And So It Began Again

(Read Perfect Number Six dated August 10 first.)

They both watched as I walked down the sidewalk toward my car. When I turned for one last look at the man I had loved for four years, he looked to be in great pain. With both hands on the big picture window, he was crying uncontrollably. Moon, his dog, was crying, too. They didn't want me to go. It was me he loved, not her, he had said.  Our relationship was one of love; theirs was all about sex. Could I ever forgive him? Would I please give him another chance? I couldn't bear to see him so heartbroken, so I walked back up the sidewalk, through the door, and back into his arms.

And so it began again.

At first he was uncomfortably nice. He couldn't do enough for me. I have to say I liked the attention, but at the same time, I knew that hovering focus on me was not him. It was contrived and unnatural and I knew it wouldn't last.  As the weeks passed, Six and I settled back into our normal lives. Well, not exactly normal. Six returned to his original state of being; I never did. My mind was cluttered with nagging questions:

1. Did he ever tell her that he loved her?

2. When they were together, did they hold hands?

3. Did he buy her gifts on her birthday, Valentine's day, and Christmas?

4. Did they talk about buying a farm, too?

4. When I called his house last night, his line was busy. Was he talking to her?

5. Lately he's been working overtime a lot. Is he seeing her again?

6. He hasn't told me he loves me in over a week. Should I be concerned?

7. It's ten o'clock at night and he's not answering his phone. Should I drive by his house?

8. When I was at his house last night I noticed his phone was off the hook. Does he not want her to know I'm there?

9. Whose telephone number was written on the notepad by the phone?

10. He cancelled our date for tonight. Is he seeing her instead?

New normal for me was now the lows and highs that come with suspicion and relief (when discovering the suspicions were unwarranted). Worry, doubt, anxiety were there, too, along with sleepless nights and then depression. I turned on myself for not being able to get over the fractured trust. Meanwhile, Six had recovered from the betrayal quite well.

Then one evening about a year later, Six cancelled dinner plans with me because he had to work late. Suspecting that he may be seeing her, I drove to his office and parked where my car could not be seen. Then I waited and waited and waited. Nothing. He really was working late. How silly I was, once again, for doubting him. I put my Jetta into Drive and pulled out of my parking spot and that's when I saw them. They were walking out of the office building holding hands and laughing. But wait! It wasn't her. It was someone different--the young girl with the assets. Dang it! Did he see me? I didn't want him to know I had stooped so low as to spy on him.

Fifteen minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was Six and he wanted me to stop by his house; he had something to tell me.

I stood at the end of the sidewalk with the keys to my always faithful Jetta in my trembling hand. I turned around for one last look at the man I had loved for five years. He and Moon were standing at the big picture window and they were both crying. One of them didn't want me to go.

* * *

And now for the rest of the story: Six married Miss Asset; they bought a farm and lived happily ever after until death did them part. As for me, I found the perfect number seven. No, really I did.