The author and his son are at the beach. The photo is courtesy of SarahPerry.
The relationship my partner has with his girlfriend is the most important thing I have lost.
Three years ago, I first met the person I'm talking to today. When she was a pretty girl, he went out with her three or four times. He held the phone too close to my face and scrolled too long. Coffees with steam rising off them in mugs are perfect. There are yoga handstands and legs for days. I leaned back and said that I got the picture.
We had been together for two years before that. Despite my desire to be with him for a long time, I knew I wanted to keep dating women. He was making a late-20s escape from a conservative upbringing and was looking for new ways of living. Polyamory meant the ability to sleep with other people but also the ability to fall in love with them. We had to make sure the apartment was a two-bedroom.
I sometimes felt jealous when he was out on a date and I was at home. I would organize my bookshelves and scrub the kitchen if I couldn't find a friend. He would come home sometimes at night and sometimes in the morning and smile. Each time I returned to him, I felt that same feeling of gratitude.
It was not an obligation to return. It seemed like a miracle that we could be in love with each other. We didn't get involved in anything very serious for the first few years.
And then came another person. I moved down South to teach for a semester and he moved to Cape Cod for a seven-month writing residency. I was not excited to learn about her. She was beautiful and threatening, even though I wasn't. She would be part of his big creative adventure, and I would mostly be a harried voice on the phone. We wouldn't have the experience of returning home to each other. I was too busy to find someone to date in the small town where I worked. The apartment was cleaned.
I had the chance to meet her in person when I went to see her at her place of business. I took deep breaths as we passed closed T-shirt shops and bookstores in the off-season. I wanted to meet the person responsible for the new glow of happiness inPreston so bright that I could hear it in his voice, so I figured I would see what I was dealing with.
I was glad to see her before we spoke because she was behind the counter at the pizza place that her family owned. Her smile revealed a funny incisor, which made her look less perfect, but even more charming. Her movements were assured and she was friendly with the customers. She came out and gave us free slices and quick hugs before more people came in.
I thought of a pizza joint in Maine that I had only known as a child as we slid into the booth. The pizza was very good. The restaurant was warm and bright, its wide windows glowing with the dark blue outside, a safe place over which the leader of the group would preside.
We formed a friendship over the next few visits. The three of us hung out late into the night when she came over to the apartment. We fell asleep when we watched movies together. It was our love for him that spilled over to each other. She took her hand on a walk to push her long hair out of her face.
They were at Oyster Fest in Massachusetts. The photo is courtesy of SarahPerry.
She leaned on my thigh while talking to him as I sat on the kitchen counter. She looked at me and apologized. It made sense in that strange middle space between friendship and romance, something that was quickly becoming a family.
We weren't able to become adversaries due to these visits. She was more than just the other woman. She was called that by someone else. There is a person who always prepares elaborate snacks for friends. It was too early in the morning for her to do silly British accents. Whenever there's trouble, her family is the stable base of support.
She did her homework. After reading my memoir she sent me a detailed note. She was new to polyamory and bought all the guides to help her understand it. She learned that the term "metamours" refers to the fact that we are not dating each other. It wasn't easy for her to share it. It was difficult to share our friendship with her.
I began to feel a deeper connection between the two people. He didn't call as much, he seemed distracted. I wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not. I couldn't get a clear answer to some of the questions I asked him. What did he think about her? When we would return to New York, what were their plans? What did she desire from him? Exactly what were they?
I became frustrated when I read his ambiguity as dishonest. He didn't have enough room to tell me what he wanted to hear. I wanted to know what they were, but I didn't care what they were. I was trying to figure out how much room was needed. This person would have a role in my life. The heart can expand more than we think. It is work that expands. I wanted to know how far I had to go so I could figure out if I could do it. She was doing the same things.
There are two people in Massachusetts in February. The photo is courtesy of SarahPerry.
The best antidote to jealousy is curiosity. My favorite picture of David Bowie is black jeans, a leather jacket, shirtless, and it was once restaged bySophie. He looked so intense that I had never seen him like that before. He was throwing his head back, laughing, and center stage at the charity event. I was never forgotten or excised from the equation because of the texts and photos that were sent to me bySophie. She never imagined me gone.
She sent a picture of them with snow around them. He wore a faux fur hat and gloved his hand to protect her from the wind as we traveled to Maine. I could see that they were falling in love. There was an odd safety in being the first to see it since they hadn't realized it yet.
I knew more about the strained conversation than I ever could have imagined. I asked him for the impossible. At the beginning of a relationship, who can tell you their intentions? If he wasn't sure where it would go, how could he tell me? It takes a delicate set of circumstances to love. The air is heavy with possibilities and then beautiful. I was able to see it through her eyes.
In March 2020, as the Pandemic hit us all, we were living together once more, andSophie was preparing her restaurant for a record-breaking season. He and I relocated to the middle of the country for a job. They had visited when they could. She called off their romantic attachment when it became clear that travel would last forever.
When they were falling in love, I might have been a little relieved that they would return to friendship. I would have liked how easy it was to live. Less uncertainty and more time one-on-one. I thought about what she was doing to feed the community and care for her mother. I knew she was capable, but I also knew how helpful she would have been if he had been with her. I had the feeling that I had won a contest that no one had entered, as I read on our porch or sat in my desk.
For a time, the Pandemic robbed us all of the ability to see our partners through other people's eyes, to watch them tell a story to someone else at dinner, to see them perform onstage, and to witness the adorable and frustrating regression that happens when they visit their parents I had a daily companion that I would sometimes envy. I only had a limited view of things. I was surprised to see that my partner was being appreciated by people other than me. He had the perfect witness to his quirks and peccadilloes. I missed the friendship we had before, the two of us looking at each other with bewildered expressions, as if to say, Who would have thought?
We began dating again last year when the world opened back up and we were able to get vaccinations. I don't know what the connection will be with the woman I see in New York. This time, I don't have to work so hard to give her space because she is a local girl. It is already there and ready to be changed. There is always a spot on our couch for her, and we trade notes on her weird daily habits. To her surprise, they're trying polyamory, as they've reconnected with a love from long ago. She told me that she was the same person that I welcomed.
On the other day, she sent me a photo that she once took of us. I wrapped his arms around his chest as I leaned over his shoulder. The picture is close up. The shot was taken with love.
The memoir "After the Eclipse" was named a New York Times Book Review Editors' Choice. She is a professor of creative writing at the University of North Texas. She is working on her third book. Sarahperryauthor.net is where you can visit her.
The article was first published on HuffPost.
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