Nerd Girl (6 page)

He pressed his lips into a little smile, then looked down at me and whispered, “Goodbye, Julia.”

“Goodbye, Ryan,” I whispered back. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

He turned around and slowly walked away.

The movie was no longer on pause, but rather moving in slow motion. I felt like I was in a dream. Did this night really happen? After one of the most enjoyable nights I’ve had in my life, an extremely attractive man whom I had this amazing connection with, had just walked me to my car, kissed my forehead, and then said good bye. He didn’t turn around; he didn’t ask for my number; he didn’t say he wanted to see me again.
What the hell?!

To be fair, I didn’t say anything, either. Nor did I call out his name or ask why he just turned around and walked away.

Why didn’t I say something?

I knew exactly why. The wound was still too fresh. I wasn’t ready to put myself out there again. My heart felt like it was being squeezed and a deep sense of sadness overcame me.

Maybe it’s totally true what they say about finding love when you least expect it, because I really didn’t see this one coming. I mean, talk about Ryan coming out of left field—that was an understatement. Not that it mattered; I didn’t even know his last name, so it was doubtful I’d ever see him again.

Maybe life was all about taking or missing opportunities. I liked to believe that you created your own fate. I didn’t believe that it was this magical, unexplained thing that happened to you with no say or matter in the end result. I figured if there was a missed opportunity in life, it’s because I somehow willed that decision—I had only myself to blame.

That didn’t stop me from thinking about Ryan and our surprising dinner together. I replayed the evening over and over in my head. I was perplexed by his behavior at the end of the night; I really thought he was going to kiss me. I
wanted
him to kiss me, but when he left me standing by my car without any mention of wanting to see me again, the reality of it was that I was relieved. My ego was too fragile to consider opening up my heart again for any new possibilities. Frankly, it was better that he walked away. I felt better wondering what could have been rather than risking more rejection and heartbreak. Even so, my mind was in conflict with my emotions. All I could think about was how I might be able to see him again—run into him at work, at Betty’s, maybe accidentally bump into his car …

I couldn’t deny the chemistry that existed between us. I couldn’t recall ever having experienced the same initial connection and intensity level with any of my past boyfriends, but I didn’t have the emotional energy to get excited and disappointed again so soon. When it came to long-term relationships, I had discovered a reoccurring pattern. If I was in love with the guy, eventually he always ended up wanting someone else. History had a way of repeating itself.

Case #1: Matt. During my senior year at the UW, I fell head over heels in love with Matt, a 4.0 Computer Science major. I’d always been attracted to very smart men. He was skinny and gawky and dressed in very loud prints, but he had the most angelic face and was always so eager to make me happy. I thought he was both brilliant and adorable. We couldn’t get enough of each other and the sex was fantastic. It surprised me that he was such a brilliant computer programmer and yet so good in bed. You had to wonder then about Bill Gates and other self-proclaimed geeks. You’d never expect to find those two qualities in the same person.

Matt and I had the most intense relationship for six months. When summer came, he left to San Jose for an internship in the Silicon Valley. We both cried at the airport. Upon visiting him later that summer, he told me that he had met someone else. She was one of several co-interns working in the same department. One night they were giving backrubs and it went further than they planned or some crap. He wanted to satisfy his curiosity and see where it could go. He was sorry and wished me the best. Why he didn’t tell me this before I got on the plane to visit him in San Jose, I had no idea. I learned several years later that they had gotten married; his summer fling became
the one
.

At the time, I was heartbroken over Matt. Though to be honest, I don’t think I loved him in the deep, truest sense. I think I was just overly dramatic because that’s what you do when you’re twenty-two years old. A bitter little seed was planted that summer. I vowed that I would never cheat on someone, ever. I would
never
make someone feel the way that Matt made me feel that summer night.

Case #2: A couple years later, I met Jake. Jake wasn’t what I would call a long-term relationship. I only mention him now because he made me realize what kind of relationship I didn’t want. Jake was a good Christian boy, Engineering major, and a recent MBA graduate from the UW business school. He had just started a promising career at MS. He had dark brown hair, beautiful green eyes, and always furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t obviously good looking, but he had an intensity and soulfulness about him. I thought he was incredibly sexy, brooding, and intelligent. The most memorable thing about him was our amazing physical chemistry—every time I was with him, I thought I would combust into flames.

He was twenty-nine at the time, I was twenty-five. Before meeting me, he had been dating this girl, Melissa, for a couple of years. They had met at the UW MBA program. On paper, they were perfect for each other. They had so much in common; both loved to bike ride, hike, enjoyed the same music and shared the same friends from grad school. After dating all through grad school, she was ready to marry him. Unfortunately for both of them, he didn’t feel any passion for her. She didn’t make his heart race or his skin tingle or his breath hitch. Then he met me.

We met at church, innocently enough. I went to church quite regularly in my early twenties. Admittedly, part of it was an effort to meet men with similar values. I prayed to God to deliver me the perfect man who would support my professional ambitions, give me beautiful children, and of course, marry me. I thought Jake was the answer to my prayers. After all, I met him in the house of God, right? Ironically, Jake and I never actually had sex. We just did everything else you could do, but not “the deed.” I reached a whole new level of appreciation for oral sex and if that was any sign of what was to come, I was all for going all the way with him. Unfortunately, other than the great physical chemistry, we had very little in common.

Poor Jake was torn. Did I mention he was the brooding type? He couldn’t seem to decide whether or not to choose Melissa over me. At the time, I was the much more exciting choice, but a less predictable alternative. Did he marry Melissa and have a relatively content life of good friendship and companionship? After all, weren’t the best marriages based on friendship? Or was he going to wait for that person who made his insides twist and clench, his heart beat so fast that it felt like it would explode out of his chest? Apparently, I was the latter. I started to feel more like his therapist than any sort of potential girlfriend.

