I almost choke. “Because that’smercenary? Besides, mixing relationships and money is messy.” I know that from personal experience. “Trying to make things work with another person is hard enough without muddying everything up with money.”
“Did something happen between you and Owen?” Georgia asks, as perceptive as usual.
“Well…”
“What’s wrong? I thought you were getting along great. I mean, he said he loved you…”
“I know.” We started living together three months ago because he not only told me he loved me, he said he wanted to come home to me. It wassoooromantic—and a great dating milestone. It sounded like he was looking to more. Maybe even marriage.
Just the image of us in love, growing old together, made me smile with happiness.
I just didn’t expect his “I love you” to be the peak of our relationship. But reality set in eventually. Georgia warned me that living with someone isn’t easy—she’s had three live-in boyfriends—but I didn’t anticipate it to be this challenging.
“He won’t leave me alone.”
“So he’s…what? Too frisky?” Georgia says. “It’s better than what you had with Shawn.”
My ex told me I had a negative effect on his libido when he had trouble rising to the occasion. He said my ridiculous expectations about men and relationships made things hard—although “things” clearly didn’t include his penis. He claimed it wasn’t fair that I wanted him to be like my book boyfriends when he never expected me to be like the women in his favorite porn. Then he looked at my waistline meaningfully.
That was the last time he got to look at me.
“Not really.” I still can’t decide exactly what to do about my relationship with Owen. I feel like it should be salvageable somehow, but I don’t know how. And there’s an uncomfortable knot in my belly about our relationship that continues to grow bigger as time goes by. Whenever Owen says, “Love you, babe,” it shrinks a little, but then it goes back to expanding.
“Things are more complicated with Owen than Shawn,” I say finally.
Georgia’s eyes are glowing murderously. She knows about Shawn’s shitty comments toward the end that made me break up with him. “What did Owen do?”
“It isn’t, like,one thing. More a combination of stuff. Sometimes I want to talk to him about if we’re on the same page about what we want—and where we see our relationship going. I think I got a little overcome when he told me he loved me, and moved in with him too quickly.” None of my previous boyfriends had ever said the words, and they were justwonderfulto hear, especially a day after my dad told me nobody would ever love me the way I was. I even cried a little.
“Have you tried talking to him?” Georgia says.
“Sure. Lots of times. But whenever I do, he says he has a deadline for paying publications. And he’s like, ‘You understand I have to do this right now, don’t you, babe?’ What else can I do, except nod considerately and go away?”
“How about after he’s done?”
“I’ve tried, but… He just wants to close his eyes and drink his beer. He says nothing else really matters because he loves me and that’s what’s important.” As sweet as it was to hear those words, my vague sense of perplexity didn’t really go away. But I shut up because it seemed wrong to argue with a guy telling me he loves me when not even my own father tells me that.
“Maybe you should write down what’s bothering you and make an appointment to talk to him. Dad does that with Nikki sometimes because she’s so busy,” Georgia says.
“Yeah. And your stepmom is easily distracted.” We sit on that for a few moments. “But that isn’t all that’s bothering me. Every time I try to read, he interrupts me. When he knows I’m making posts and reels for my account, he wants to discuss the bills.”
“Thebills?”
“Yeah. He wants to rehash how we should split the utilities, even though we agreed on fifty-fifty before I moved in.”
Red suffuses her cheeks. “Does he think you should pay more?”
“No, worse. He just wants to argue about the split for a few minutes, then agree that fifty-fifty is fair after all. But by then, I’m so emotionally frazzled, I can’t focus on reading or making posts or anything.”
“What a dickhead.”
“When I told him it wasn’t cool for him to interrupt me like that, he said—and I quote—‘It’s not a paying gig, just some silly book stuff. So who cares?’”
She bristles. “Did you kick his ass?”
“I’ve tried to talk to him about his behavior, but he just kisses me and says, ‘Love you, babe.’”
“Oh my God. That’s so passive-aggressive.”
