There wasn’t a final conversation of any significance. She always supposed there should have been– something she could point to and decode and understand. Even if this made sense to her, she was ultimately glad there wasn’t anything semi-cryptic or implicitly symbolic; any words she could pick over on sleepless nights, alone or with a different man next to her. She was glad their last day was like any other: he came home from work and was happy to see her; he greeted her with a smile and a hug; they made dinner together, occasionally laughing at different parts of their tiny arsenal of inside jokes built over six years. Pleasant conversation as they ate, recapping their respective work days. Couch and TV time after, chipping away at an old season of Survivor; progress forever frozen midway through the queue.
There wasn’t anything worth picking over, but she thought about their last day a lot– even if it were just like all the other days.
Doreen had a date that night– a nice man who took her to a seafood restaurant. After a scan of the menu, she found the average price of entrees skewed toward what she would consider fancy. This provided her a particular comfort: she felt confident he respected her. When the waiter approached, her date ordered a bottle of wine to celebrate their meeting. His name was Jonathan. He worked in an office doing something that she either couldn’t follow or tuned out entirely. He loved his job, he said eagerly with a hint of ambition. He outlined his five year career plan. He spoke of a high yield savings account and 403b. He talked about how badly he wanted to be a father; to have a family. She decided before her lobster ravioli came that she wouldn’t see him again.
She would try to leverage the details of these dates with Aaron. She’d tell him that she couldn’t always see him– that she wasn’t always available. These are girlfriend privileges, she’d explain. She had a life outside of him; outside of his rented suburban house, two blocks from the middle school soccer field they’d spend summer evenings wandering late into nights so empty they’d feel righteous in calling them their own– allowing space for prolonged silence, enjoying the stillness these moments offered as interludes between long unguarded conversations, where it felt as though they left themselves back at the house and allowed their spirits to roam the Earth. These summer nights were burned into her memory, these things she thought had gone away for good.
She assumed new men would come and go, as if she ran a Holiday Inn for transient business men living on modest budgets. Some would be attractive and some would be interesting; some would fuck her with the confidence and physical acuity of a thoroughbred. Some would treat her like the protagonist of a Hallmark movie, and even if they weren’t co-star material, it was a fantasy she allowed herself to get lost in, at least temporarily… but Aaron was different.
Aaron never had the kind of dating app conversations Doreen had grown so accustomed to that she imagined the earning potential a startup offering artificial intelligence to handle the formalities might have. They would ask about her career and her interests; what she does for fun and what celebrity people tell her she looks like. What her best physical feature is (often they’d specify below the neck, which Doreen took as an opportunity to mention her bubble butt) and her bra size– a question asked with such frequency that she began to understand it as the online dating equivalent of a handshake.
All would ask for more pictures and many would brazenly request nudes. For the few who sparked attraction, who got her phone number and kept her interest– who said the right words to Doreen in the right order– she had several tasteful nudes: one showing her breasts, modest in size but with a perk she assumed was rare for a woman nearing her mid-thirties and another of the bubble butt. One was a full body, bra-and-panties picture only sent to men whom she assumed would see her naked: she feared unrealistic expectations and disappointment. She often received unsolicited dick pictures, despite her explicitly stated boundaries, and the ones who impressed her got additional attention.
Dating apps made her feel like the belle of the ball– a bored princess casually waving her hand and selecting her next suitor; the next contestant on a never ending game show, the more desperate of the men acting like Rod Roddy called their name and told them to come on down– swiping right like she were circling what she wanted for Christmas out of a Sears Wishbook. Doreen knew she had her part in this as well; nothing is free even if pretending can be fun. She learned to keep men interested– to keep them coming back; to keep men caught in her web, where she could farm whatever good feelings came as a result of all the grinding. She learned the hidden language of messaging frequency– to never respond too quickly. A quick response told her a lot about a man: his lack of options; his desperation; the likelihood of his involuntary celibacy. Doreen learned to pick up on these details instinctively, snapping into action reflexively.
Of course, there were the men whom none of these rules applied– as if her rules existed only as a great filter, weeding out men too afraid to break them while pinpointing their genetic superiors. Where Doreen would be the one messaging too quickly– too eagerly; trying too hard to impress. Sending out pictures with urgency. Taking new pictures if her canned nudes were considered too tasteful or if a specific request were made. Feigning reluctance at his suggestion to just hang out after he shot down the possibility of a dinner date and didn’t offer to take her for drinks. Wearing the thong he picked out under her yoga pants. Her demand for condom use reduced to a suggestion before dying a natural death. Cinderella men whom Doreen knew would disappear after one magical night, and she eventually learned not to care.
Aaron was unlike these men– he defied categorization. He spoke with a confident inflection that lent his words credibility and he listened to her with genuine interest. He struck a balance between teasing her for her petty girlishness while asking thought provoking questions that made Doreen take pause; soul searching questions that would sometimes leave her speechless. He displayed a rare vulnerability when talking about himself that she didn’t find repulsive; conversely, these moments made her want him more. The night they met at his rented suburban house, he wanted to know the most important thing she’s learned that year, and she took time and care when providing her answer. She wanted to be honest, and she wanted to impress him.
After her date she found herself with Aaron– Aaron who defied categorization. Aaron, who provided Doreen the appearance of a relationship and the trappings of commitment– the late night phone calls fading into good morning texts, the inside jokes, the couch and TV time in his rented suburban house, where Doreen could lie across his chest and close her eyes and feel safe, as if the house were a castle and she were hiding from a storm. Sex so intense it felt like she was allowing herself to be broken into pieces; allowing herself to dissolve into him. Moments of stillness, looking into his eyes and feeling things she hadn’t felt in a long time– things she maybe never felt before, if she were willing to be honest.
The appearance of a relationship like Doreen was playing house in an Ikea showroom– plastic TV sets and blank books. Walls so thin she could punch a hole in them if she ever wanted to take herself out of the fantasy– a failsafe she kept running in the background: always humming and always there, in the back of her mind; something she couldn’t forget.
She would try to leverage the details of these dates with Aaron. She wanted him to know that if he didn’t pull the trigger and lock her down; make things official so she could tell her mother she had a boyfriend… If he didn’t clean up nicely in a handsome button down for her family’s Easter; if he didn’t meet her friends and spend time talking with the boys at the Superbowl party while she gabbed with the girls. If he didn’t indulge her desperate whimsy of fantasy wedding planning– fantasy family planning– she wanted him to know that she’d find someone else who would.
A threat he never took seriously.
***
She thought about their last night and wished she could take every bit of it and stretch it out into infinity and live inside it. She thought about how none of it mattered enough for the pro side of his T-chart to declare a hard fought victory. She thought about what she could have done differently. She knew there were problems: he was struggling at work; his father died. She knew his drinking was getting excessive. They would fight but he was never abusive; she was never what could be considered a bitch. Their relationship, she thought, was normal, and even if her friends told her to never blame herself– advice confirmed by every self-help book she read and every therapist she visited– she couldn’t help but wonder why she wasn’t enough.
Doreen wouldn’t stop wearing her engagement ring for the next year. The day she left it in the jewelry box on her dresser felt like the first day all over again. She threw up at work that afternoon. In her weaker moments, her thoughts ruminated on wanting to be with him– entangled in a dreamscape for good. Their last night together, emblematic of all their nights together, stretched out into infinity.
And when Aaron asked about the most important thing she’s learned, Doreen took time and care when providing her answer.
She said plainly, “that I didn’t die with him.”
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