It started when I was cuddled up against Captain, thinking. Always, for the love of God, thinking. (Have I ever told you that my therapist once told me she wished she could inject alcohol into my brain so I would think less? Yeah, apparently it's problem, my thinking.) I was thinking about what I felt for him, and about the shadowy moments I have when doubt creeps in and grow fearful. And the fear is easily identified.
This man, this relationship -- they are both things I have never really had before that produced so much happy in my life. It's as if I've tasted the best cheesecake in the world--but what if the manufacturer ever discontinued it? What if the recipe was burned or lost? What if I could never find that cheesecake again?
(Am I comparing my boyfriend to cheesecake? Um, yes, apparently.)
It's that fear I thought of, and the welling of emotion that was wrapping itself around me... and at this point, my memory is going to slide back to the moment:
So I said, "You know, what you and I have together, I've never found with anyone else."
"Oh, yeah, me neither," Captain responds readily, unquestionably.
I hesitate. I speak the fear aloud. "But sometimes, even though I have no reason to, I am sometimes scared I'll lose it."
He looks surprised (as I expected he'd look). "What? Why? I'm not going anywhere."
"I know," I admit. "That's why I said I had no reason for it."
And then I begin a conversation about his visa status and press him with questions, "What if..." and go on and on and on until the only option he concludes he has left is: "Well, then I could leave the country for a year and then try to come back on the same visa. But that's kind of ridiculous."
Not once has he mentioned the easiest of solutions, not even as a joke. I have already thought about the possibility of bringing up that solution, but the fact that it's connected to his visa discussion has never appealed to me. It seems... sketchy somehow, like someone could interpret it as me getting a mail-order groom--even though I know it would not be that.
The hour is late, the Charity filter is lowered. The question bounces in my head, should I, shouldn't I?
"So, not to bring it up in this context," I say awkwardly, staring into the darkness and huddling up closer to his chest. His arm is still around me, lazy-like and comfortable. "But there are other options." I shut up. I stop there. Let him put the pieces in the place, because Captain's smart. He's not like any other man I've dated before, and I know he'll follow the bread crumbs.
He doesn't. Not at first. "Well, yeah, I don't really know what other visa options there are, but--"
"No," I interrupt. "I mean, there are other options that will keep you in the country. Involving me." (I actually don't know if I said this in this way. My brain is mushy about the details sometimes.)
"OH!" he breathes, "Oh, you mean that."
Yes, that. That thing-that-shall-not-be-named. M....
I'm tense in the darkness. I don't know what reaction I expect. I know he's not prepared for this conversation, I know he hasn't given it much -- or any -- thought. This is how Captain is. He is free-floating, spontaneous, fluid, flexible. I am rigid, a planner, organized, and forever locked into thinking about the next five years. His approach to life is what brought him to me in the first place because I certainly would not have been prepared to make two international moves before age 30. My approach keeps me steady, grounded, stable. No approach is better or worse than the other, and in fact, I realize they are very complimentary. I know Captain will not think too seriously/too hard of M... not really. Not because he doesn't want to, but because it's not in his wiring to think that way. I also know that Captain does well when I outline some parameters, not in a serious way, but in a gentle way. This was my way of bringing him to the wading pool of The Future and, well, shoving him ankle-deep into it.
I am prepared to drop the topic. His reaction tells me right off the bat that he is unprepared for this conversation. It also tells me I caught him off guard, but it doesn't tell me is he freaking out?
(Note: it is also not in Captain's wiring to freak out. That's beside the point.)
"Well, I wouldn't want to do that to you," he says, "to put you in that position."
Don't you understand? It's a position I'm considering willingly being in, visa situation aside! I don't say this because now I'm wondering if he thinks I'm offering some kind of mail-order groom deal. I need to set the record straight. "No, I'm not saying that's the sole reason, or even the main or secondary reason for doing it. I'm just saying--"
"--Oh, no, I understand. If the situation was right."
"Right."
A new idea blooms in my head. An ugly one. And I know I have to make sure something is clear, spoken, understood. I sit up a bit, tense again. "Cuz if that door is closed," I say, dead serious, "I need to know."
His hand moves over my arm in soothing, calming strokes as if he's trying to flatten ruffled feathers. He is quick to remedy this. "That's not what I said."
I ease back down. "Okay, because if it was, I'd have to reassess what we're even doing here."
"Right," he says. "I understand."
"I know it's early to talk about--"
"--Yeah, really early." There's no admonition in his voice when he says this, but it's another signal for me. He's not prepared for this conversation. "But I know we'll have to talk about it eventually."
I relax. If he knows that this conversation will need to happen (more seriously, less introductory) sometime, then the door isn't closed and the possibilities still abound. This comforts me, and I am prepared to drop it. We do continue talking easily, contemplatively about it for a few minutes, not specifically, but reiterating that we have time before his visa expires and we're still talking two years from now. He speaks like this is a long while off. I feel like it's not that far off. In a year, I'll have a master's degree. In 8 months after that, my 2-year lease will end. No, two years is not that far away, but I don't say this now. He needs the comfort of time... he needs to get used to the water temperature that I've just dragged him into.
He eases into the conversation, and I realize it's not very tense. I do joke about the awkwardness of it, and he laughs with me. This eases the tension more. And I confess, "My mother has made some comments."
I tell him about those conversations, which tend to be amusing with me imitating my mom's accent. He laughs. He tells me his mom hasn't said anything, but that doesn't mean she's not thinking about it. After all, he reminds me, he's the best chance she has at a grandchild. He doesn't say this as bluntly as I've written it, but we've talked about this before.
And so the conversation slides, away from M... and onto kids.
More to come!
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