on Friday, I didn’t need an alarm set, and thus the usual “Do Not Disturb” mode wasn’t engaged. I had only just drifted off to sleep when an incoming text message woke me up. Actually, it was three texts. And because I have specific text and ring tones for most of the people in my life, I knew exactly who it was. The Fisherman.

I knew he was back from his annual months long fishing trip because I had seen him driving earlier that day. His truck has a very specific dent in the tailgate and he himself has a very specific look: salt and pepper hair, coiffed in an homage to the pompadour, strong, square jawline and the general air of being in charge. Not hard to see the attraction. I unlocked my phone, curious to see what had him messaging me at 10pm on a Thursday night, after months of radio silence. I stared at the messages.

Trying not to text you.

Starting that show.

You’re a problem for me.

HA! Why?

You know why.

I fail to see how it’s a problem

Cause I’m seeing someone and I’m thinking about you.

Oh. That is a problem.

Nothing has been discussed. But now I’m like, ‘What the hell’. ‘Why am I here’.

Oh great. Now imma thing.

I talked to my business partner’s wife tonight. Tried to explain you. She’s literally the only person who knows you (But doesn’t know who you are).

Explain me how?

Oh good lord. You’re obviously a thing.

All of it.

Sports and fucking.

And what did she say?

She didn’t know what to say…

I told her it wasn’t sex with you. It was feeling comfortable with you. I could say whatever I wanted about sex and you would think about it and do your best. No matter how weird. Not that we got there. But it was nice.

Wow. That is super nice to hear. I definitely felt an easy connection with you, Fisherman. And it was hard to let go of, I’ll be honest. I think about you often…prob too often

She understood. It’s about getting what you need. Crazy. Comfort. Kink. Calming. All of it. And it’s about the relationship.

The sports thing was challenging for me. It’s possible I’m misogynistic.

Possible. Understatement.

I’m sorry if it came out that way.

I won’t pretend to have you figured out.

You and me in bed. After sex.

And my guy came on.

Lebron or Jordan. Who’s better?

And you answered. !!!!!!!! Holy Fuck.

It changed my life.

Seriously.

Oh Fisherman. You’re something else.

It’s like finding out God exists after being an atheist.

So why’d you run?

Or maybe that’s my answer.

I don’t know. It’s deeper. I don’t know. I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Joshua on the boat thinks you’re tops.

I don’t get you. Why tell your people about me?

Because you’re worth telling.

You are cool. And you are a thing for me. and it’s confusing. I don’t want to take care of you. (Not that you need it) Hence me. Texting you.

You’re on my mind.

A lot.

I’ll give it up.

I just don’t get it. If it’s a thing, why isn’t it a thing. And if you don’t want it to be a thing, then ya maybe don’t text me. Cause … damn. You were a thing for me.

I know. I’m freaked out. Not your fault. I thought it would get serious. I don’t fucking know women.

It’s in the past now. Good luck with your new woman. She’s lucky to have your favor.

I immediately think about kids. And marriage. And how things work. And run away.

I can’t help you there. Haha it’s a thing that can happen. But it doesn’t have to happen right away and you never know, both people may get there at the same time or they may both get to a place where they don’t want those things.

Fuck.

I know.

Don’t think I didn’t think about that.

I did.

I did a lot of soul searching after you disappeared. And while I crave having someone in my life, I want it to fit my life and I don’t want to change a lot in order to make it fit.

Fuck

Ya. It’s weird. I don’t think either of us would have to.

Yup. It was a pretty good fit

You get me. I don’t want to lose that.

I want you.

All of you.

I want to touch you all over.

Let me sneak in to your house right now.

I’m tempted. So tempted. You have a woman, tho.

I want it. Unlock your door. I’ll sneak up there.

I .Can’t. be the other woman. I won’t do that to someone.

Ok. Just so you know.

1. That hasn’t been discussed.

2. I’m coming over.

Ha! That’s like lying by omission. She’s probably assuming you’re not sleeping with anyone else.

Plus I don’t sleep with men who are sleeping with other women.

Lauren. Unlock your door. I’m not asking. Just say ok.

I can’t. I don’t want you if I can’t have you.

Lauren. Let me touch you. I’m coming over. I know you have kids. I won’t be weird.

It’s not about my kids or being weird, Fisherman.

You’re seeing someone. And it’s not me. So you don’t get the privilege of a midnight booty call with me. It’s bad enough I engaged in the sexy texting.

It was 12:45am and I was in bed, drifting. Fifteen minutes passed and I was hovering on the edge of sleep and wakefulness when I heard it: the sound of a car door slamming. I live on a fairly quiet street dominated by families with young children. Not many people are awake at 1am on a Friday morning and fewer still are getting in or out of a car. My eyes opened immediately. I clambered out of bed and looked out my window to see the infamous truck parked across the street. I couldn’t believe it. He actually came. Instantly fully awake, I was aware that I needed to do the famous ten-second-tidy, lest my strong will be broken, and I allow him inside.

