A quick note: This post is a work of personal memoir, told to the best of my recollection. Some names and identifying details have been changed or omitted to protect the privacy of the people involved. Dialogue and text messages are reproduced as accurately as possible, though some details may be reconstructed from memory. The opinions, interpretations, and feelings expressed here are my own.
PART I
Whoa. He’s TALL. And CUTE.
When I first saw Randy I was taken aback. After months of sporadic and not entirely engaging texting, I was ready to be underwhelmed.
We’d been set up by a mutual friend, Shawna, via text, both of us having just gotten out of serious relationships. Now I was 1,800 miles from home, at her wedding, meeting Randy in person for the first time. It was an outdoor, waterfront event the afternoon before the wedding and Randy was standing by the grills next to two large coolers filled with beer. I recognized him right away. I took a deep breath and walked over.
“Randy! Hi!” I said as I approached, smiling and hoping I looked calmer than I felt.
It was late July and the theme was Yacht Rock. I was wearing a short-sleeved blue sweater with a sailboat stitched on the front, a long fitted white skirt, and a red and blue satin scarf, tied jauntily around my neck like a Pan Am stewardess.
“Jules! Hello!”
His grin was wide and sincere. I was immediately struck by not only his height, but his energy: warm, inviting, and fun. He looked like a walking bear hug – and the perfect wedding date, just as Shawna had predicted.
“What a beautiful place this is!” I continued.
“I know!” Randy agreed and I could already detect the full throttle Midwest accent.
“And the weather is perfect, too.”
“Can’t beat it!”
“Well,” I said, starting to panic. I had interrupted a conversation he was having with someone I didn’t recognize and they were both looking at me expectantly. “I’m going to go grab a cocktail!”
I could feel Randy’s eyes on me as I walked away, but for the rest of the event, he never approached me. I tried not to take it personally.
I wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway. I had just recently freed myself from a man and a joint mortgage that nearly killed me. My trust, safety, and patience had all been tested to the point of Lexapro.
I was finally –finally and truly– on Team My Life is Already Complete Without a Man. I was high on the prospect of days filled with peace, perfectly curated flower arrangements, and girl dinners. Was I open to possibility? Sure. But was I actively seeking dates? No, thank you.
I think my girlfriends agreed, based on the shirts they gifted me for my 44th birthday.
The night ended, or so I thought, at a dive bar downtown. It was the kind of Midwest town with a dive bar on every corner and cute coffee shops sprinkled between. You wouldn’t want to visit in January, but in July? Fantastic.
Randy still hadn’t tried to talk to me, but by the time we decided to walk back to the groom Jed’s house where a few guests were staying, we fell into lockstep and wound up at the dining room table with an expensive bottle of whiskey.
(Oregon Spirit Distillers Whiskey Festival, Bend, OR, September 2026)
“You can crash on my couch,” Shawna said to Randy as she was leaving to go home, about a half mile away. I was staying with her and knew her comment was anything but casual.
Randy and I, cool in the evening air but warm from the whiskey and company, walked back to Shawna’s house sometime after midnight.
“Hang on, do you know where she lives?” I stopped suddenly.
“No,” Randy laughed. “I thought you did!”
“I think we went way too far,” I said, not feeling nearly as embarrassed as I might have. Why was it so easy to be around this guy? It felt like we’d known each other for years.
I pulled out my phone and entered the address; we’d overshot her house by several blocks. We eventually tiptoed inside and found more whiskey. Before I knew it, it was three a.m. and we were still talking. One of Shawna’s cats occasionally made an appearance, but otherwise, it was just us.
“We should probably go to bed,” I whispered before things could get awkward. “Let me get you a blanket.”
I was staying in the guest room just off the living room where we’d been talking. As he settled onto the couch, I stood in the doorway.
“If you feel something warm and furry sit on your face,” I said, “I promise it’s not me.”
Randy’s jaw dropped and he blinked. I giggled.
“The cats,” I explained with a glint in my eye before shutting the door.
I laid down in bed before sitting up suddenly. I crept back into the living room.
“I forgot to show you the wedding gift I got!” I whispered.
I had told him several times that night that I would. Randy sat up immediately as I produced a Blockbuster fanny pack filled with cash.
“Last time I was here, I brought one and Jed took it, so I wanted Shawna to have her own.”
“It’s excellent,” Randy complimented.
“Okay, that’s all!” I chirped and turned away. “Sorry I woke you up!”
“Wake me up again,” he said softly and I smiled to myself as I closed the door.
As my head hit the pillow, all I could think about was what it would be like to kiss him.
When I woke up, I felt surprisingly well rested. The men were supposed to have left early to go sailing, so I slowly opened my bedroom door, expecting the room to be empty. Randy was sitting on the couch and Jed was in the kitchen making coffee. I cringed and my hand shot to my hair, attempting to smooth it down. I caught a glimpse in the mirror: raccoon eyes and puffy, blotchy cheeks. Great.
