I Hated That Moment When Family Members, a Client, and Friends Barged Into My Relationship, Uninvited, Tearing It Into Pieces
Essay.
I hated that moment, after our shopping, my friend, the one who was married a month ago, said, I’m going home—to my husband, looking straight at me. I hated that moment when her eyes spoke volumes. She was going home—to be with her husband, and I was going home—to be with my boyfriend. Her home was better than mine because she was married.
I hated that moment at TG’s wedding, when her aunt asked me, why are you not married? I pointed to my boyfriend who was talking to TG’s husband. And her aunt turned to look at me, but why are you not married? I hated that moment when TG’s aunt dismissed my boyfriend as if she didn’t see him. I hated that moment when she dismissed my relationship as if it was somehow less because I am not married to the man I love. I hated that moment when I forced my legs to stand still, to not stomp the ground. I hated that moment when family members made it their business to know why I am not married. I pointed to my boyfriend to every person who asked me and still. I hated that moment when they didn’t leave me alone. When their hands flung around the air, look what you’re missing, they said. I hated that moment when I made myself repeat, I have a boyfriend. I hated that moment when, right after I said that, they pointed to the bride and the groom. Look what you’re missing. I hated that moment when I forced myself to stay, to not leave, TG is my best friend in the whole world, when I forced myself to not be rude to every person who dismissed my boyfriend who was right there at the wedding.
I hated that moment, later, when TG held my hands with both her hands and looked at me, then she looked away. My heart skipped, people talking, laughing, in the crowded wedding hall, blurred into the background. I hated that moment when I thought TG was like my other friends. I hated that moment when my ears buzzed, because I was waiting for her to ask me a question I had heard so many times. Why won’t you get married like me? I hated that moment when I waited for my best friend to pour scalding water on our seven-year-old friendship. And I will never forget what she said next.
You know I love you.
Just that.
No judging me for not being married. I will never forget that moment when I knew I had a friend for life. I will never forget her dark eyes, what they told me, even though she was now married and I am not and I don’t know if I will ever be, I could hold her eyes and not look away.
I hated that moment when I met a new training client for the first time, when she noticed the ring on my left hand’s fourth finger is not a wedding ring. When I pulled my hands from the table and shoved them between my legs, as if I was ashamed. I hated that moment when I spoke first. When I filled the awkward silence that sat in the table. I hated that moment, later after our meeting, when she asked, you’re not married, but why? When I said, nothing wrong with being not married, and she said, but you look like you’re in your early 40s and I said nothing and she looked at me like I must be out of my mind. But what’re you waiting for? I hated that moment when I made myself explain to the woman because I wanted to work with her even though she made me feel like I had committed a sin for not being married at my age. I hated that moment when she tried to change a relationship that is not hers, when she questioned my explanation, I’m happy as an unmarried woman, I love my boyfriend, and right now I don’t want to get married, and she interrupted me, but why? Why? Why? I hated that moment when she didn’t stop. When she barged into my relationship, uninvited, tearing it into pieces.
I hated that moment, in the café, a week after her wedding, when TG and I met in-person after her wedding. I hated the thought that crept in. I am going to lose TG. When I thought she would be that kind of a friend. TG asked about my debut story collection out on submission now, what new writing projects I’m working on. I asked about her honeymoon trip she was going to take to Kenya in two weeks. I hated that moment when I waited, for the moment when she would say, now, I’m married. I’m going home—to my husband. I hated that moment when I held my breath, waiting, waiting for the moment when everything would change in our friendship. Forever. I hated that moment when I waited to see a chair, a familiar chair, appearing, and wedging itself between us. And I will never forget that moment, later, after we left the café, TG hopped in her car and she said, see you Friday? I will never forget that moment when I realized she still wanted to meet for our regular Friday after-work hangouts, when we drink red wine and talk about everything (without our partners). I will never forget that moment when my friend didn’t say, I’m going home—to my husband, and I didn’t see a chair appearing, sitting between the two of us. I will never forget that moment when my friend didn’t make me feel like I had sinned for being an unmarried woman.
I hated that moment, years ago, when my three friends and I strolled inside a mall, looking for gifts to buy. In front of a watch shop, I’m buying this watch for my husband, one of them said. She had married her husband a month ago. Since the four of us had started browsing the shops, she’d repeated, I’m buying this for my husband, I’m buying that for my husband like a broken bell that kept tinkering. I hated that moment, after seeing a watch I was sure my boyfriend would love through the window of the watch shop, and I said, I’m buying a watch for my boyfriend, and there was a terrible silence after that. I hated that moment when my friends looked at me, then they looked at each other, not one of them said a word. I hated that moment when they just stood there, they looked like they were thinking real hard about…about me. I hated that moment when I realized what they might be thinking, that I was now the only woman among us who was not married. I hated that moment when I stood still, thinking a thought I didn’t want to think, still I was thinking it, I should leave, I don’t belong here anymore, but still not moving, we’ve been friends for so long. I hated that moment when I waited, waited for one of them to break the moment. I hated that moment when that moment stretched into eternity. I hated that moment, after our shopping, my friend, the one who was married a month ago, said, I’m going home—to my husband, looking straight at me. I hated that moment when her eyes spoke volumes. She was going home—to be with her husband, and I was going home—to be with my boyfriend. Her home was better than mine because she was married. I hated that moment when I looked at my other two friends, looking for what, I didn’t know. They didn’t understand why I was not married, or not planning a wedding to marry my boyfriend, they’d told me. Friends could live different lives, I thought, and could still be friends. I hated that moment when my friends stared at me and even though I hated looking away when married people made me feel less for not being a married woman I looked away. I will never forget that moment, when what they didn’t say had pulled a chair and sat between us.