And I should definitely give my mouth a swish with mouthwash.

Did I even brush my teeth before I settled down for Netflix in bed?

I’m trying your door.

It’s locked.

Lauren.

We could just talk.

You’re actually here. Jesus.

At this point I’m standing hidden in darkness at my front door, at the end of the inside of my carport. He’s standing on the driveway I share with my neighbor. He texted me to tell me to look out my window and then struck the “Say, Anything” pose. My resolve was officially wavering.

“Why are you here?” I asked him, coming out into the moonlight, folding my arms against the chill of the night. It had been brutally hot for a week. Temperatures had soared into the mid thirties and higher. Nighttime had offered little relief in the midst of the heat wave. But earlier in this night there had been a fantastic thunderstorm accompanied by a torrential downpour. The air was clean and cool. It was quiet. And the view from my front yard was fantastic. The city’s iconic bridge spanning the lake glowed in nighttime glory, its lights reflecting in the water. The glacier was barely visible in the distance and grey storm clouds were backlit by a waning moon.

“You know why I’m here. Can I hug you?” I knew as soon as our bodies touched there was no going back. I knew he was there to have a taste of what we’d had; what he’d run from. I knew that feeling of showing up at your ex’s house at a ridiculous hour, hoping against all hope that you’d get to steal back the memory of how good it had been, just one more time. The difference is, when I did it, I was called crazy.

Clinically stage 5.

Out of my mind.

Insane.

And here in front of me, a man was doing the same thing I’d done – more than once – and I was looking at him like he was some hopeless romantic. Like this was the ultimate gesture of deepest longing.

The rest is history. He asked if he could touch me and then murmuring that I had said yes, he started to get reacquainted with a body he’d given up. My silk nightgown rippled smoothly under large hands, providing little barrier between his longing touch and my wanton skin beneath.

He wanted to come in, to make love to me in my bed. Tenderly. Gently. Lovingly. The way we had always had sex. And it had always been amazing. We just … fit together. Me in his arms. Him inside of me.

There was a trust that was inexplicable.

And at the same time, unearned.

Unwarranted.

But the heart wants what the heart wants. And when the heart joins forces with the loins, it’s a losing battle for the brain. So I let him put his hands on me, exploring a body he hadn’t been able to forget. One he already knew. I didn’t resist when he turned me around and forcibly put my hands on the wall of my carport. I squirmed and feigned resistance as he got down on his knees to bury his face between my legs. And before the neighbours got too much of a show, I allowed him to lead me inside and up to my room.

The next morning, I texted him.

You did manage to pull out last night, right? If not, I need to go get Plan B

Hello! Haha. Fuck. Yes. But I might have lost a bit. I tried.

On my drive home from the pharmacy, I saw the Fisherman get out of his truck in a button down denim dress shirt, open and blowing in the breeze. He was with a woman, getting in the driver’s side of her car. So that’s her. I thought. The not so serious, not yet a thing, thing. I couldn’t wait to tell Jess, who was at my house watching my girls before our night out together. What were the odds that I’d happen to drive by at the moment he’s outside. And what are the odds she lives on my route home. Jess didn’t have an answer for either thought, but she did share in my utter amazement. We could only laugh. Jess left to pick up Shannon and I buckled my little people into the car and headed towards the lake.

When I saw his truck parked across from the playground, I laughed. I hadn’t seen The Fisherman once in the three weeks he’d been back in town, and yet in the span of 24hours I’d seen him plenty. Too much. Despite my efforts to resist, I scanned the park and picnic areas for him as I led my girls into the playground, steeling myself against the reality that I may run in to him. Mercifully, I didn’t see him. Thank my lucky stars. I was in leggings and a loose-fitting T-shirt, my hair in an unwashed, messy bun on top of my head. I was bare faced and blissed out from an early afternoon massage and the twang of regret for not having at least put on mascara loomed large in my stomach.

According to him, she was not a serious thing.

According to him, they hadn’t discussed not seeing other people.

And then there he was with her, at a family picnic, in the park on a Friday night.

And that was when I realized the depth of his lie and the extent of my denial.

I had wanted to feel wanted. And he had wanted me. I had chosen to bury the knowledge, which I had personally acquired earlier in that year, that he was consistently less than honest and more than philandering.

And then I had made a choice that did not align with my values or with the person I wanted to be. In this moment, the universe was reaching out to me in a way I didn’t quite understand, as I sat at that picnic table, a morning after pill on my lips, a vodka soda in my hand and two incredibly supportive secret keepers across from me watching me stare at the man I’d slept with last night, who was on a very public date with a woman who had to be more than just a fling.

The PlanB was a reminder that pulling out was never a good Plan A but that now, I needed to pull out of whatever I was getting myself in to.