“So, Elena, what do you do again?” Mark asked as we sat down for a chicken, rice, and vegetable dinner.

  “I teach yoga full time,” I said, cutting into the meat.

  I could hear Fatima in the back of my mind, cracking a joke about these people and their tasteless, bare chicken.

  Mark had nothing to say but smiled and nodded.

  Should I have said anything else? Do people often ask a question and not respond?

  “Jackson, how’s the school year going? I know Brittany has already filled me in on all her classes!” Barbara bubbled from her seat.

  That was something else that had slipped my mind. Everyone was a teacher at the table except Landon. Even Brittany’s husband, Ryan, was a teacher. They all taught high school like it was in their blood, except Mark, who was a tenured professor.

  Another way Landon was so very different from his family.

  “Oh, you know, kids are assholes, as usual. They let the dress code go for the year, and it’s madness kids are going to be showing up in their underwear without any rules to follow,” he huffed.

  I winced. Dress codes were inherently patriarchal and fatphobic and racist. Bodies were bodies, and as long as no one was to get naked, who the fuck cared?

  “Yeah, but dress codes are super sexist, so I am glad they are doing away with them slowly,” Brittany said.

  “Tell me how they are sexist. Like, come on. Does everything have to be about women’s rights?” Jackson said, rolling his eyes.

  “Jackson!” Barbara said.

  “Yeah, it does because everything is!”

  They went at it until, finally, Jackson got up and stormed out. Brittany looked smugly after him. I didn’t know things would get so heated at the table. I was unprepared for the banter that happened normally here.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes, these two are just a lot, you know,” Barbara said.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled and shrugged, finishing my vegetables. Landon hadn’t said a word since we settled in.

  “You know, Brittany and I tried yoga once together,” Barbara said.

  “Oh, really? That’s fun!” I said.

  “Yeah, it was kind of boring and slow, though, in my opinion,” Brittany said, dismissing my life’s work.

  I looked over at Landon, who glared at his sister.

  “Why don’t we play a game of something?” he said.

  “I’ll just watch,” Mark said, excusing himself to the other room.

  Another thing I forgot is that, apparently, his dad refused to play games. The evening was already all sorts of odd, but I kept reminding myself that Landon had found the courage to tell me he loved me earlier and that I wouldn’t let this weird show of family ruin the glow I had from our earlier conversation.

  No other questions were directed toward me or Landon. It was as if we were simply ornaments on a wall. There was no need to interact with us, and we were just taking up space around the table.

  We finally said our goodbyes, and I sent up a silent note of gratitude to God, Mother Earth, whoever was listening, that my family was very much the opposite.

  “So, that was a lot . . .” Landon said when we were finally driving back to my apartment.

  “Yeah, can we get some dessert on the way home? I need some sugar after that.”

  “Deal.”

  “How are you doing with how that went?”

  I wondered how that must have felt for Landon when his family couldn’t be bothered to actually show up for him when he needed to.

  “I mean, not great.”

  “Yup.”

  “I think I just wish they were different and that they were better, you know? Even though I know them to be like that. I wish they weren’t. It would be nice to have an ounce of effort from them, and I just always feel like the odd one out,” he said, frowning.

  I nodded as we ordered through the drive thru of our favorite vegan ice cream parlor and waited for our cones.

  “It was nice to have you there, though. To have someone on my side, even though I know it was terrible for you, too,” he said between mouthfuls of frozen custard.

  “It was not my favorite experience, but I can deal with it if it means I get to be with you,” I said before licking my own cone.

  We sat in comfortable silence, devouring our cold treats.

  “So, can we circle back to what happened before we entered the shit storm that was me meeting your parents?” I said, wanting to revisit the “I love you” situation.

  He blushed. “Yes, sorry to spring that on you, but I just wanted to say it.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been wanting to say it for so long. I almost accidentally said it like a bajillion times and really wanted to wait until you were ready.”

  “I figured you were ready way before me. I just needed to sort it out in my head first, you know? I don’t exactly know what love feels like, but this feels like it.”

  “I hate when people say you just know when you know, but, legitimately, love is kind of like that,” I said, disliking the cliche of that phrase but knowing that it was true.

  “I get it now, though.” He grinned.

  “So, can I bring up a follow-up to this conversation, then?” I said, feeling like it came with a commitment or a label.

  “Sure, let’s hear it.”

  “Can we put a label on us now?” I said excitedly, feeling like this was it!

  We would finally settle into one another as partners.

  Landon’s face went blank.

  “Um . . . well, I don’t know if I want to get married,” he blurted.

  “What does marriage have to do with a label?” I asked, confused.

  “Well, I love you, but I don’t want to put a label on us because I don’t know if I ever want to ever get married,” he said, like all those words in that sentence made sense.

  “What the fuck?”

  It came out of my mouth before I had time to think.

