Unwanted advice

“You need to seriously look at your life and figure out where you’re going.”

“Y’know at some stage you’re going to have to settle down.”

“The old biological clock doesn’t wait for anyone.”

I’d heard them all.  And I’d heard them from all directions.

From my elderly aunts - shrivelled, desiccated women - as if they were ones to talk.  They weren’t the best adverts for life.

From some know-it-all friends (although calling them friends might be stretching it), who flaunted bald babies attached to their nipples like a badge of honour.  Honestly, I’m all supportive of breastfeeding, but do you have to shake them in my face for the entire lunch?  I didn’t particularly want to see them when we were sunbathing in Ibiza and they were tanned and perky so why would I want to see them across the table in Starbucks now that they’re white, blue-veined and huge?

From boyfriends who wanted to get serious and who couldn’t understand why I wasn’t gibbering and fluttering my eyelashes in gratitude for their attentions.

From my mother - gently.  Scared that she was poking a tiger.  Not knowing if I’d explode, or if I’d seeth.  Or if I’d ignore her entirely and pretend that I hadn’t heard her.

Even my wonderful, trailblazing aunt - who’d solo hiked across America, who’d danced on beaches and drank her way through seedy clubs.  Even she had slipped it into a conversation.  “You don’t want to be like me, Em, ending up on your own.”

Oh no?  It looked pretty fine to me.  And anyway I wasn’t on my own.  I usually had some male companion in tow, someone to try out the latest hot restaurants, or to glamp with at a festival.  Someone to have hot, dirty sex with, and to laze in bed with.

And I had great girlfriends to moan to, to laugh with across lazy, boozy lunches.  Who were always ready to tap out responses on WhatsApp, or to like my Instagram posts.

My life was just fine, thank you very much.

I had a great job, and a comfortable lifestyle.  I had good friends and boyfriends.  Boyfriends that I loved, then liked and then friendzoned (if they were good enough company to retain as friends) or ghosted if they were psychos or bores.

Like right now, I’m seeing Tony.

He’s lovely - he’s like me, looking for a good time not a forever time.  He’s good company, great in bed.  He’s fun to bring along to nights out - my friends like him and he likes them.

He sits across from me now, talking about Christmas, about his plans to travel home.

“When are you coming back to the city?  Will you have some days left before work?”  I’m sipping my white wine, toying with the idea of a long weekend away with him.  Maybe Paris.  Maybe some winter sun.

“Probably.  Not sure yet.  Why?  What are you planning on doing?”

“I’ll go home for Christmas.  My sister’s flying home from LA with her family, so I want to see them.  I haven’t seen them since last Christmas.  But if you’re up for it, we could go away for a few days.  Maybe a city break?  Or maybe some sun?”

“Sounds good.  I think I’d prefer a city break.  I’m not much for lying around in the sun.  Anyway this time of year it’ll be full of families on school break.  Better to get away during school terms so that we’re not surrounded by rugrats.”  He grinned, knowing I’d be on the same wavelength.

“Ok, sounds good.  Maybe Paris would be nice?”

“Romantic.  Are you hoping for some romance?”  

Did he tense slightly?  Was he worried that I was hinting about taking the relationship to the next level?  We’d been dating for about nine months, and seeing each other exclusively for the last six months.

“Relax,” I touched his hand with the base of my wine glass.  “I get plenty of romance from you as it is.  I don’t need Paris for romance.”

He smiled.  “I wasn’t worried.  I know you.  I know you like to keep it light.”

Paris was lovely - the city was cold and frosty and magical.  The food was delicious.  The hotel was luxurious.  The sex was spectacular.  A perfect climax (excuse the pun) for a wonderful Christmas break.  I headed into the new year rested, refreshed and totally content with my life.

At Easter, we flew to Rome, to get some sun on our warmth-starved skin.  Another glorious, hedonistic weekend that was coming to an end too quickly.  On the last day we wandered through the narrow cobble locked streets, savouring the noise and smells of this fabulous city.

“So,” he took a deep breath and held both of my hands, pausing me in the middle of the street.  I looked up at him, and then looked around me, moving closer to him so that the other walkers could make their way around us.  I shuffled him over towards the side of the path.  

