A blog about heartbreak.

Five months later, Em. said we are dating.

On Saturday night, he mentioned his father asked when he and I were getting married (I, uhh, should explain his father is from Turkey and a little old fashioned). I laughed and told Em. I was surprised his father even knew I existed. Em. said “Of course. Everyone knows about you.”

I told him I had a hard time talking about our relationship with my friends and family because I didn’t know how to describe it. He said “You tell them we’re dating.”

“But…are we?”

This prompted a long conversation that ended in the conclusion that yes, we are. And we have been, even if he has been hesitant to title it anything. He said he really likes the way things are going and worries fussing over it would change things. But yes, he says, of course we’re in a relationship and he’s not going anywhere.

Since that conversation, things have been wonderful. I saw his apartment. He has been over three nights in a row. We can’t get out of bed in the morning, reluctant to untwine our arms from each other. He initiates conversations about “us.” He sends me text in the middle of the day reading “You make these cold winter days so much better.” 

There’s this saying that if a man wants to be with you, he’ll do anything to make that happen. Em.’s car is currently in the shop and so for the last two nights he has voluntarily biked the 40 minutes to my house in the freezing rain. Seeing me isn’t convenient, easy, uncomplicated; it takes a dedication of his time, energy and sweat. And he is willing to do it, for me. 

I’m pretty happy these days.