We Need to Talk

Like the wind that shakes the bough
He moves me with a smile
The difficult I’ll do right now
The impossible will take a little while

–Billie Holliday
Crazy He Calls Me

“We need to talk” may be the scariest phrase in the English language. He didn’t say that exactly. I read his text so many times I think I could recite it verbatim now. What he texted meant more or less the same thing, though. I mean, I was thinking we needed to talk too. I’d made important decisions. I had discarded what little armor I had left somewhere over the Atlantic and had come home all in. His text didn’t sound like the same kind of “we need to talk” as the one I was bringing.

Is he cheating on me? My mind always goes there first with that man. At that point, we had been together nearly five years and the answer was always no. Even before we were officially monogamous, the answer was always no. I have never been so insecure in any other relationship. Before we were even a thing, he told me he would never cheat. I don’t know, though, something in the way he ran hot and cold always kept me guessing.

Is he cheating on me? I decided that the answer was no because every other time I have asked myself this question, the answer has been no. I’d promised myself that I would stop catastrophizing. How much energy had I wasted worrying about the end? I only want to put my energy into planning for a future I actually want. 

My love may be unconditional, but our relationship wasn’t. I wanted him to reassure me that he wasn’t cheating on me. He never reassures me when I write my fears to him. He never says that I’m being ridiculous or that I have nothing to worry about. In the moment, I hate that because I want to hear him say we’re good. When I calm down, I’m glad that he doesn’t engage me when I’m like that. I need him to stay calm the way he does. I reminded myself again, he’d never cheat. 

What if something is wrong with his health? Last time it was all stress related. I had googled everything he told me and tried to take care of him as well as I could in a long-distance relationship without slipping past girlfriend to mother. I would do that again, even if it was something more serious. Especially if it was something more serious. 

As I’ve said before, people don’t just find the love of their life. It’s something that requires building together. It happens in relationships where people do the work of making it work. We can accomplish anything when we are on the same team. No matter what, we could get through whatever it was together. Unless he didn’t want to get through it together…

Did he cheat on me, though? Even if he did, we weren’t officially a thing, I mean we were supposed to be exclusive, but I was thousands of miles away, and well, anyway, I could forgive that. As long as he’s honest with me, what happened while I was away doesn’t matter. I wasn’t about to throw away our future happiness, or the years we’ve spent building up to this point over one mistake. No, whatever it was, we could get through anything together. 

By the time the Work Bestie arrived, my mind had been running in circles for almost twenty-four hours. It was August in the Mojave Desert. I was overheated, under slept, and exhausted. He seemed healthy. He seemed happy to see me. Everything seemed fine, good, in fact. 

I tried to do my job, to act normal. I just wanted to know what was going on. The sooner he told me what was going on, the sooner we could fix it. He doesn’t respond well to being pushed. I can relate to his stubborn nature, but it’s still a pain in the neck. He’s a great communicator if you need something technical explained. He’s a terrible communicator if you need to know what’s going on with him, what he’s feeling. My best strategy has always been patience. 

He talks best when we are busy with other work, walking around the work site, pruning trees, plastering, etc. Being cuddled up, his back against me, not having to look me in the eye, works too. He sat in a chair, and I stood behind him, rubbed his neck, and tried to push the tension out of his shoulders and chest. The back of his head rested against me. 

He said he missed “them,” and I didn’t know what he meant. He moved the back of his head against me, saying he missed what his head was against. My boobs? Seriously? I’m gone for two months, he barely had time to text, let alone talk on the phone, for most of that time. And when I got back… He missed my tits?! What the actual… 

I had no idea what was going on. ‘Cause if we’re cool, he doesn’t have to miss any part of me. I was always eager to share my body with him, but there is no a la carte menu. It’s a package deal. You want my body? Take care of my heart. I didn’t know what he wanted at this point. Showing remarkable restraint, I didn’t pull out his hair or mine, though the urge was there. 

I told him I didn’t know how to respond to that, that my feelings for him hadn’t changed. Really, they hadn’t. I was every bit as much in love with him as I had been two months earlier in my apartment. All that had changed was my willingness to go all in as soon as possible. I was less cautious, less guarded. I was ready to take the leap of faith, but he was being so weird. Even for him. Ever since that text, I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore. He sat up straight and stopped pressing against me. Suddenly, neither one of us felt relaxed enough for a heavy conversation. 

So went our first day together, which I had been looking dearly forward to until all of a sudden I wasn’t. I followed him around, devoted as a puppy, waiting for some perfect opportunity to find out what we were facing. He insisted on being social when I really did not want to hang out with the group. I waited hours after I’d wanted to go to bed, hoping to have a real conversation about what was happening. 

When we finally excused ourselves for the night, he went to a spare bedroom alone, not to our usual room. His goodnight was so cold, so final, as if I was a student only there for the weekend, not the woman he’d been romantically involved with for nearly five years. “Are you cheating on me?” was replaced by a new fear, “Are you breaking up with me?” 

Nine times out of ten, I’m in my feelings

But ten times out of nine, I’m only human

Tell me, what did I do wrong?

Feel like that question has been posed

I’m movin’ on

I’ll always be committed, I been focused

I always paid attention, been devoted

Tell me, what did I do wrong?

Oh, already asked that, my bad

Beyonce
Love Drought