"You're the best boyfriend I've ever had," I told him, squeezing his hand.
"You're the best girlfriend I've ever had," he replied, squeezing mine back.
We both got teary-eyed.
"I grant you permission to blog about this," he said, while we held each other's hands over coffee at The Smile yesterday. He was always supportive and encouraging of this blog. In fact, it was probably thanks to him that I started it. He snapped those pics of me eating chocolate cake on my dresser months ago and that was when I was able to actually start envisioning a blog in the first place. It didn't occur to me that what I was doing was "so SGD", as he had pegged it. SINGLE GIRL DINNER would otherwise probably be nothing more than a Twitter account today. (He only follows two Twitter accounts, by the way—one is mine and the other belongs to The Cinnamon Snail.)
It's amazing how we were always on the same page with everything that we did. We both knew the moment we had something more than just a friendship; we both knew that it was time to break-up.
"There is not one bad thing I can say about our relationship," he said.
"I know," I said, my eyes welling up with tears, "That's why it's so sad."
Our break-up is not something I can explain. Although I was the one who initiated it, I knew it was something that we both felt. This was the first time I've ever broken up a relationship when my gut told me to. It didn't make any sense. Nobody did anything wrong. But that's the thing: Not only do you have to listen to your instinct, you have to trust it. In the past, by the time I broke up with a boyfriend, it usually got to the point where I hated their guts. This time was different. I still love him and that's why it's so hard for me to grapple with it.
"It's like going to a funeral," he said, contemplating on our relationship, "Where you're celebrating someone's life because there were so many great moments."
We are still friends.
I remember stubbing my toe on a corner of a wall in my boyfriend's apartment.
"F)%##$!!!!!" I yelped, hobbling over the sofa, "Ow, it hurts! Ow, it hurts! Sweetie, I need a Band-Aid!"
He went into the bathroom and started rifling in the medicine cabinet and under the bathroom sink.
"You don't have any Band-Aids???" I yelled, wincing in pain.
"I'm pretty sure I do," he said calmly, shuffling things around.
"Hurry! It's bleeding!"
He came over with a cotton pad and a Scotch tape dispenser, held my foot in his lap and started taping up my toe. It looked ridiculous. We both started laughing. I even Instagrammed it.
"Bachelors..." I said, shaking my head with a sigh. He wrapped his arms around me and I gave him a kiss.
"I'm going to get you real Band-Aids," he said, getting up and putting on his coat. He came back with a full-fledged first aid kit and replaced his ad-hoc bandage with a real one. I felt like I was in good hands.
This is an example of how we handled things with each other, lovingly and with a sense of humor.