“You ok?”  I asked.  

He nodded, his grey eyes serious.  “Emily, I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest.”

“Ok.”  I felt slightly uneasy.  This wasn’t like him.  “I’m always honest.  With you. With everyone.  Some would say honest to a fault.”  I tried to inject some levity into the conversation.

“Yes, that’s true.  You are.  So, I wanted to ask you… where this is going.  Where we are going.”  His gaze never faltered.  “We’ve been going out with each other for nearly a year now.”

“Well, yes, we’ve been seeing each other for a year, but just seriously, exclusively for nine months,” I interjected.  As though the three casual months should be deducted as a debit, not given full credit for counting as ‘real time’.

“Ok, a year, nine months…” he nodded his head from side-to-side, as if he wasn’t going to stand here and debate whether the three months should count or not.  “But I think we both like each other?”  It was a statement, but it ended up in an inflection, as if he was looking for me to confirm it.  

I nodded.  Matter-of-factly, not enthusiastically, as I wasn’t sure yet where this was going, but I also wasn’t sure if I liked the direction of travel.

“We both like each other,” he repeated, as a fact.  Now that I had confirmed it.  “So, I was wondering… what’s next.  Where do we think this is going?”

I mulled over this, trying to figure out how to play this.  The silence stretched.  His forehead crinkled slightly, as though cross that I was taking so long.  “Well,” I started.  “I’m enjoying it, and I think you are too, so I think it’s going well.  I don't have a destination in mind, but I’m enjoying the journey.”  OK, that sounded a bit corny.  The deeper crinkles in his forehead suggested that he wasn’t happy with my answer either.  I tried again.  “I’m not sure what you’re asking, Tony.  I like you, a lot.  And I do enjoy our relationship.  Is that what you’re asking?”

“No, I think I know that,” his voice was slightly tense.  “I’m asking if this is going to develop into something more serious.  Y’know, the next step.”

“Like…?  Marriage…?  Kids…?”

He frowned.  “You say that like it’s a foreign concept.  Yeah, I dunno.  Like moving in together.  Or yes, at some stage marriage and kids, in whatever order.  Being open to that in the future.”  His voice was slightly annoyed.  He wasn’t trying to persuade me, or woo me.  He was pissed that I wasn’t already there with him.

I stepped back slightly, still holding his hand but wanting a bit more distance to make my point.  “Tony, we were always clear on this from the start.  Both of us.  I was crystal clear, but so were you.  We wanted to have a good time.  We didn’t want a long term commitment.  No ‘till death do us part’s.  I don’t want that to change.  I still like you.  I still want to have a good time.”

“But what’s different about what we’re doing right now?  We like each other.  We’re not seeing other people.”

“Exactly.  So why change anything?”  Now I was cross with him.  We had a good thing.  This really wasn’t necessary.”

“Because, surely we want something more - to know this is going somewhere.  To have someone to grow old with.  To have a family.  Kids.  A home.  Not all at once.

“Tony, that is not what I want.  I have always been clear that I don’t want kids, a husband.  I’m happy to keep living it day-to-day month-to-month, year-to-year.  And I do like you, and I may grow old with you if we still enjoy it day-to-day, but I don’t need to tie it all up in a formality like marriage.”

He looked at me, disbelieving.  Why would he disbelieve something I have made clear from day one.  He dropped my hands.  Not in a big-pissed-off dramatic way.  Just let them go, opening his fingers slowly.  “I know you always said it, that we always said it, but I assumed that because we were still together we were changing together, moving towards something more permanent.”

“But why would you assume that?”  I was both genuinely curious and massively pissed off.

“Because, Emily, people grow older.  People fall in love.  People want families.”  He looked at me, as though trying to peer into my soul.  That soul that he was sure he could convince.  That soul that he believed probably deeply felt the same thing and just needed to be awoken.  He touched my cheek, gently.  “Y’know, Emily, you can’t run forever.”

He’d said it - he was just the same as all the others.  The other boyfriends, the elderly aunts, the smug friends, my mother…

I looked at him.  Calmly.  Not a flicker on my face.

I stepped back

“Oh no?  Just fucking watch me.”