The Space Between

It was eleven at night when I heard the door unlock with a click. I grabbed the remote, paused Real Housewives and turned off the TV, knowing he would poke fun at my choice of entertainment. The door opened with a squeal of the hinges and caused my heart to thump. I combed my fingers through my hair and hoped I looked presentable.

When his face emerged from behind the door, a wide smile gave way on my face. It had been a week since I'd seen him in person, though we had video chatted while he was on the other side of the globe. "Hey," Grant said, and set down his luggage on the floor by his feet. I jumped up from the couch and ran toward him arms outstretched. He wrapped me in his arms and smiled down at me, and planted a kiss on my forehead.

The last week had felt jumbled, as if it was a test. Grant had asked me to watch his dogs and his house while he was gone for a business trip to Germany, and I had obliged. We had only been dating for four months and I felt special to have been asked, but I hadn't expected the week he was gone to feel so strange. The days were okay, but the nights were uncomfortable; I wasn't used to being alone. I tried to comfort myself in the usual ways, like singing aloud to musicals as I played the songs from my laptop. I cuddled his dogs. I read books and watched movies.

"How was your trip?" I asked. He gave me a familiar look, one that said he'd rather talk about anything else, and so I didn't press the issue. Instead of answering, he knelt down and unzipped his luggage to produce a gift bag. He handed it to me, a black bag with white handles. "You shouldn't have," I said, and he replied, "But I wanted to. I knew you'd like it." I opened the bag to find European sweets and a little hand-painted stein, so small that would be better used for a shot of liquor than a swig of beer. Grant was always doing this, wanting to win affection through gifts, even though I'd told him so many times that monetary things weren't the way to my heart. "Thanks," I said, and I threw my arms around him again. He pulled me in closer and I inhaled his scent and snuggled deeper into the warmth of his sweater.

I had grown up told that actions speak louder than words, and I knew it to be true. But I wanted to believe the words. With Grant, I actually felt special. When I told him of my past, he was the first man I dated who hadn't held it against me, hadn't used it as a way to hurt me. Instead, he listened. One night I had sat on the floor and cried, pouring out the details of my childhood, and he sat on the floor across from me and gave me the space I needed to let out all my pain. He listened. He didn't argue, he didn't try to tell me how it was or wonder aloud why these traumatic scenarios from my youth had ever bothered me. He said the right things at the right times: "it wasn't your fault," and "you're a good person who has come so far despite what you've been through." When I was done, he held me.

Never in my life had I felt so special, so liked, so loved. For once I didn't feel like damaged goods. I felt like a whole person. I used to feel so unworthy of so many things. Of love, of life. But not with Grant. I started to feel like I had more control over my life. Like I was going places. And like Grant and I were meant to be.

"You're such a doll," he said as he mussed my hair, "Thanks again for watching my house. How about we make up for lost time?" It wasn't a romantic way to suggest it, but we did. In the morning, I woke and he wasn't in bed, but I heard the shower running. A few minutes later I was out the door to grab a coffee as I couldn't feel awake without one and he couldn't stand the stuff. I told myself it wasn't a problem to drive to a Starbucks every time I stayed the night at his house; after all there's no use having an appliance in his kitchen that he wouldn't use. I was back at his house in fifteen minutes and found a one word note from him: YOGA. He used to do this, rush off to an early morning class even though I was at his house, and I never knew whether I should stay or go. This morning was no different, but I had waited seven days and nights for his return that I decided to have my coffee here. I was reminded of how this had often felt like he didn't have room for me in his life, and although I tried to push it from my mind it wouldn't budge.

I sat at the kitchen table in silence and drank coffee from my to-go cup. No cream, no sugar. Just black coffee. The dogs, knowing they weren't allowed in the kitchen, sat on the couch in their favorite spaces. The terrier always on the left corner of the sofa. The collie always on the right corner of the sofa. The great dane always on the loveseat, having attempted to sit in the middle but truly taking up the whole thing. Always in their spots. This had been another thing I had pushed from my mind: the dogs all had a spot but there was nothing left for me. Grant had the only spot on the couch not taken by a dog, and if I wanted to sit next to him we had to squish together. It wasn't a problem; I liked sitting close to him. But it was only one more way that proved he didn't have room for me.

When he returned from yoga, I again heard the door unlock and open, but I was less excited about his return. Instead, I felt confused. Why would he rush off to yoga practice the morning after returning from Germany? Why didn't he want to catch up with me? Why did we do what we did last night if . . . I couldn't finish that thought. But then he sat down across from me at the table and spoke words that I never wanted to hear.

"I think we're too different," he said, but I didn't really hear it. The words, yes, but not what they meant. I laughed. "Of course we're not too different. I mean, I like coffee and you like yoga. That's not too different."

"You don't only like coffee, you work at a coffee shop, June."

I furrowed my brow. "So?"

He hesitated. "So, you're not taking life as seriously as I am."

Now I was getting upset. "Excuse me? I'm in school. I'm studying for a career. It's not my fault you're eight years older and you already have one."

"That's not my point." He hesitated again. "It's just . . . we're too different. I can't see this working long-term."

"What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "But I watched your house for a week. I fed your dogs twice a day. I've . . . I've been here surrounded by your stuff for the past seven days and I've been missing you like crazy. And now you're breaking up with me?"

"We were never together, you know that. You said you didn't want anything serious."

"I thought that's what men wanted to hear!" Now I was angry. "I just watched your dogs for a week, that seems plenty serious to me."

The silence stretched between us. "It's not enough," he said finally.

I shook my head. "I can't believe you're doing this," I said. But I knew that I could. I had seen the signs, had recognized deep down that he didn't have space for me in his life and wasn't willing to make any space either. "It's not enough that I did so much for you while you were gone, that we . . . did what we did last night, that you even brought me gifts back from Germany? I'm sorry Grant, I don't understand."

"We're just too different, that's all. There isn't anything else to understand."

I stood up from the table. "Why now, Grant? Why after I'd watched over your house? So you could save on dog boarding? Way to make a girl feel used." At that, he fixed his gaze on the empty table before him and didn't say another word. I gathered my belongings and removed his key from my keyring, and left it on the coffee table. The dogs watched as I left, but Grant didn't bother. I knew that with me I would take not only my previous baggage, but new baggage from this situation, too. From this time when I thought I was important to somebody, when I thought I had real meaning to another person, only to realize that we didn't feel the same way about each other at all.