DTR

Ed. Note: DTR = Defining the Relationship.


I entered the bar and scooted in the booth with Lawyered.

"Your boyfriend should be here in a few minutes. He was finishing up his game as I was leaving," he said.

"Okay, cool."

He slurped his beer from the full pint glass. "Have you had the DTR yet?"

"Nope."

"How long have y'all been together?"

I thought for a moment. "The second week of kickball."

"That's a long time. Y'all should have the DTR."

"I'm not ready for the DTR."

"What if he's with other people?"

"I know he's not."

"How do you know?"

Because I have a toothbrush in his bathroom cup. Because we communicate every day. Because we spend time together on the weekends.

"You've met Abraham; he isn't a player," I settled.

"How many times have you had sex?"

This is the thing with Lawyered. When I was single and in my dry spell, one would have thought I had cobwebs between my knees by the way he spoke. When I do get action, I'm the hussy.

I didn't want to answer his question, because I knew no matter what I said, Lawyered would find a problem with it. Also, I didn't want to tell the table the amount of sex because it borders on embarrassing.

"Countless," I shrugged.

"Yeah. You need to have the DTR."

"I don't want to have the DTR until I know what the answer is," I finally said truthfully.

I don't know the answer to that question. When I was with Jack, I took it so personally when he didn't want to enter the relationship phase until we had several serious discussions. I see the logic and reasoning behind that now. It seems foolish to jump into something blindly just so I can call the guy my boyfriend.

But at the same time, I'm over dating multiple people so I won't get attached to the one guy I really like. I'm okay with getting attached. I'm okay with focusing on Abraham and learning as much as I can about him. Just like he lingers on first base with me, I'm okay with lingering on first base in our relationship. I feel like I made a mistake with Valdosta. Because I liked him so much, I was so eager to tell him. I don’t want to make that same mistake again. It’s just Abraham, and it’s just me; there’s nothing to race against.

I stood at Abraham's sink, brushing my teeth. My toes squished in the bathmat I got him. I faced him with the toothbrush hanging out of my mouth.

"Mmgmhrr This is comfortable, isn't it?" I garbled.

"Yeah," he said, laying on the bed.

I come to bed and find his body and match it curve to curve with my own. Obediently, he lifts his arm and wraps it around me. My toes curl around his ankles. He says I’m cold. I say it’s not winter yet.

Abraham spoke of his upcoming birthday. He said birthdays after the age of 25—especially for men—aren’t a big deal anymore, but I know in the frequency that he’s brought it up that he’s looking forward to celebrating it.

It’s his 35th birthday. I say that he’s the numbers man and I’m the letters girl, but isn’t 35 halfway to 70? He doesn’t laugh. Forty may be the new 30 and 60 may be the new 50, but 70 is old. He realizes this and ponders it for a moment.

He sighed and shifted in bed until he faced me. We lock eyes for a moment. I was startled at our ability to stare at each other in the darkness of his bedroom. Then his face buries into mine and we kiss. We kiss until I lose myself in him.

Intimacy is what I seek; I have found it. Dinner will come. Dinner is the easy part. It’s much harder to find the connection, to find someone who wants to be with you as much as you want to be with him. The DTR will also come, or it won’t. I’m okay with the DTR never coming. I’m okay with trying and failing. I’m strong. I’ve survived much worse than this.