I don’t really remember when I met Hank, because our communication went in waves. Daily emails and phone chats for a couple of months would turn into a phone call every now and then. I was fine with it, because I am usually terminally busy and the relaxed nature of our long-distance relationship was just fine with me.
Then one time we went on a date. Then we went to church, and people asked us if we were the “new family” in town. And I met his family. And his mother told me, in front of him, how much she adored me. And his dad gave me a hug when I left.
And then I didn’t hear from Hank for four months. FOUR MONTHS.
One snowy December day, while I was at a wedding reception, Hank called and left a voice mail:
“Hey, I’m driving through Omaha tomorrow. We should go out. Call me.”
I called him, spoke to him in clipped, terse tones, and we arranged a quick lunch date, mostly because I wanted to know why I hadn’t heard from him in four months.
We ordered lunch, exchanged pleasantries, and not once did he offer any explanation. I could feel we were wrapping up, and I didn’t want to let him off the hook, so I blurted out:
“Is there a reason you didn’t talk to me for four months?”
He looked at me, blinked, then said, “I realized I don’t do long-distance well.”
“You couldn’t have sent me even one email explaining that?”
“No. Why? Did you take it personally?”
“How else should I have taken it?”
He had no response for that question, but offered this gem:
“I like being with you when I can, but I can’t be exclusive with you. So, can I still call you?”
“No. No you may not still call me. I am not your back-up plan for whenever you feel like it.”
At this point, he took out his cell phone and said, “So do you want me to delete your number out of my cell phone?” He flipped the phone open and started scrolling through numbers.
“Yes. Yes, please delete my number, you jackass.”
“Okay.” He pushed a button or two. “Done.”
I didn’t want to be the one watching him walk away, so I rolled my eyes at him, got up and walked out of the restaurant. I never heard from him again.
And that is my worst date ever, because no matter how bad a date has been for me, not once has the boy wanted to delete my number from his cell phone…IN FRONT OF MY FACE.
To end on a high note, tomorrow I will post my best date ever…right before I leave for Boston!
All names in this series have been changed to protect the guilty.