“Do you need anything?”
No, I’m good, thank you.
“Water with ice, no straw? Anything else? Hungry? Something wrong?”
I hesitated for a moment and turned to face him.
Really, I’m fine. Please stop being so accommodating.
He seemed surprised for a moment, but understood, thank god.
I was relaying the scenario to a guy friend of mine the next day. I felt bad for what I said, and hoped my date understood. My friend said, “So basically you’re uncomfortable with things being the way they should be.”
And, of course, he was right. He always is.
The accommodating guy is someone I’ve been dating for a little bit. Sarah has nicknamed him Mystic. A story for another time.
He made me brunch on Sunday, but beforehand, he took the time to ask what I like to eat. I rattled off a handful of choices. He went with an egg white omelet that featured chopped spinach, assorted herbs and cheese. He doesn’t eat eggs. He chopped the spinach so fine that it looked like herbs when he was done. He asked questions. He took care. He fawned and fussed. He accommodated. As I texted him last night, I’m a lucky girl.
When it comes to relationships, there is a line to straddle for sure. Somewhere between having a healthy dose of cynicism about everything and becoming bitter. I’m walking the line, I know, teetering on one side, then the other. I sometimes struggle with the notion that Mystic might be accommodating because he likes me. Wants to take care of me. Wants to do right by me. Imagine that! I still want to believe the best in people, not even just boys, and I want to continue to raise my kids in the belief that people are downright good, and the ones that aren’t are the exception. Including boys like Mystic. Luckily he seems to understand where I’m coming from and is undeterred. And he makes a pretty mean egg white omelet to boot. I always did like a guy who could cook.
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