Meandering around the backyard, a couple of us noticed a large tree house a couple of houses down, that seemed like it belonged to a house where nobody was home. And what's more exciting than playing (trespassing) into a child's play structure into the night? (The answer is "a lot of things.")
It was up in that tree house moments later when I experienced one of the many "firsts" of being a teenage girl, and quickly slid down the slide afterwards to return to the party, hiding my flushed cheeks in the darkness of the cool night air.
I had gotten my first kiss.Up there. All giggly, teenage, and probably "super dreamy," which translates into awkward and terrible, thinking back now. (Although I still do giggle about it.)
His name was Peter Lapham and all that occurred between us the rest of the night was a quick, muffled exchange over by the fence, "You didn't even move your tongue." "Oh yeah? Well you didn't open your mouth wide enough."
Flash forward to 2013.
Pete and I have been "officially" dating for just over six months now, and unofficially, you know that awkward phase where there's tension, unresolved feelings and extreme amounts of non and miscommunication? Yeah, that started happening when Steve brought us back together about a year ago now...
With all that had happened in my personal life leading up to last summer, I was in no hurry to make all of the same mistakes again. I was scared, nervous, clouded and having way too much fun not having to answer to anyone but myself. But there was something about Pete and I. It wasn't a secret to anyone who was around us, although most of the unanswered questions between us relayed to publics as aggression, tumult or annoyance. (Think about how school-aged children who like each other act... IE: pulling hair, being snarky and making-fun.) It was exhausting for both of us, all of our friends, and even some family members. It was humorous to the point of exhaustion and exhausting to the point of humor.
Then, last September Peter asked me on a date. Super romantic-like. I do believe him and Steve were on Blue tooth together and it went something like, "Steve and I were just talking about how "cool" you are. Go on a date with me." In which case, after my laughter I said "no," because I simply knew it wasn't time, and most importantly, he wasn't ready. He didn't stop. He had convinced me it was a great idea and would pick me up the following Tuesday after work and we would go out to eat.
Tuesday came, and despite us texting all day everyday, I hadn't heard a thing from him. A couple responds to inquiries from Steve on a 3-way group thread, but that was it. I tried to call as I curled my hair for the date I had all of the sudden become nervous for, and it went to voicemail. I knew he wasn't coming. I just knew in my gut, he was backing out, and in true Amanda Barry-fashion I did everything in my power to pretend it didn't bother me. Once he eventually texted me back about 45 mins before he was supposed to be at my door, he gave me some bullshit excuse about working late, and a casual "sorry." Fortunately for myself, I had done extreme amounts of rebuilding my character and worth post-broken engagement and I didn't really have a threshold for idiocy, so I wrote it off, put him back in the "friend zone," and went back to pretending it was all OK, but that was just the beginning...
Peter and I struggled with communication for the next five months. Things were up and down with us. He brought three dozen long-stem "I'm sorry" roses to me that Saturday and through weepy eyes, hours later, I choked out a "thank you." He took such good care of me and my friends, my sister who was also my roommate, and our house that had improved tremendously with a new-found Mr. Fix it always stopping by throughout the week. The only thing he wasn't 225% careful with was my heart, but how was he supposed to know?
(Now THIS is the part of the story Peter would interject at, if he were here. This is the part where he would exclaim to everyone that he TRIED dating me at 16. That I chose another guy over him, and he never recovered. ;) This is the part where he would bitterly recall detail of me being "too popular," or "too cool," for him in high school. And also the point where he would forget that he never had the guts to tell me he liked me, but I found out after I was already in another relationship, from a mutual girl friend of ours.)
Also- our college years were fun. Whenever we saw each other we made-out lavishly without a care in the world, then turned, awkwardly, mirroring our first kiss, and never saying much more than that to each other. I digress...
So last fall pressed on and it was the trifecta doing everything together; Peter, Steve and myself. Weekends were hysterical, entertaining and fulfilling. They came to my weekly softball games and cheered us on, getting to know my new friends, we went boating and we even did a little travelling together. My brother was never far away, casually hanging out from time to time, and did warn me at one point that judging by how much Pete was a "ladies man," I shouldn't get my heart caught up in it. Too Late.
