Aaron,
I guess this is weird I'm writing this in a letter. I just know if I tried to say this in person I'd never get it all out. I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.
I always knew in the back of my mind I'd never be enough for you. I just wanted to outrun it somehow – to turn 75 with you and look back and ask ourselves where the time went. I guess you were right though, about what you said.
The point of this letter isn't to point fingers though. I would start over but this is my fourth try and my hand is starting to cramp. I'm starting to ramble, and I know how you hate that, so I'll get to the point. I thought I would be okay with this, when you said we needed more variety – that you couldn't just be with one person. I thought maybe you'd notice the signs that I wasn't okay with it – that I never was. I just wanted to make you happy. That's all I've ever wanted, really, so I agreed.
I hope you find what you're looking for – and I don't mean that in a hollow or spiteful way – I really, really do. You've been my life for the past five and a half years, and I wouldn't change that for anything, but I can't feel this way anymore.
I love you.
Andrew
**************************************************************************************
February 27, 2012
"Where's your other daddy, huh?
Oh, yes, you've been a good girl, haven't you? Yes you have! Did Andrew take you out for a walk?
Andrew, babe? Bella's seriously going crazy on my leg...I told you I think huskies aren't meant to live as far south as this."
Aaron pushed Bella gently off of his leg, absentmindedly setting his briefcase and keys on the counter before returning to his iPhone. Barely dodging the coffee table, his eyes glued to the screen, he made his way further into the apartment.
"Hey, I was thinking we could try that new sushi place Linda and James have been hounding us about, what do you say?"
He didn't notice that Andrew hadn't responded until he started to change out of his work clothes. It was about the same time that he noticed the note on the bed.
************************************************************************************
March 1, 2006
Andrew hated this class. He really, really did. He thought taking a psychology class titled "Interpersonal Relations" might give him some insight into making relationships work – into communication styles and attraction and love. It had given him insight. Plenty, in fact – just not the kind he wanted to hear.
His professor was talking about love today. How long-term love doesn't last, to be specific. Something about serotonin levels and how, after they initially skyrocket during a relationship's early phases, they gradually decrease and taper off. He was trying not to listen too hard – hard enough to take detailed notes but not hard enough to truly absorb any of the information. It was ruining his romantic ideals.
"So, who here believes that love truly
can
last?"
His professor always did this. She asked some question that culture had ingrained her students to answer in one way or another, like – 'Who here believes in soulmates?' and, after all of those romantic comedies and melodramas, there was always going to be one, two or fifteen students who raised their hands – some poor girls who had just seen
When Harry Met Sally
or
The Notebook
or something. Andrew's professor would then chuckle a little, wince, and say something apologetic but heartbreaking, like – 'Well I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the research just doesn't point that way.'
Without thinking, Andrew raised his hand. He was a little too hungover, maybe a little too drunk still, and a little too interested in fixing the layout of his Word document to notice that the class was staring at him. His professor repeated herself as Andrew looked up.
"Yes, you," she said, pointing at him. "Since you're the only one raising his hand, why do you think love can last?"
Floundering for a couple seconds, Andrew thought on his feet and did what he did best – he made a joke out of it. "I mean, I guess it has to – the universe kind of owes me for how my past couple flings turned out."
There were scattered chuckles in the room – the best you could get during a Friday morning lecture, Andrew guessed. His professor shot him a wry smile. "Well, on that note, next week we will be talking about conflict in relationships and how to diffuse -"
Andrew focused back on his computer screen. He felt eyes on him though. He noticed Cocky Hot Guy still hadn't turned around from looking at him a couple of rows forward. Andrew had nicknamed him Cocky Hot Guy from the first day of class. He always flirted and joked with the professor, was really, really hot, and seemed like a total fucking douche. Andrew knew he would probably hate him. He'd learned to hate guys like him. Cocky Hot Guy was probably just mad that he wasn't the only one making jokes in the class anymore, anyway.
After class was dismissed a few minutes later, Andrew was one of the last to leave. Caught in the middle of the seats, he had fumbled with his computer and dropped his water bottle – twice, before it rolled down a couple of rows forward. Cocky Hot Guy picked it up. Waiting next to Andrew's row, Cocky Hot Guy handed him his water bottle and said, "I agree, you know. I'm a total softie at heart."
Andrew half-smiled at him. He had never been very good at interacting with straight guys. Not since freshman year of high school when he came out to his guy friends, anyway. That had scared him away from straight guys for a long time.
"Yeah, I guess I was just tired of her telling us there was no hope left," he replied.
"She does tend to do that, doesn't she?"
Andrew smiled back and gave a noncommittal, "Yeah." He really, really wanted this moment to end. His hands were getting clammy.
"I can't imagine why any fling would have ended badly for you though."
Andrew was way too nauseated for this. "Yeah, well I guess not everyone is as romantically inclined as we are."
They were almost to the front doors of the building. Andrew hoped they weren't walking in the same direction.
"Well, maybe we can find out just how much we have in common sometime?"
Andrew's migraine was kicking back in. And he may or may not have been suffering from auditory hallucinations.
"What?" Andrew managed to say.
"Seems like you're having serious trouble focusing today."
They were outside now. Andrew felt blinded by the sun and twice as nauseated.
"So, how about it? Wanna catch a movie or something this weekend? I'm Aaron, by the way."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aaron had been watching him for a while now. There was something about him. He was cute, that was obvious. Not locker-room-jock-fantasy cute, and not tan-blonde-and-hairless cute either. Boyish cute. But with stubble. Brown hair, light brown eyes, full lips. Really, really cute. The kind of cute where you could just imagine him falling asleep on your chest. Naked. After fucking for hours. That kind of cute.
Anyway, Aaron had been watching him for a while now. He'd just been waiting for the right moment. This had seemed as good a moment as any – the thing the kid had said during class had given Aaron an in – but now he was starting to regret it. The kid looked at him like he was so hideous he might puke.
He showered this morning. He always did before this class. He had been watching him for a while, remember? He was pretty sure the kid was gay, not that he was flamboyant or anything, Aaron could just tell, he was good at that. How else would he have managed to find so many 'curious' straight guys to seduce over the past four years? His track record spoke for itself. So, why did he look so disgusted? Maybe the kid was just intimidated. Yeah, that was it. This would be perfect – one more shy, probably very eager conquest before he graduated. His new conquest still hadn't even told him his name, though.
"Um, I'm Andrew."
Well, that was a start. Yeah, Andrew was just love struck, that was all –
"That sounds really fun, but I don't think that'd be a good idea."
Wait, what?
"What do you mean?" Aaron winced. His voice sounded pathetic.