  “I’m sorry, Elena,” he said, looking pained. “I know it might mean that we don’t stay together, but I can’t do marriage right now.”

  Why were we even talking about marriage? I was so confused.

  “I need a minute,” I said and got out of the car. I walked around the parking lot, trying to work through this.

  How had we gone from “I love you” to marriage in the matter of seconds? I tried to breathe easy and ignore the gnawing feeling in my stomach. I paced the lot, looking like an absolute lunatic, as Landon tracked me with his eyes.

  “Okay, you can do this, Elena. Get back into the car and have this conversation,” I whispered to myself.

  So, I took a deep breath and walked back to where Landon looked panicked in the vehicle and opened the door and sat.

  I could do this. I could have this conversation rationally.

  A few tears threatened to slip out, and I choked them back.

  This was not how I had wanted this evening to go.

  CHAPTER Thirty

  "So, you just told me you love me, but you don’t want to get married?” I asked, confusion sinking into my bones.

  We weren’t at marriage at all. We had been dating for four months, but I wasn’t ready to take the whole possibility of our future off the table.

  “I am just trying to be honest with you,” he said, looking at me openly. “I want you to know fully where I am at before we put an official label on this.”

  “This has been your hesitation to put a label on us because you’re worried about a future down the line?”

  “Yes, I want to be as transparent as possible. And the divorce rate is so high now, and my sister had a failed marriage. My dad doesn’t have a personality outside of marriage to my mom, and I just don’t think I will ever want that,” he said, twisting his fingers in his lap.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  I wanted a long-term commitment at some point in my life. I knew that only in the context of marriage, but I wasn’t opposed to exploring options. But I didn’t like that Landon had decided for us that it wasn’t a possibility. It felt weirdly like an ultimatum. Either you agree with me and are fine without marriage, and we move forward or you aren’t fine with it, and we break up.

  “I need . . . I need to think about this. I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do with this right now,” I said, feeling like tears were pricking the backs of my eyes.

  It was like I started the mourning process for something that had not even happened yet.

  I didn’t want to have this conversation. I wasn’t ready to have this discussion so early into our relationship, and I didn’t want to decide on what the rest of my life looked like right now.

  “Okay, there’s no expectation of this conversation. No timeline to follow . . . I just wanted to tell you,” he said.

  “I get that, but I can’t not deal with what just came out of your mouth. I think I need some time to just sort this out on my own. I need some space from you and this for a few days,” I said, gesturing between us, swallowing the hurt.

  I needed to sort through this more. And I needed some space to figure it out on my own.

  “Okay, sure. Take as much time as you need,” he said, looking sad.

  We rode in silence for the rest of the ride.

  He walked me to the door, and I couldn’t find it in me to offer physical touch.

  Landon cleared his throat as I opened my door. “I’ll be here waiting for you whenever you want to talk, okay? Text or call anytime.”

  I nodded and shut the door.

  I felt like I was floating toward my room, trying to find my body connection, but I just felt untethered, like, at any moment, I could blow away or fall into a million little pieces.

  Finally, I moved to my bed and lay down, trying to sort out the hurt I felt. He loved me but didn’t want to commit long-term?

  I was confused, hurt, and shaken.

  I was angry at him, myself, and the universe.

  Why did I have to make this decision? Why did he have to give such a huge choice? Why did the universe let me fall in love and then be crushed by these decisions?

  I didn’t know what to do.

  So, I sobbed into my bed. I soaked my pillows with my tears and wrapped my body in my blanket, unsure of how to navigate an impossible choice so early in our relationship.

  For the next few days, I felt like a phantom. I knew deep in my heart I wanted a long-term commitment to a partner. I wanted someone to live life with, and I wanted them to commit in a context similar to marriage if not marriage itself.

  For a full twenty-four hours, it seemed like the only resolution to this issue was that I end the relationship. Even though I loved him, and I was in no shape to let him go. It felt like, if we disagreed on something so fundamental, then I should save both of us from the hurt.

  But then I got angry. I didn’t want to be the one to decide. To decide that we should end before we started because Landon refused to open his heart to the possibility of what our future could look like.

  I was also very confused because he had talked about weddings, his wedding, and how he wanted it to be wild, weird, and queer. And I had said I wanted the same thing. We had talked about and challenged gender roles together and wanted something uniquely ours.

  So, why did he think that a marriage with us would be anything like anyone else’s? His experience of marriage was based on other people. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with us. So, he was deciding for us based on assumptions that had nothing to do with us . . .

  Could I even discuss this?

  I didn’t want my goal to just convince him to marry me but be open to the possibility of us creating something magical and unique together. But was I fooling myself into hoping he would change his mind later?

  Should I just cut my losses?

  Should I just grieve the relationship?

  I wasn’t ready, and I didn’t want to, but it felt like maybe that was my only solution.

