Offending

On our way out to dinner, my phone began to ring.

"That's strange," I said while fumbling through my purse to retrieve it, "That's your ring tone. Are you calling me?"

Scott felt his pocket, "Nope."

I looked at the screen, "Oh," and I dropped it back into my purse.

"Boyfriend?"

I held up my hand and waved it side-to-side. It was Christopher. He called me out of the blue the previous month while I preparing to go out with The Musician. He never explained his disappearance on me over a year ago, but he was happy to get back in touch with me. We made plans to meet up, but I canceled to go to the movies with Scott. Since Scott and I settled down, I have yet to pick up Christopher's calls, which means that he's been dialing incessantly.

"So what, you keep us all on the same ring tone?"

Busted. I have 5 groups of ring tones: family, coworkers, girlfriends, platonic boyfriends, and boys.

"We were together for about five months. I haven't seen him in over a year. I'm not going to."

"Well you do what you have to do."

I frowned at his response. It was too apathetic for my liking. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You do what you have to do. I don't mean it as an asshole comment. But I'd prefer it if you didn't see him."

That's what I wanted to hear. But I kept thinking about his initial comment: he gave me permission. I spoke slowly, choosing my words carefully. "Just to be clear, when I say 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend,' I mean that relationship is exclusive." We decided on always being totally honest with each other when we first met, and I was using this opportunity now. With other boys I would have let the comment go and it would fester in me like an open wound, but I didn't feel like I had withhold myself around Scott.

"Yes, when the couple specifically decides that."

I pulled up in front of the restaurant and put my truck in park. I frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"It's just that I thought we did have that conversation." I thought back to the two conversations we had and tried to think of the wording. I definitely said monogamy.

"When?"

"Last Thursday and Friday," I mumbled. I felt silly and foolish in the event I was wrong. I put myself through all that emotional torture over the relationship for no reason. It turns out I jumped into it by myself. And with myself.

"We did."

I stared at him across the seats, "So we are?"

"Monogamous? Yes."

But the panic began to rise in me over this colossal confusion. What if I did it all to myself? How did I misread everything that badly? My breathing got shallow and I began to shake.

"Whoa! What's wrong?" he jumped out of the truck and ran around to open my door.

"It's just... I've been operating under that assumption for the last week."

"I haven't gone out with anyone else in the past week either."

Yes, but he was also laid up in my apartment because of his accident. The answer wasn't good enough. I clenched my fists over and over to try and get control of my hands. Scott looked down at them. He's seen me do this a few times already and knows it's a nervous habit when I'm upset. He saw it for the first time when I wrecked the motorbike and couldn't stop shaking from that. "But I thought we were monogamous as of last week," I whined.

He grabbed my hands and rubbed them, "I did too. It's just you put me in check when that guy called and you said you were going to see him."

"But I said I wasn't going to see him, " I sniffed.

"Well I didn't hear the 'wasn't' part."

"So it was just a reaction then?"

"Yes, you put me in check, " he put his arm around me as we walked into the restaurant. I was surprised that he put it that way--as an offensive chess maneuver--because I don't see myself having the power to hurt others. They only hurt me.

As soon as we got inside I ordered a very stiff drink to calm my nerves. He spent the meal telling me that he's 31, ergo he's beyond games. He's made it very clear he's looking to settle. Once again, before the anxiety attack could come full force, he put me at ease. I smiled at him.

"Hurry up, your pool is only open for 30 more minutes," he said, scooting back from the table.

"Wait! I still have half a beer!" I exclaimed.

"Chug!"

"Scott, I will have you know that I am a lady and ladies don't--"

"Whatever. I know where you went to college. And I know that you can chug a beer because of it," he grinned.

Touche. The boy was right. "Fine. Race ya," and I picked up my pint glass and won.

"I love you," he laughed.

I knew he didn't mean it like that. He wasn't in love with me, he merely loved me as a person. And I was okay with that. I was happy with that.

But I still changed the subject just in case.