The confession

"We should take a road trip", Heidi said.

We were sharing a lazy Sunday afternoon at her cottage. I made a late breakfast – smoked salmon hash with poached eggs and mimosas - and we were lingering over the Sunday paper and a large pot of French roast. I had just bought the new Lexus, and a road trip sounded like a great idea.

I had settled into a completely platonic, asexual relationship with her. I don’t really get it, but it seemed to work. I never have more than one drink with her. I never stay over at her house. I copped a feel of her butt on our first date, but was rebuffed. I’ve not tried a thing since – nor has she. I’m still hurting from my split with Lynn – so I decided that we should not advance our relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to Heidi, whom I have grown to like a great deal.

So when she suggested a road trip I assumed that she meant a day trip.

“Sure I replied. Next Sunday?”

“How about the whole weekend?” She put her hand on my thigh.

Oh, Shit. You don’t need to be Dr. Phil to figure this one out.

I looked at her sideways.

“You don’t want to take a trip with me, do you?”

“Well…” Frickin’ oatmeal brains, I couldn’t think of what to say.

“Aw, Damn it! My mom was right!” she practically yelled at me.

“Your mom? What did your mom say?”

“She told me that I had no chance at keeping a guy like you.” She was up and pacing on the other side of the room.

“What do you mean ‘a guy like me’?”

“Look at you. You’re smart, you’re tall, you’re good looking, you’re successful, you’re confident. You could have any girl you want.” (I have no idea who she's talking about, OK, I'm tall-ish - that's it.)

Well, not any girl I want. Actually, I never had much luck with the ladies. I’ve been turned down, a lot.

It was unbelievable to me that a mother would say something like that to her own daughter. Man, that’s fucking child abuse. I never liked her mom. Now I really don’t like her. “I’m not that much of a catch, but why couldn’t you keep me?” I was genuinely confused.

“Because I’m FAT!” she yelled at me.

In that instant I became so sorry for her. What a life she must have had to get to this point. Her mother must have pounded insecurities and self-doubt into her since she was a child. How do you overcome that?

OK, she’s got clothes that are size 14 (I peeked). And, yeah, she probably outweighs me – but I’m heroin addict thin. She’s not obese. She’s got curves. I’ve never seen her naked (or in a swim suit) – but of what I’ve seen she looks good to me. And I’m not just saying that. She has a very pretty face. And – full disclosure – she has the biggest breasts of any girl I’ve ever dated. And, yes, I fantasize about those.

But what do I say at this point? If I tell her she’s not fat she’ll just think I’m lying. If I agree that she is fat, well, I can’t do that. She’s not, even though no one’s going to mistake her for an anorexic.

I look her in the eye and say “You are a wonderful woman, and any man would be lucky to hang on to you. And I’m sorry that your mom thinks that I’m so shallow that I need a size 0 super model. I find you very attractive, and some of that’s physical.”

“So” she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms, “tell me why you don’t want to spend the weekend with me?” She was almost daring me.

“I would really like to spend the weekend with you. But…” at that point she rolled her eyes and dropped her hands.

“But!” she interrupted me.

I took a deep breath. I needed to come clean with her. “But there are some things that you don’t know about me. I have a couple of confessions. And if you still think I’m worthy of hanging on to you after you hear what I have to say – then I’d be honored to spend the weekend with you.” I was pretty sure she’d run screaming from the building when I told all.

“What? You’re an ax murderer?”

“Oh, I usually don’t use an ax, too messy.” I quipped, trying to diffuse the tension. The joke fell flat. “Sorry, can we go somewhere?” I wanted to get on neutral ground. I didn’t care if she yelled at me. God knows I deserve it. I just didn’t want her parents overhearing the yelling.

“Sure” but she shook her head as if to say no.

We drove my truck over to Half Moon Bay brewery. I had the kayak strapped in the back. I was planning on going paddling in the late afternoon. On the way over I started the story – yeah, the whole story of Sarah and Lynn and everything.

I won’t bore you with it. (new readers… uh, read the whole blog in chronological order – start in December) She did make a few connections. “That girl who left the message on your answering machine… she was Sarah. You were engaged to her?”

“Guilty” I responded.

We sat down at an outside table at the brewery, one with a view of the ocean. One of the waitresses came up and said “Hi Rich, your usual?”

Heidi, tilted her head at the waitress “is she part of your confession?”

“Naw, this is my usual hangout”

“Really, we’ve never been here. I guess you’re right, there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

After 2 IPAs and a couple of hours I was done. I told her everything. I expected to have a pint of cold lager to be poured over my head, she would walk out and that would be that.

She looked off toward the ocean. She sighed. “I want to be in love.”

“Yeah, me too.” I replied.

She looked at me with a bit of a sneer. “You are in love. I’m not sure why – but you are.”

“So where does this leave us?” I asked.

“I’m the rebound girl”

“I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry.”

“You know, after the 4^th date when you didn’t make a move – I thought something was wrong. After the 12^th date I figured you were either gay or found me offensive.” She paused. “I’ve seen how you look at pretty waitresses – you’re not gay. The night we went to see that play I wanted to jump your bones so bad.” (That expression sounded so weird coming from her).

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

“Why didn’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. I guess I was supposed to know the answer. I didn’t – and I still don’t (if you know, send me an e-mail).

She finished her beer and we chatted a bit more. “So,” she learned forward “how about that road trip?”

Cue sound of scratching record. What??

“You still want to be with me?” Seriously, I was stunned.

“Rich, you’re a good guy. It won’t be happily ever after – I know that. But neither were my last 25 relationships. You’re tall, good looking, successful, confident, you drive a nice car. And you live well. Hell, my parents even like you." She looked up and smiled. "I can show you off to my friends, and you can cook for me.” (I recall Maurizio once pointing out how I would make a good house pet) “I’ve done worse things in my life.”

She proceeded to tell me about how she lost her husband (she’s divorced). They went on a cruise down to Mexico for their honeymoon. Turns out her husband cheated on her during the cruise. How did they ever spend enough time apart for him to hook up with another woman – stuck on a boat on their honeymoon. I mean, I’d never leave the cabin. I can’t imagine that.

OK, at least I don’t suck as bad as her ex-husband.