My boyfriend makes me oatmeal in the mornings. He adds bananas and walnuts and milk, and he brings it to me in bed. He places fresh coffee on the night stand. When I come home from work, he is in the kitchen making supper after having worked all day himself. He greets me with a spoon, asking me to taste his latest concoction. Curry. Chocolate. Anchovies.
We play toss with our cat’s stuffed mouse, and the cat runs between us. I walk past my boyfriend in our living room, and he reaches out to squeeze me appreciatively. He has a belly laugh that makes me want to stay with him for the rest of my life.
In the span of 30 years of serial monogamy, dodging in and out of one serious relationship after the next, I have always planned for the end from the beginning. Marveled as people around me married. Watched in awe as they vowed to spend their whole lives together. Regarded them in the same way I regard snake handlers, sword swallowers, beekeepers and Philippe Petit, the man who walked the wire extended between the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in 1974.
From “Ready in case the other shoe should drop” by Julia Anne Miller in The New York Times. This is a lovely piece of writing about coming to a relationship knowing you can leave, which I think brings a kind of loving independence to the partnership. But not sure how that all works when you have children.