In the end, Jake chose the safety of friendship and companionship, but was that so bad? I concluded that it was, over time; maybe not for him, but certainly for me. I wanted more than that. I wanted the butterflies and the passion as much as I wanted the loving friendship and companionship. Shoot me, I wanted it all.

Case #3: Andrew, with his classic American frat boy good looks. I met him at the UW business school and we hung out with many of the same friends. He had blue eyes, dimples, blond hair, and an athlete’s build. He grew up in Missoula, Montana, and was loyal to both his fraternity and family. We had been acquaintances for several years after college and one night, while a bunch of us were out for drinks at an Irish bar at the Pike Place Market, he spent the evening flirting with me. When it came time to leave, he didn’t have a ride home, so I offered to drive him. He invited me into his apartment and we proceeded to make out. I was twenty-six years old then. Three years later he broke by heart.

Andrew was the first in our relationship to tell me he loved me. He had pursued me and I fell for his charm and looks. He was a Finance major and started working for one of those big global consulting firms right out of school. I was at MS as a Systems Analyst and both of our careers were taking off. On weekends, we met up with our group of friends and went to pubs, tailgated at Husky games, and celebrated birthdays and promotions at the trendiest Seattle restaurants. Andrew, me, and all of our friends worked sixty plus hour weeks, went out for cocktails, double dated to the movies and held frequent house and dinner parties. Most of us had roommates, so we would hang out at each other’s apartments, get drunk often, and then Andrew and I would have sex. Often. We were perfect for each other, or so I thought.

As we headed into our late twenties, things started to get more serious. We were no longer in entry level positions. Our friends started pairing off into those that dated since college and broke up, or those that got married. Since we were still together, by default we were heading in the direction of the latter group.

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised. We were never that perfectly happy couple. It was a flawed relationship since the first break up, which was probably where it should’ve ended. We had broken up twice before the final one. The second time, he wanted a break and just didn’t think we were right for each other. A few months later, he was begging to have me take him back. He said he loved me, he missed me, and he started doing things like fixing my car and making sure my tires weren’t flat. I know now that getting back together with him then was a huge mistake. Neither of us was brave enough to let the other go. It was just easier to deny the truth and fall back into old patterns. Hindsight is 20:20 and all that.

During that whole period, I’d been going to a lot of weddings. What started out as a fun relationship wasn’t so fun anymore. I was seriously wondering if Andrew was the one and whether or not marriage was in our future. If Andrew wasn’t the one, then I needed to make a decision soon. I was twenty-eight years old and my biological clock was ticking louder and louder. When we last got back together, I warned him that I’d had enough. If he wanted to leave one more time, that was it. This was his last chance. I loved him, but we weren’t going to do this to each other anymore. He still wanted to come back, so I took him back. I brought up the idea of marriage a couple of times, but he remained mostly silent during those discussions.

Andrew’s job required him to travel a lot. For a year and a half, he commuted back and forth from Seattle to San Diego. He’d called me one night and was sounding a little out of sorts. “How are you, Jules?”

“I’m good, just watching a little TV. How were things today at work?” I had asked casually.

“Good. I got some positive feedback from the Project Manager here today. She seems to have taken me under her wing.” He paused. “I don’t think I’m coming home this weekend. There’s too much work to do and I have to work over the weekend.”

“Really?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “Then I guess I’ll just have to go to Christine’s dinner party by myself. I’ll miss you.”

He was silent. I could tell something was wrong.

“Jules, are you happy with you and me right now?” His voice sounded sad. The red flags immediately went up.

“Andrew, what’s wrong. What’s going on?” The familiar feeling of dread came over me. There was only silence on his end. Oddly, I didn’t panic. I think a part of me always knew we weren’t going to make it. Before he could answer my question, I whispered, “Do you want out?” There was more silence. He wasn’t saying anything. Damn him. “If you do this now, Andrew, know that you can’t take it back,” I whispered sadly, “The door will be shut for good this time. I can’t and I won’t do this again. Is this what you really want to do?”

There was a long pause and a deep sigh. He finally whispered, “Yes. “

“Goodbye, Andrew.” Then I hung up.

After three years together, we broke up over the phone. I didn’t even bother waiting for an explanation. I was numb. His desire to want out of the relationship was enough. I didn’t need to hear anymore. Every project had a beginning and an end. This was definitely the end of this one. We had been through it together before and we both knew that this was the final time. It was the lesson I had never learned with him, until now. Third time’s a charm, right?

Two weeks later, we finally spoke in person to arrange to get our things back from one another’s apartments. That’s when I learned he had been seeing someone he met in San Diego. Recently (very recently), I learned from a shared friend that Andrew was engaged to be married. They’d been together for six months. He’d lied. He’d been cheating on me for three months even before we broke up. He proposed to her after only six months. We’d been together for over three years and he never once broached the subject. I was devastated.

When Andrew had confessed soon after our breakup that he’d been cheating on me, I felt betrayed and angry. After learning about his engagement, though, I felt inadequate. We had been together for three freaking years! I’d always thought that he didn’t want to get married just yet, that he just wasn’t ready.
Oh no!
The fact of the matter was that he just didn’t want to marry
me
. I was his security blanket. I never caused any fluttering butterflies. I was merely the safe bet, a warm bed, until something better came along. I was to him what Melissa was to Jake. The only difference was that Andrew didn’t want to play it safe; he took a risk to find the love of his life and it wasn’t me.