Parenting Without A License

I Can Hear The Universe Laughing

Posted by Kimberly on October 21st, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry

I’m not drunk blogging tonight, but I’m not exactly sober, either. Even though I’ve had a few glasses of girlie vodka drinks tonight, I’m actually not much of a drinker. It’s really not an indulgence you can afford when you’re a single parent; all it takes is one episode of parenting through a hangover to convince you that there are much better ways to unwind. Sometimes, however, exceptions need to be made. Like when you sit down with your Ex for the first time in ten years and talk about how you got there.

So, yeah. After exchanging a few virtual drinks on Facebook, The Man I Didn’t Marry and I figured that maybe a few real ones were in order. So tonight, for the first time since the night I refused to take back his ring, he and I went out. Together.

You’d think that it’d be easier, figuring out all of the hidden currents and unspoken codes with someone you know, but really? Not so much. Somehow, in the face of this new challenge, all that handwringing over Facebook Guy seems kind of minor. Not that I won’t continue doing it, mind you. I’m just saying that figuring out what to wear to go out to drinks with the guy you left at the altar is a whole new level up from figuring out what to wear for an evening out with a guy you think maybe you might like to date, but aren’t sure you actually are.

How dressy is too dressy? Would jeans and a tee shirt be too casual? Would it send the wrong message to wear the great ass jeans? What is the message here, anyway? It’s kind of hard to dress the part if you can’t quite figure out what part it is you’re playing. Look too good, and he’ll think you think this evening is more than it is; don’t bother putting any effort in and he’ll think that it just wasn’t worth the effort. Maybe I should just stay home in my jammies. That would solve the whole problem nicely.

(For the record, I wore the jeans. And the boots with the 2 inch heel. Because I’m vain. But cute. It’s all about the priorities.)

He came bearing gifts–Not flowers, which are so not me–a beautifully bound copy of The Scarlett Letter he’d found today while inventorying an estate. I nearly laughed when I saw the title, but that would have been cruel, particularly when I was genuinely touched by the gesture. You see, he didn’t choose it as some jab at my parental status. In fact, I don’t think he even realized that that meaning could be inferred by his choice. He gave it to me because I made him sit through the terrible Demi Moore movie the year I studied American Lit, and finding it in one of the boxes reminded him of me.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but once we were in the car, we were at a loss as to what to do next. Like two newly legal kids out on the town for the first time, we had no real clue where to go to sit and have a few drinks. Unlike those hypothetical kids, we weren’t looking for a hot spot or a great party, just a quiet booth where we could sit and share a few old memories. And alcohol. Because this trip down memory lane was going to require some liquid courage on both of our parts.

We found a place–an old haunt from the days when I was defined by “and” not “mommy,” and beleve me, I could feel the irony swirling and the universe chuckling as we walked in–and finally sat down to Talk About It. We came up for air over 4 hours later, a little older, a little wiser, and a little more at peace with ourselves and our lives I think.

It wasn’t easy. At times it was downright awkward, balancing that odd combination of distance and closeness that marks our relationship now. There’s a formality between us, born not of hurt feelings, but the desire not to hurt. The care and respect we have for each other is its own barrier as we try to explain and understand what happened, and to keep from hurting each other more than we already have in doing so. And it was very weird in some ways, talking about these lives that are so similar–each of use with two children, both sets of similar ages–and so close to what WE had planned together. And yet, so remote from each other, and not at all the same.

I know, I know, you want me to stop rambling. Get to the good stuff. Dish the dirt. So, was there still chemistry? Yeah, I think so. I may not be able to make heads or tails out of Facebook Guy, but this man? I know this man. He’s certainly changed and grown in the past decade, but at his core? He’s still the same man. And being held in his arms? I still fit there, and it still feels like a safe place to be.