Mr. Vanilla is an incredibly normal guy. He has a massive collection of relatively mainstream music. He has an average career. He isn’t a pervert. He isn’t emotionally overwrought (or even emotionally available, for that matter).

Mr. Vanilla and I have gone on half a dozen pretty normal and average dates. Drinks, coffee, dinner, movies at home, a stroll on the beach.

Mr. Vanilla is gentle when he touches me. He is not passive or unconfident, just deliberately gentle. He has reminded me that a soft, subtle touch can be just as controlling as a rough or painful one.

Yesterday Mr. Vanilla whisked me off to the beach in a convertible. We soaked in the water for an hour and told jokes and spotted dolphins. We even re-enacted a cliche and strolled along the water holding hands as the sun set. We talked about our failed past relationships and our current agendas.

Mr. Vanilla is more complex than he seems at face value. He isn’t intentionally enigmatic but I still find myself wondering about him at odd moments. He knows how to say the right thing at just the right moment and never any sooner.

After dinner at a shrimp shack, we drove back in the dark with the top down. I tried to control my sundress and beach hair and failed at both. When Mr. Vanilla put his hand on my thigh, I got a shiver and I couldn’t help but smile.

I’ve had a hard month.  Without going into too much detail, Michael said the following statements to me all in the course of a single day:

“I love you more today than I ever have.”

“If I were making choices based on who makes me happiest or who I love more, I would stay with you.”

“I believe you may be the greatest love of my life and I don’t think I’ll ever get over you.”

“I cannot be with you anymore.”

The last one seems like a bit of a contradiction and it was. I thrashed around in supreme pain for a few weeks. I was bitter, angry, and crying at the drop of the hat. Each beautiful memory felt like being punched in the stomach. Each interaction with him represented the pain of being re-rejected over and over again.

Just when I found some peace and was putting things back together, he hit a snag and reached out to me for the emotional support that his partner wasn’t providing him. No phone call has ever made me feel more used and degraded than this one did.

I’ve slowly worked my way back from that. I’m working back to forgiving him again, wanting to find a place to be kind to him. My love remains unconditional but my ability to care, nurture, and support is seriously strained. The reality is that Michael chose to leave me in order to put all of his effort into another relationship. He made the choice purely on his own and against the wishes of his parter, but it was still his choice to make. As that other relationship continues to flounder, I don’t know if he harbors any regrets. It isn’t for me to know.

***

But, the point of the post isn’t what happened. It is what is happening.

Yesterday I celebrated the holiday with many of my dearest friends. We grilled out, drank fantastic amounts of beer, played board games, and churned our own ice cream.

As it got late (and tipsy), I declared that I could go for a swim. Noah (who has remained a dear friend) got behind this idea wholeheartedly and we quickly organized a late-night march down to the river.

When we arrived near the water it was still and black. Most of my friends were too hesitant to scramble down the steep bank in the dark but Noah forged ahead and I managed to follow. We slipped out of our clothes and into the water. It was perfect. Not too cold and smelling green. We floated out past the rocks and stared up at the moon and an abandoned train trestle and listened to firecrackers exploding in the distance.

We just leaned against a downed tree trunk and lived in that lovely warm, wet, firecrackers moment. We talked about the moon and the train trestle and turtles. I realized that I felt fundamentally right in that water. The world was in place and my sorrow had subsided. Instead of feeling incomplete and broken, I actually had some peace. One of my best friends was near my side and there to observe my independence and tranquility. I felt beautiful, happy, and safe.