  “Are you okay?”

  My manager asked. I realized I had been dazed, sitting at the desk with tears sparkling in my eyes.

  “Um . . . not really.”

  Anastasia sat next to me. “Want to talk about it?”

  “It’s heavy,” I said, like that was the answer.

  “And? I asked. Do you want to talk, E?”

  So, I spilled my guts to her and cried.

  “E, that is really heavy. I’m sorry you are dealing with this right now. But it sounds like he’s scared. He did something super emotionally vulnerable by saying he loved you and then added the caveat of marriage as a way to keep some semblance of control. Because we really can’t control our thoughts and feelings. We can change and be open to patterns, but immediate thoughts and feelings just happen. Can I tell you a story?”

  I nodded.

  “I didn’t want to get married to my husband. We had been together for seven years, and it felt like he had proposed out of the blue. I thought we would just do what we were doing for the rest of our lives. Was marriage off the table? Not really. But it wasn’t something I actively thought about.

  “Plus, I never really wanted to be a wife. The gendered roles really freaked me out, and I still felt like a kid. When he proposed, I said yes, and I freaked out. I thought everything would change. That we would be fundamentally different. But, ultimately, we stayed the same, but we had a stronger bond together. My uneasiness was based on my experiences with marriage in other contexts, not my own.

  “I think you and Landon just need to have this conversation that you’re allowed to make up whatever you want to be together. And you don’t need to be making decisions about a future that hasn’t happened yet. Be in the present. Let the choice be you and him against whatever is happening, not you two against one another.” She squeezed my hand, and I exhaled.

  So, maybe there was hope in finding a middle ground or leaning into the possibility of all futures, not just one.

  I hugged her. “Thank you, Anastasia. I really appreciate talking to you.”

  It felt like a relief that someone else had said I didn’t need to make a decision now but simply ask for him to be open to the possibility. Because I may wake up later in my life and never want to get married, or I may wake up and really want to.

  But, either way, the marriage would be about us together, not a specific type of societal trope.

  I wanted to fuck up the heteronormative social construct, not live in it for the rest of my life, and I wanted someone who would fuck it up with me.

  So, I would talk to him about it instead of deciding that the relationship would need to end. I needed to see the gray in the situation instead of the black and white. I wasn’t asking for an engagement soon or a marriage. In fact, that shit felt like years away at the earliest.

  I wanted to do and accomplish so many things before marriage. I didn’t want to lose myself to a relationship. I wanted my own individuality and identity that was stronger because of a partner not diminished.

  And I felt like we both wanted the same thing, but maybe we were thinking about it in a different context.

  I didn’t know how he would respond to me challenging him on this. He had been receptive to hearing feedback and admitting when he was wrong before. He was a great communicator most of the time and made me a better communicator, too.

  So, I told myself I would give myself until the next day and then text him and hope for the best.

  I didn’t want this to end like this. I wasn’t ready to let him go. We were so aligned on everything else, so it was confusing why he had drawn a line in the sand about this. We were on the same page about mostly everything else in terms of long-term, important things.

  Our morality and integrity were all the same.

  So, I was confused why he would think our future would look like anyone else’s.

  I let the rest of the day pass, trying to ground myself in what I would say and how the conversation would go. I was done with my tears for the time being, but they would be back if this relationship ended.

  I knew that, if this conversation went well, it wouldn’t be the last hard conversation we would have. In any relationship, shit conversations would leave both parties devastated and hurt. It didn’t mean they shouldn’t happen. It meant that you would go through the hard shit to come out stronger and more secure in who you were.

  Relationships of deep meaning and connection were not meant to be easy all the time. They needed work to maintain, grow, and evolve. Like a cute baby plant, it required nutrition, love, and sun.

  That night, I had typed out a bajillion different texts to send to Landon, and, in the end, I settled on something.

  Me: Hey. I am ready to revisit this conversation. Thank you for giving me space and time to sort out my thoughts and feelings. When are you free to have this conversation?

  I sent it late and told myself to go to bed.

  We would see what the next day would bring, and either way, I knew that I needed to trust myself and my strength to make the most empowered choice I could.

  CHAPTER Thirty-One

  I can be free today at 2pm if that works?

  Landon’s message woke me up, and I was relieved he had responded. Anticipatory time was not my strong suit. So, I agreed and told him I would come over to his apartment later in the day.

  Work in the morning was a struggle, and I truly felt like I was half there, as anxiety clawed its way into my throat and worked its way around my lungs. I wanted to get it out of my face, and my job was getting in the way that day.

  The time finally rolled around, and I stood outside his apartment complex, waiting for him to come get me. I tried to relax and breathe through it and rehearse what I would say once we chatted. I didn’t want to forget anything or leave out anything important. And I was prepared for the worst. This could blow up in my face—it had in the past—and I wasn’t necessarily not prepared for it.