A short Goodbye

Today I said goodbye to Harriet.

Knowing her for as long as I do, and quite frankly, as well as I do, I'm pretty sure it’s not forever. She has the uncanny ability to reappear the minute I no longer wonder about what she's up to. Not that I wonder about her very often, but she was an important part of my life. (For all the new members who signed up recently, I have included a short bio on all the important people in my life--an embarrassingly short list:) Still, saying goodbye to her was bittersweet; the way all goodbyes are bittersweet. 

“I’ve loved you longer than I have loved anyone,” she said as she pulled her ponytail through the back of a jet black Nike baseball cap. She was looking at herself in the mirror by my front door, so I didn’t assume she was talking to me. “Did you hear me?” she persisted, hand on hip.

I smiled. “I did.” 

She turned to face me full on. “I mean it. It’s true.”

“I believe you,” I said, “I hope that brings you confidence as you head off on a new adventure.” 

“It does. It’s very comforting.” She flashed her winning smile at me and walked out the door.

I thought about following her. I know she expected me to, but I didn’t do it. Instead, I got a beer from the fridge and sat down in my new Copenhagen recliner. (It’s a brilliant turquoise blue and the first piece of furniture I have ever fallen in love with.) 

In retrospect, there are many things I could have said to Harriet. I could have said that I hoped she did a better job in her new relationship than she did with me. But how do you say that without sounding whiny and pathetic? I didn’t feel whiny. I didn’t even feel sad. 

In many ways, I regret my time with Harriet. Although I did learn a lot from her about open relationships. Mainly, I learned that they weren’t for me. The concept sounds progressive and sophisticated, but in practice, you never really have to commit to being all in. You never have to be vulnerable to betrayal because betrayal is built in. 

Of course, the fact that I never agreed to being in an open relationship with Harriet seemed to go over her head, then and now. The idea that she might ask for my consent wasn’t part of her partnership equation. She told me she assumed that anyone as seemingly independent as I was would, of course, gravitate to multiple alliances. But I didn’t. The concept was so foreign to me that I didn’t even realize I was one of many to her. For years, I was blind and kind of stupid. Maybe I was just naive. 

But when she came home late without explanation, she would usually end up saying, “I need you, Lil. You know that, don’t you?” And I would always confirm that I did. But it never soothed me. It was like giving me a pair of high heels for my birthday. In other words unseen on a very deep level.

What took me years to understand is that need is not love. And I would rather be loved.