“What do you mean, someone like you?” I asked.
“Huh?” Kit asked as she popped the cracker into her mouth.
“You said, his parents were okay with him being with someone like you. What does that mean?” I asked.
Kit covered her mouth as she finished chewing her cracker and said, “Oh, Matt’s family is just so rich. They’re old money. When we were in college, I’d visit Matt during the summer in Charlston. I’d show up to their coastal mansion in my thrift store dresses and in my beat-up car. His mom and dad were so nice, but sometimes his mom would give Matt and me new outfits, and then Matt would insist we’d have to wear them out to dinner with them at their country club. I know it’s just because they were embarrassed by my clothes,” Kit shrugged. “But they really did try, and Matt’s parents were not the reason I broke up with him.”
I was having a hard time not being insulted on Kit’s behalf. I think it triggered me because I knew so many people like Matt’s family. I worked with them all the time. From what I could see, Kit was near perfect. She was smart, albeit a little stubborn. She was funny, interesting, beautiful, and sincere. Surely, they all could see that was worth so much more than expensive clothes. Iasked, “Then, what was the reason you guys broke up if it wasn’t his family?”
Kit’s lips pushed down into a thoughtful frown. “When I moved home to be with my mom, Matt was in Los Angeles for med school. The time apart did us in. I was just here taking care of my mom, constantly thinking about how short life is. I realized I needed to start doing what I actually wanted and not what made other people happy. And I couldn’t say for certain that Matt made me happy. I let the long-distance thing be the reason, but if I was being honest, I just couldn’t picture myself with him.” Kit looked down at her socks and picked some lint off them.
After a moment she said, “Everyone is just kind of waiting for me to get back with Matt, I think. Aunt Rita thinks that grief clouded my decision and my best friend, Veronica, thinks I just need to relax and let fun happen to me. I think she assumes I’ll find my way back to Matt, so I don’t know. Sometimes I doubt myself and I think, maybe what I had with Mattwasbeing in love. Maybe I just put too much stock into the notion that love was supposed to knock you off your feet, not just work well logistically for everyone. You know? Maybe my hopes are too high about falling in love? Maybe I should just relax and let it happen.” Kit sighed and shrugged.
I didn’t know who this Matt guy was, but I knew he was lucky if a woman like Kit was going to be his foregone conclusion. I took a sip of my drink and watched her face. I liked that Kit was confiding in me. For the first time, I was seeing a side of Kit I really liked. She was being open, honest, kind of playful and funny, so I didn’t say anything to rock the boat. “Sounds like you have a lot of people that care about you giving you the best advice they have.”
“I have heard every kind of advice. The good. The bad. The ugly.” Kit let a light-hearted laugh go. She looked up at me andasked, “What about you? You’re serious about not being serious with anyone?”
I shrugged. “The New York dating scene is wild. It’s like I only attract stage-five-clingers, women who seem to feed on drama, or women who have dollar signs in their eyes.” I quickly added, “I’m not saying all women are one of those things. This has just been how it’s been for me so far.”
“You sound as jaded as me, but for a totally different reason,” Kit said. “But that’s focusing on the women. What about you? What do you want?”
I raised my eyebrows. It would have been so easy to deflect and crack a joke, but instead I sighed and looked at her. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”
“What is?” she asked.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was her endearingly messy hair and mismatched socks coupled with the honesty in her eyes, but I said the most truthful thing I had ever said to anyone. “I’m scared to be in a real relationship.”
Kit’s head jerked up and she looked surprised. I immediately regretted being so honest.
“At least, that’s what I’ve paid hundreds of dollars an hour to hear my therapist tell me over and over again.” I laughed to lighten the mood.
Kit sat up a little and took a sip of wine. “What makes your therapist say that?”
“Well, I like to think it’s because I haven’t metthe one,but according to my therapist and many angry ex-girlfriends, I have a pattern.” I shrugged and took a swig of my drink.
