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Olive Branch

I went inside and I was now livid.  I was livid at myself for acting like an ass, but I was just as livid at him for leaving. And yelling “Fuck This.”  Really?  We had spoken a few weeks prior about the rules of arguing and how I think it’s really important to never swear at each other, put the other one down to make your point or bring up pasts hurts and try to stay on point.  I know he wasn’t exactly swearing at me, but I was mad.  Which turned to sad.  I was sad the night ended this way, I was sad we couldn’t revel in my hard work then enjoy a night out together and then I remembered; dinner with his parents.  I guessed that was off.  And even if he did ask me to come I wasn’t going.  I wasn’t going to be made to feel like a jerk, then pretend all night.

Who was I kidding.  I would totally go if he asked me to; 1) because I don’t want to look like THAT girl to his parents and B) because I would have really liked to salvage the evening.  Well about two hours went by and even though I was laid up on the couch content with the fact that I wasn’t going, up until the last minute I was still hoping I’d hear from him.  But Dimples was a stubborn one, once he got mad there was really no turning it around, he needed more time to “get over it” than I did.  About 6 minutes before the reservation time I received a text; “We would really like if you’d join us for dinner.”  WE?  I thought.  Really?  He told his parent and now it was a group effort?  Again I was annoyed, but I text him back that I would meet him there shortly.

I arrived at the restaurant and felt awkward and out of place.  I kissed and hugged his parents hello and when I went to sit next to him he went to kiss me and we had a very uncomfortable exchange.  You know when you go in for the handshake and someone goes for the kiss?  Or you give a cheek and someone goes for the lips?  It was like that, but I knew that just made him more annoyed with me.  I shrugged it off and tried to enjoy the evening.  I laughed and talked with his parents, I put my arm around his chair, his mother tried to get him to talk to me by asking us questions we would have to answer together.  Two hours at dinner and he never acknowledged me.  Not once.  He didn’t look at me, he didn’t grab my leg under the table, he didn’t lean in to kiss my cheek.  Nothing.  That’s when I began to think, “Why the hell am I here?”  He made no gesture to end this and make nice whatsoever and I began to feel stupid.  There is nothing I hate more than feeling stupid,  Or being somewhere you know someone doesn’t want you at.

Dinner ended and we all walked out together when his father suggested Dimples walk me to my car.  I walked next to him for a minute when I noticed he was looking straight ahead, hands in pockets as if I wasn’t there.  I began to walk faster, ahead of him.  I was stomping as I got to my car.  He didn’t grab me and say goodnight.  He didn’t say thank you for coming. He didn’t give me a kiss goodbye.  Nothing.  I got in my car, drove away and didn’t hear from him the rest of the night.  I was so upset that I thought he was offering an olive branch to end the negativity and annoyance with each other from earlier in the night and to come and enjoy the evening and really, I guess he did it because his parents wanted him to.  That made me really really really upset.  Why do things have to linger?  So many things in life, bad times can be fixed with a tender touch, a smile, a soft kiss.  We are so busy being the victim of our own lives or being annoyed or being angry that we miss so many moments that could have become something really special.  And that’s what we did that night.  We missed the moment.  Both of us.

The following day was the day we were supposed to go see the show; the tickets he got me for my birthday.  And I wasn’t about to let us miss another moment. Too much of my life had been about missing the moments due to anger or miscommunication or a billion other reasons.  It was time to put this to bed and move on.  It was time for me to reach out the olive branch……tomorrow.

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