We went through the winter, a couple of more arguments, juggling of feelings and a superfluous amount of "intoxicated conversations," and then it finally blew up. Peter was dating another very sweet girl at the time, and when I finally got to meet her, we instantly connected and started to share funny Peter stories, although things about both sets of details weren't adding up... When approached, he got mad, angry, and rightfully-so, that words and stories that were coming from me were starting to unravel their relationship, not to mention in a public setting.
That was it. I knew it was coming to an end, and I finally had the courage to stand up for myself and tell him he was a jerk. He was a jerk because he would get mad and irritated if I went on dates with other men. He was a jerk because he had a hidden life that I wasn't allowed into. He was a jerk because he regarded me as someone who wasn't as special as he made me feel when it was just the two of us. And mainly, he was a jerk because I knew he loved me, and he was too big of a coward to tell me. And I loved him, so much.
He yelled. I yelled. He acted tough, like it didn't matter, I did the same. I spent a very lonely Christmas, secretly devastated that it was over, and once and for all, and then I cried. I cried because for a moment in time I knew exactly what was between us, even if everyone else thought I was crazy, and we were both so stubborn, hard-headed and independent to let those last few walls down and work our way through the chaos. I thought I deserved it, the heartache. I thought, based on my year before that I was a young woman that already got to experience all of the ups and downs of a serious relationship, a courtship, an engagement and a failed wedding. I convinced myself I wasn't going to find happiness like that again. And then something happened...
I was all talk, you know. Peter and I began to communicate regularly again after the week of my birthday. (Two weeks after Christmas.) I forgave him, he forgave me, and we basically never talked about it. My parents continued to ask what was with the guy who was doing everything for me, always around, and always being so sweet, and what was the story. I didn't even know. My sister watched the shimmer in my eyes day after day, and started to get annoyed that nothing was happening, and Pete and I both continued to act like nothing was going on.
It was a very snowy night in January. Peter insisted he was to come over after work and snow-blow the driveway because I didn't need to be doing that. It was a Friday, and in true-fashion, the trifecta would probably be setting up shop at mine or Steve's house, having some cocktails, playing some cards, and inevitably laughing until our stomachs hurt about ridiculous scenarios. This Friday was different. Steve was out of town, helping out with a Ski Team gig. My sister came home from work to us drinking and playing cards with some neighbor guys who had come over, which was perfect for me because I was so tired, I wanted her to tag in, so I could go to bed. Within a half hour of me retreating to my room, Pete came knocking and said we needed to talk. Apparently my sister (God love her) decided to take their opportune "smoke break" outside together to tell Pete what a moron he was, and couldn't he see how I felt, and didn't he understand that it couldn't be this (not so) glorious limbo forever?
He was quiet, unassuming and sweet. He was patient while I made him "use his words," and explain all that he was trying to convey. It was so natural to him, and such a shock to me. I was awe-struck, I still am. We had so much to rifle through, and decided to make the honest decision to try it together. I was scared to be happy and tell people, because it had been the "Boy Who Cried Wolf" for so long.
And then it just got to a point where my smile said it all. I could not, not tell people. It was like a new beginning, a fresh start, and a complete beginning to my long-awaited fairytale. (Gag.) He's perfect for me, and we "get each other." Life has been so wonderful from then on, and it only continues to get better. Sure we argue, we bicker and considering we're in a temporary long-distance relationship, there's plenty of pros and cons that come along with that. But I wouldn't change a thing for the world. My cute, little, imperfect 8th grade kiss is now the man of my dreams, and continues to make me feel so blessed each and every day, near or far. We've had a million different events and adventures already thus far (I will promise to start cataloging them,) and we have so many more even in the near future. We needed each other, we found each other, and we continue to work to make each other better people.
And I promise you, no matter how "low" your breaking point is, you always deserve to find this kind of happiness, because believe me when I say it, "Timing is everything." Xo
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