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So where was I?
Oh, right, Artboy and I were riding off into the sunset together. Or something like that. Although that isn�t exactly what happened. I called the Artboy about 20 minutes after the Boyfriend left my house, heartbroken and confused by my "I can�t see you any more." Artboy wanted to come over right then. I told him I needed that night to myself. I sat and wondered if I�d done the wrong thing. The next day, and many days after that, I buried that thought under a halfhearted attempt to live happily ever after.
By then, Artboy had moved into a warehouse space downtown and was running an art gallery in the storefront with some friends. It was getting to be a fairly successful indie gallery, and they were experiencing some local fame (writeup in the local paper, a spot on a local PBS art show, bigger openings, etc.). His life was full of "art people." I was afraid of them. Intimidated by the crowds at the openings and unable to maintain a "small talk" level, I would last through a minimal amount of the evenings then retreat into Artboy�s bedroom behind the gallery where I could hide. I started to dread going there.
Truth is, for a long time, I blamed the Artboy entirely for the failure of our relationship. I said that everything that happened before I met the Boyfriend was way too damaging, and that our relationship couldn�t recover from it. But the truth is, I just stopped trying. On the outside, I made the appearance of being with the Artboy, but inside, I was planning my escape. Panicked, the Artboy did what I think too many men do in a love-threatening spot: He asked me to marry him. Repeatedly. And every time, my heart broke a little more, because I�d already decided it wouldn�t work, but there was still a piece of me that wanted so much to say yes. But every time, I said no.
I suppose it�s important to mention, too, that my mom hated�hates�the Artboy. I really mean hates. She told me once that if she could find a way to put out a contract on him and have it not get traced back to her, she would immediately and with no regrets have him killed. I got no support at all�not from her, not from my stepfather, not even from my friends, who had been his friends in the first place. The only person who thought I should be with the Artboy was the Artboy. That not being enough, I eventually walked away.
Hardest thing I�ve ever done, but I believed wholeheartedly that I needed to do it. I couldn�t try to be with the Artboy because I had already fallen in love with the Boyfriend. But I had broken up with the Boyfriend because I was still in love with the Artboy. I was pretty much a mess.
Eventually, the Artboy and I broke up, and the Boyfriend and I started trying to work through all the bad feeling sitting in between us. For months, things moved forward like that�the Boyfriend and I got closer, while the Artboy and I didn�t talk much at all. He�d send me an occasional email, trying to figure out where things went wrong between us. He heard through a friend when my grandfather died in February, and called to offer his condolences. I thanked him, and told him not to come to the wake. After that, he drifted away from me, and I didn�t encourage him to stay.
Last Easter, I invited the Boyfriend and his family to Easter dinner at my mom�s house. Easter in my family is a big affair�35 people for dinner, egg hunt for the kids, the whole production, and this made it even bigger, as it was the first time our families had met. The day went incredibly smoothly. The Boyfriend was happy. I was happy. Both our moms were happy. I finally left to drive home at about 9:00, saying a reluctant goodbye to the Boyfriend in the driveway. On the way home, I stopped for a red light and looked in my rearview mirror to find the Artboy pulling up beside me.
Once again, work interferes. I guess this is a 3-part story, for anyone keeping track.
(Click here to get to part 3)
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