“Which is?” Kit leaned forward, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Come on! Don’t make me pull this out of you!”
“Well, I tell women up front that I’m not emotionally available. Like a disclaimer. I’m totally transparent. I tell them that I have issues from grief and that I don’t want to put myselfin a situation where I can lose someone again. And even though I tell them that, they still want to date me. Selfishly, I enjoy spending time with them. You know, it’s nice to have someone to hang out with. But when they get attached, I remind them that I amnotattached, a real commitment isn’t what I want, and that I’m not going to be able to meet their expectations in the long run. I’m just having a good time. I’m Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right. And apparentlythatmakes me a huge asshole.”
“Agreed. You’re an asshole,” Kit said without missing a beat, but she looked amused and not disgusted. which was somewhat of a relief. She narrows her eyes and points her wine glass at me. “But you must want to change if you’re talking about it with a therapist?”
“Well,” I said, picking up the wine bottle and refilling her cup. “It’s more that I don’t like hurting people, but I’m not sure I want to change. My mom would love it if I had a major change of heart about getting married and having kids. She’s always offering to introduce me to one of her Filipina friend’s daughters so I can just get hitched and have a whole pack of children for her to dote on.”
“Is that what your mom wants? For you to marry a Filipina?” Kit asked. I looked over and saw that Kit was sitting up and more attentive, but she looked away when I made eye contact.
“Oh, nah. It’s not that at all. My mom doesn’t care who I am with,” I said, shaking my head. “Are you kidding me? She moved to the states by herself and was working as a line cook at Morehouse College’s cafeteria when she met my dad. Falling in love with a college student wasn’t her plan at all. She described it as being struck by lightning, and my dad equally adored my mom. I remember that. So, she would never say no if I was in love the way she was in love with my dad. I’m just not sure that kind of love exists anymore.”
Kit nodded with a slight frown. “Yeah, I don’t know if it does, either.”
I tilted my head to the side and said, “But I can tell you one thing. My mom is ready for a grandchild. And I don’t think she cares how I get the child, but she is ready for me to have a kid so she can have a grandchild.”
“Fair enough.” Kit laughed, but then with a touch of sorrow, she said, “I wish I could have done it all when my mom was still alive. I think part of me was tempted to make things work with Matt so my mom could be there for my wedding and maybe even kids, and Matt would have done it. But I knew that if my mom wasn’t sick, I wouldn’t have even entertained the idea.”
I turned and looked at her. “I get it. Them missing the big moments. It is so hard, and I want to tell you that it gets easier, but I think over time it just gets different—the grief. Expected, so you know how to carry it in a way that isn’t out front, but it’s always there. And so, in some ways, those big milestone moments, the graduations and birthdays and celebrations, you learn how to cope with their absence.” I paused and looked at the wine glass in my hand. Normally, I would have stopped there, but something in me pushed through, and I opened up. “It’s the little moments. The unexpected moments of missing my dad that get me. Wishing he had taught me how to shave or how to drive. Wishing he could have helped me when I was worried I was going to flunk out of college. Wishing I could have talked to him about the Dodgers winning the World Series or the ending ofSopranos. Wondering what his favorite type of whiskey was. Wondering if he smoked cigars. Wondering which side of the G.O.A.T. debate he’d be on—Michael Jordan or Lebron James. Wondering what he’d look like as an old man.” My voice cracked. “Sorry.” I cleared the lump in my throat that had formed. “Sorry to be a downer on Christmas Eve. This is usually why I spend the holiday alone. I don’t want to ruin it for…”
I looked over at Kit. Tears were streaming down her face.
“Oh, geez. I’m sorry,” I said. I instinctively slid over and reached for her. She folded into me, buried her head in my shoulder, and softly wept while I held her. I patted her on the back and tried to keep my hands in appropriate places. After a few minutes, she pulled away and looked up at me, her long lashes glistening with tears.
