Possible Endings

The Beginning

I'm 30 and my boyfriend of 4 years just broke up with me. 

That's the most depressing sentence I've ever seen. Not sad- there are plenty of sadder sentences I can think of. "My parents died when I was 5 and I grew up in foster care." That's sad. I definitely don't think I'm in the worst possible circumstance that life could throw at a person. "My town was taken over by religious extremists and I had to escape otherwise I'd have been forced to marry a man twice my age." That's horrific. And my struggle is nothing close to that of women in places where child marriage is allowed. I'm fully aware that this is on some #firstworldproblems shit. There's lots of sadness and injustice in the world. But if you're looking for regular life depressing, a newly single 30 year old woman who spent the last of her twenties on a man she thought she'd have babies with fits the bill pretty well. Whatever, just let me tell my story, ok?

I know what you're thinking. "It's 2019! You're a strong woman who doesn't need a man! 30 is the new 20! Plenty of fish in the sea!" I've heard them all from my friends the last few weeks. We're not supposed to want traditional things anymore. But I wanted to get fucking married by 30 and have one or two kids before 35, ok? If it's 2019 and women can go after their dreams, why can't I say that one of my dreams was marriage? I wanted the giant wedding and I wanted to wear the white ballgown and force everyone I know to shell out money for wedding gifts and plane tickets while I was still young enough and cute enough to get away with it. And I wanted to have all or most of this by now. I wanted to have created my own family with a man who I loved and could depend on by now. I definitely did not want to be packing my things to move into a 3 bedroom apartment with two roommates four months after my 30th birthday, because that's all I can afford, while my now ex boyfriend (who can easily afford our apartment on his McKinsey management consultant salary) sits browsing Tinder on his phone. Ok, he's probably not on Tinder, since I know Tinder is kind of played out, but I've missed the whole app dating craze. Give me a break. I'M SINGLE AND 30.

Our relationship was like a movie. The first 3 years or so at least. I thought he'd be a rebound. I had finally escaped a shitty on again, off again relationship that was a relic of my early twenties and I was 26, ready for a year of hoe-dom and focusing on work and then when I hit 27, I planned to find A Serious Boyfriend. But Eric came out of nowhere. Literally the first night I went out with my girls after finally, completely, unapologetically embracing my mid twenties single girl fabulousness, I met him at a downtown Portland bar. Summer was just starting, and I was feeling fierce and on the prowl. He had piercing green eyes and cheekbones so strong I wanted to sit on his face. Ok, I just wanted to sit on his face. 

I'm a sucker for men with light eyes, dark hair, and strong cheekbones. I've known this ever since I saw Kevin Richardson on a Backstreet Boys poster when I was 10. I don't care what anyone says, Nick and Brian ain't got shit on Kevin. Even with all his questionable hairstyle choices over the years, his cheekbones carried him through. Now that Prince has passed on to the Wrecka Stow in the Sky (google 'Prince wrecka stow' if you don't get that reference), Kevin is first up on my celebrity ladyboner list, followed EXTREMELY CLOSELY by Michael B. Jordan [insert eggplant, heart eyes, and drooling emojis here]. You can't tell me that a book (or e-book) in 2019 can't have some emojis in there. Get over it, literature police.

Anyway, back to Eric. I'm just gonna say it- we had sex the first night we met. We were so drunk yet so determined to get it on that we forced one of his friends to drive my car to his place while we made out in the backseat. We'd both escaped shitty relationships not long before that and I think we both just wanted to fuck our exes out of our system. But the next day, he surprised me by asking me out on an actual date. The next few months that followed were like the annoying part of a rom-com: endless scenes of the two leads having picnics and laughing, holding hands and laughing, having sex and laughing, sitting at late night diners and laughing, you get the gist. As cheesy as it sounds, I fell in love with him right away. I tried not to, but he was so sweet and the sex was so mind blowing that I couldn't resist. 

We hit a snag a few months after we met, when he told me that he had gotten accepted into Wharton's MBA program and would be moving across the country to Philadelphia in the fall. I thought this was the natural end of our summer interlude, and while I was sad it was over, I wasn't in so deep yet that it would crush me. But he surprised me yet again, and told me he wanted me to come with him. Now, I was a lovestruck idiot, but luckily his dick hadn't obliterated *all* of my brain cells. I told him I'd be more comfortable with pursuing our relationship long distance for his first year to make sure this was something serious, and then if things went well, I'd make the move for his last two years of school. 

At this point, I was confident that things would indeed work out, and though I had no interest in or experience living in Philadelphia, I thought, somewhat naively, that it wouldn't matter where I lived if I was with someone I loved and who loved me in return. And if Eric loved me, I thought I could make anywhere home as long as he was with me. By this point, I was convinced that if we made it through the year and I moved to be with him, it would mean he was The One. So what if I had met my Serious Boyfriend a year early? He had Kevin Richardson cheekbones and could make me orgasm so hard my feet would cramp up! I wasn't about to throw that away if I could help it.

By the time I was 27, the move had been decided. He had met my parents, had promised them he would take care of me, and I'd packed my bags and quit my job. For the first year we lived in Philly, things seemed to go well. After a month of searching, I found a new job as an operations coordinator for a real estate company, and while it wasn't my dream job (or dream salary) as a project manager, I saw it as a positive stepping stone. While our rent was at the very edge of what I could afford, I had saved up enough money before moving that I could cover expenses, and we had Eric's school loan money. School took up most of Eric's time, and while I was alone often, I saw my role as his supporter. I cared about my job and life, but only secondary to him and his needs. I saw Eric as my project- I had to help him get through business school so that he could get a great job and our life going forward wold be comfortable and happy. Even though we'd only been together a little over a year at that point, I already saw us as a team, two people who would have each other's backs for the rest of our lives. I had told him soon after we met that marriage and children were things I wanted in life, and while he never exactly agreed that those were goals for him too, he never told me he *didn't* want them, so I assumed we were on the same page. Fatal mistake. 

To be continued in "The Middle"...