Sunday, September 8th, 2013 (Part 1)

Another weekend went by without us talking, without us exchanging our stuff and officially ending “us.”

I know we’re broken up and that fact isn’t changing. Despite my fantasies to the contrary, after three weeks of silence I’ve gotten the hint. But I still feel like I’m attached to you. You’ve still got me on this tether. You’ve let out the rope and I’ve drifted yards and yards behind, the gap between us growing with each passing day so that all I can see of you now is a little speck on the horizon, but until we cut that rope things aren’t over between us; I can’t move on.

Maybe next weekend we’ll end things. I know this weekend is a bust. Your mom’s in town.

She came to walk in the Susan Komen Race for the Cure and to visit you, her oldest child. She’s a survivor. I can’t imagine how strong that’s made her, and you. How strong you’d have to be in the first place to get through that battle. I didn’t know you when she was going through treatment. It must have been so difficult. I hope you had someone in your life who was there for you then, like I’d want you there for me if my mom got sick.

But your mom fought it and came through. This is her second or third year walking in the New York race. Last year when she came was the first (and now I guess the only) time that I met her. I don’t think I made a very good first impression, though.

I’ve never had difficulty meeting a boyfriend’s parents. I met my first boyfriend’s mom and dad when I stayed a week at his house in New Jersey. It was the middle of the summer. His parents were nice. They really didn’t take to me, though. I think they thought I had corrupted their son or something. Which was funny considering he’d been out of the closet and dating way before me. If anything, he had corrupted me. I had to sleep in the guest bedroom, which was a drag. But after his parents left for work each morning, he’d sneak me into his room. His mom totally knew, though. And didn’t say anything. So maybe I made a better impression than I thought.

I met my second boyfriend’s mom and step-dad when I went to their house in Seattle for Thanksgiving. Talk about a beautiful place. They lived way up on this hill that overlooked the city and the lake. And his mom made three kinds of pie for just the four of us! (You know how much I like pie. Clearly, she won me over.) We played family games which I loved even though my second boyfriend couldn’t have been more bored. His mom packed us the most delicious turkey, stuffing and cranberry sandwiches for the flight back. I think they liked me. I met them again at his college graduation where I also met his grandparents…as his boyfriend. They didn’t care at all, which amazed me.

I was running a good streak. So I wasn’t nervous at all to meet your mother for the first time. You’re super close with her, much closer than I am with my parents. You two text every day and you had talked to her on the phone several times when I’d been over. Naturally, I thought she would be excited to meet me. Or at least, excited to meet the guy who was making her son happy.

Then, a week before her visit, you dropped a bomb – you hadn’t told your mom about me. We’d been dating for seven months at that point and she didn’t know I existed. She knew you were gay, but she didn’t know you had a boyfriend. You talked to her every day. You told her about every part of your life – your best friends, your job, new clothes you bought…except for this one thing. The little thing that was me.

My confidence in meeting parents died that afternoon. Was there something embarrassing, irredeemable about me that you couldn’t stand for your mother to know? Would she hate me from the outset, on principle? Had she met any of your previous boyfriends? At seven months, I became your longest relationship. I figured I was the first she’d be meeting.

So yes, I felt taken aback by your omission. When you told your mom about concerts and dinners and shows you’d gone to with me, who did she think I was? Another platonic friend like Tyler or Aaron? Or was I a phantom presence?

And don’t think I’m one of those crazy boyfriends who tell their moms everything the second it happens. I’ve casually dated guys who do that. And it’s off-putting. Telling their moms makes things seem so much more official and serious. I get that after a couple of months, a handful of dates, things are still up in the air. I don’t think I told my mom I was seeing you until we’d been dating for a eight or nine weeks, long enough for me to know that I had started something serious.

But seven months? Seven months without telling your mother who is also one of your best friends? It really hurt me. And made me anxious to meet her.


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