“I’m coming over.”

That was the text I received at midnight about two weeks ago. I was completely disheveled, on the floor, doing a touch up wax, and not expecting any visitors. Yet, he had never simply told me he was coming over before instead of asking so I was worried that something was wrong.

“Give me 30 minutes,” I responded before hurriedly finishing, jumping in the shower, and trying to look somewhat presentable.

I was finishing laundry when he walked in without knocking.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Are you hungry? We need a pizza. Where can we get a pizza around here? There has to be something open, it’s not that late. What time is it? Oh, it’s not even midnight. Let’s get a pizza. What kind do you like? Where should we call for a pizza? Here, take my phone and order whatever you’d like.”

Glancing at his watch, I see that it’s after 1am. “I don’t know of anywhere that’s open at this time of night, besides I don’t order in. I cook. Do you want me to cook you something?”

He looks in my fridge, “A homeless person has more food than you do. No, we need a pizza. How is it possible that you don’t know where to get one? Kendra, you’re failing me!”

“I’m poor, dude. I don’t pay for anything I don’t have to.”

“Fair enough, I’m paying for the pizza. Hey, my parents are visiting soon. Wait, I don’t know why I just told you that. Are we getting a pizza or what?”

He was talking too quickly, something was wrong. This wasn’t his usual demeanor.

“What are you on?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m completely wasted but I’m not on anything else. You know I’d tell you if I was.”

It’s true, he does always tell me despite knowing that I don’t like it, so I believe him.

After several rounds of calling pizza places that were closed I stumble upon one that was open and get the pizza ordered.

“Okay, they’ll be here in 45 minutes. Are you okay?”

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he blurts out.

I stare at him, wide-eyed, speechless.

I take a step back.

“Huh?” is apparently all I can articulate.

After a moment, I finally say, “I had no idea you actually had any feelings for me, I didn’t even realize you particularly liked me.”

“I think you’re amazing.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that I have something I’m invested in?” I asked. He knows the whole story.

“What, him? No, I’m not worried about him. He’s not a man. If he were a man he’d be having this conversation that I’m having with you now.”

He went on for a minute berating my certain someone. Apparently it really did bother him. His words didn’t affect me, though, because I realized that he was trying to create a contrast between the two of them. I also realized that it took six months and getting wasted for this boy to have this conversation with me. If my certain someone wasn’t a man, than neither was he.

“We can’t talk about this while you’re drunk.”

“We can only talk about this while I’m drunk because I’ll actually be honest.”

“I’m going to go downstairs and wait for the pizza.”

By the time I got back he had passed out right smack in the middle of my bed. I didn’t care, I had already realized that I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight with the flurry of thoughts in my head so he could borrow my bed if he liked.

Though, I would definitely be washing the sheets tomorrow.

So, what’s the dilemma here? He isn’t that certain someone. He’s a friend that I went clubbing and drinking with and then started actually hanging out with just to hang out and talk. He’s someone I never even considered the possibility of having a relationship with.

It’s not the first time this has happened lately. I’ve had four of these instances in the last several months but this was the first time I didn’t immediately say no. Why? I’m not completely sure. I think that it mostly has something to do with the fact that he knows everything there is to know about me and he wants to know more. He comes over or takes me out at least three times a week. He knows the depths of my crazy deeper than anyone else. He’s here.

For reasons I can’t explain because it’s not my information to share, my certain someone can only be here on weekends and sometimes not every weekend. I’ve been questioned by friends and family who don’t really get why I’m turning down guys who are here in Seattle for someone I don’t get to see nearly as much. The only honest answer I can give to that is that I’d prefer complicated with him than convenient with anyone else. It’s true.

Here it was, though, I was being tested and I didn’t know what to do.

I sat on the edge of my bed eating pizza and watching my evening intruder sleep, trying to decide how I might feel about him if my certain someone weren’t in the picture. Maybe I’ve been being stupid to keep on with this for so long. I’m not his girlfriend.

I wondered how much the fact that my evening intruder is wealthy was affecting my indecision and if it might be time to look for something solid. Explaining my “complication” with my certain someone was getting old.

I wondered; do I stick it out with that certain someone in an unsure situation that might not ever become official because just thinking about him gives me that feeling you get in your stomach when you’re suddenly going downhill too fast? Do I take that risk when I have a sure thing right in front of me? Can I continue to handle this whole thing? I mean, if it works out it will have been worth every moment of uncertainty I’ve been through, but what if it never works out?

Then again, should I take the one who’s asking for me because he’s here and he knows me better than anyone else? Is it worth giving it a try even though I don’t feel that much for him? Would I fall for him if I simply decided to move past that certain someone?

I sat up most of the night asking these question before retiring to my couch, realizing that this was not the moment to decide.

In the morning he woke me up to go to bed.

“Man, I don’t remember anything from last night, I was so wasted.”

I stared at him again, “Nothing?”

He looked at my face with some alarm, “Um… did we have sex?”

I laughed. “You don’t remember any of the conversation we had?”

“I think I remember something about a relationship,” he said with a touch of awkwardness.

I repeated back to him most of what he had said. He was silent for a moment before simply saying “well, yeah,” kissing me on the cheek, and leaving as quickly as he could.

I stood for a moment, surprised by the kiss, and then said “fuck it, I’m going back to sleep.”

I woke up in the middle of the night, a day later, feeling the body weight of my certain someone against me and his arms intertwined in mine and I knew that I couldn’t trade this for what I was offered. I also knew that it was time to start communicating about this and what “this” is.

Last week I sat on my floor across from my evening intruder nervously biting at my lip. I was afraid that he would do the same thing the last friend did when I said no. I was afraid of losing his friendship.

With a deep breath I simply asked, “How serious were you about what you said?”

I saw him searching my face before answering, slightly awkwardly, “I mean, I think you’re really awesome and totally cool…”

Looking down I nervously bit at my lip again. He stopped speaking when I looked back up at him. He stared at me silently for a few seconds before saying, “You know, I’m probably not ready to be in a relationship again anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to the other person because I don’t think I’d be totally invested. We should just stay friends.”

I knew that he was saving his pride but it was also taking me off the hook. I smiled and nodded.

“Besides,” he said, “you don’t really like giving blowjobs and that’s kind of a problem for me.”

Apparently I’ve told him too much…


I wrote this about a week ago, so it isn’t still 100% relevant but I wanted to share it anyway. The choice I made still stands.

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