Page 49 of An Engagement Pact

We’re quiet while we finish our drinks. Then I put my cup on the nightstand and rearrange myself so I’m lounging against him. “You’ve never told me about your previous relationships.”

“What?” It sounds more like he was surprised by the introduction of the topic rather than he didn’t actually hear my words.

“You’ve never told me about your previous relationships,” I repeat.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess not.” He sets down his cup too and slouches down more against the pillows. “It’s not a secret or anything. It just never came up. The truth is I haven’t really had any serious relationships.”

That surprises me enough that I lift my head so I can see his face. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not that I’ve only done one-night stands. In fact, I’ve never had a real one-night stand. I’ve dated for a few months multiple times, but the relationships never really felt serious.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really know.” His voice is gentle and reflective, like he’s thinking it through as he speaks. “I’ve wanted a relationship. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who really needs one, but it has been something I’ve wanted. So I would date fairly often. Sometimes I’d go out with a woman a few times but wasn’t feeling it, so I’d end it there. But sometimes I thought there might be potential, so we’d keep dating for a month or two. I’d try... I think I was trying to give it a fair shot most of the time. But then...”

When he trails off, I caress his bare belly and softly prompt, “But then what?”

“Then we’d have an argument or some sort of obstacle or roadblock would come up in the relationship, and it just never felt worth the effort of working through it. There never seemed to be enough foundation to... to make it worth it.”

There’s a pained rasp on his last words, as if the truth of them really bothers him. “Well, there probably wasn’t. A month isn’t very long in the scheme of dating.”

“I know. But it happened with women I dated longer than that. Women I really tried to make it work with. And I’ve dated a lot of great women, so it’s not like they were shallow or superficial or impossible to get close with. So I always concluded it was...”

I don’t like the self-directed bitterness of his tone. “Dan?”

“It wasme,” he concludes, meeting my eyes. “There’s just something about me that can’t get close to people.”

“That’s not right. That’s not right at all. How can you even say that?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve sometimes wondered. I love my parents, and we have a decent relationship, but it’s not because I’ve really felt close to them. It’s because I’ve put the effort in to have a relationship with them.”

“But you have tons of friends.”

“I have a lot. Sure. But they’re not what I would call... intimate.” He swallows so hard I can see it in his throat. “I mean, I trust them, and I like hanging out with them, and I know they’d be there for me if I need it. Maybe that’s all friendship is and I’m imagining something different. But there’s always felt like a limit in how close I can get to someone, and that’s been the problem with my dating relationships. It’s like there’s eventually an expiration date on them, a point where we have to make it the real thing or just end it, and I always... I always end it.”

My heart is making weird, painful flutters. I have no idea what they mean. But the most important thing right now is the way Dan is feeling.

That he’s feeling bad about himself when he shouldn’t.

“It’s probably a combination of things,” I manage to say, searching for a way to answer what he’s admitted to me. “Your parents were always kind of standoffish and you never had siblings, so you never felt really close to family the way other people often do. I really do think you have good friends. And they’re real, true friendships. So I don’t think you have a problem in that regard. But maybe with romantic relationships, it’s a combination of your feeling kind of distanced with love in the past and the fact that the women you were trying to make it work with weren’t the right women for you. It’s not because you’re not capable of loving someone, Dan. I’ll never believe that.”

He lifts his head. Meets my eyes. His mouth softens. “Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because you’re way too warm and generous and kind and smart and funny to not be able to make a relationship work if that’s something you want.”

“Maybe,” he says hoarsely.

“No maybe about it. It’s not been the right time, or it’s been the wrong person, or you weren’t really ready for it in the past maybe. But it’s not because there’s something flawed about your nature. Don’t you dare believe that about yourself!” I’m so invested in the conversation that I’m louder and more earnest than is my normal tendency.

Dan chuckles and leans over to give me a quick kiss. “Thank you for that. I appreciate your faith in me.”

“Well, you should have faith in yourself too.”

“I’ll work on it.”

With that, there doesn’t seem to be anything else we need to say.

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