“Oh, I thought you were going sailing!” I said, rubbing beneath my eyes to try to remove any mascara remnants. At least I was wearing new pajamas: a matching camisole and pants in a soft white cotton with little pink and green flowers.
“Yeah, the weather didn’t cooperate.”
It started out a little rainy, but the day wound up being perfect: 80 degrees and sunny. The bridal party gathered in a local salon to get glammed up. It wasn’t a traditional bridal party and it wasn’t a traditional wedding. Shawna, who had been married in her 20s like me, decided a “ceremony celebrating love” versus a court sanctioned union was more aligned with her middle aged sensibilities – and I was HERE for it. Our close friend, Erin, had a speech prepared that was ready to convince even crabby Great Aunt Becky that this was a wise decision.
“We don’t have much time left,” the hairstylist said when she got to me. “But I could do a Dutch braid type of thing.”
“I don’t know what that is,” I confessed. I typically spent about as much time on my hair as I did thinking about the Roman Empire.
“It’s kind of like a faux hawk,” she explained.
“SOLD,” I replied.
The backyard ceremony was beautiful and went off without a hitch.
I didn’t really talk to Randy until the limbo between the ceremony and the reception, which was being held at the local aquarium where Shawna worked.
During the reception, Randy and I were seated at the same table and he seemed to be having a blast, scoring free beers and chatting with everyone. He laughed and clapped loudly during Erin’s epic speech. I made a mental note that he clearly wasn’t intimidated by feminism.
When I went to the bathroom a short while later, I saw a text from Erin.
“Randy just said the sweetest things about you and I’m dying.”
“What did he say?” I asked eagerly when we next caught each other.
“I wish I could remember everything!” she gushed. “He said you were so great and funny and out of his league and beautiful. He said he saw you this morning when you woke up and you still looked perfect. It was SO cute, Jules.”
I raised my eyebrows. He seemed interested, sure, but not THAT interested. In fact, after dinner, I didn’t see him again until the bartenders were packing up. He emerged out of nowhere and said,
“Come see the stingrays!”
We spent the last twenty minutes exploring the aquarium, Randy as silly and giddy as a third grader hopped up on Fun Dip, almost missing our ride. Everyone was starving, so we went to a favorite local spot with a late night menu. I ordered their most popular vegan pizza and they delivered it to the opposite end of the long table. Randy popped up and grabbed me a slice, making a point to say he liked it, too.
We broke away from the group and decided to walk a bit, even though it had started to lightly rain. Randy suddenly said, “Hang on,” and stood a few paces behind me.
I was sure he was about to compliment my backside when he let a loud fart rip.
“Randy! NO. Absolutely not. If you want me to find you attractive, you can never, I repeat NEVER, fart in front of me. I thought you were checking out my ass!”
I couldn’t believe how easy it was for me to speak freely around him. To voice my opinions and preferences, to be completely myself, without worrying that I’d suddenly turn him off. He was just such a goofy, ridiculous, endearing human. There was no veil between Outside Randy and Inside Randy. After my last relationship, where every syllable seemed loaded with hidden resentment, it was intoxicating.
“Oh nooo,” he moaned sincerely. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll just hold it.”
That would be the start of many ‘fart holding’ jokes, but he kept his word. Once again, we stayed up until the wee hours drinking whiskey and talking. He told me about the cabin he was renovating and I shared dreams of buying a second rental property. He was as obsessed with his pets as I was with my geriatric doodle – all of our animals, coincidentally, named after celebrities.
“I’m not trying to be suggestive,” I eventually said, “but it’s almost four a.m. and Shawna and Jed said they’re getting up at seven. If you want any sleep, you should stay in the bedroom with me.”
“Okay!” he replied with the same enthusiasm he seemed to greet everything.
It was one of those sleeper sofas where you arranged the cushions into a bed. There was plenty of room for both of us. We laid there in the dark until Randy spoke up.
“I heard Jersey girls are terrible kissers.”
“It’s true.”
I knew he was fishing, but I wanted him to ACTUALLY make the first move. He didn’t, and soon enough, we drifted off to sleep, arms barely touching. In the morning, I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me, a small smile on his face and eyes like a crackling fireplace. The unguardedness was so different from all of my other middle-aged dating experiences, where men were practically doubled over from all of the baggage they brought.
On Saturday, we enjoyed a water day on the inlet behind Shawna’s backyard. Randy borrowed a miniscule Speedo from Jed and laid spread eagle on a paddleboard. All of the women giggled and teased him while I –mostly– tried to avert my gaze. His pale legs would pay the price later.
I tried to play it cool, but I was really starting to like him. That evening, he disappeared to a bar with the men and I sat on Shawna’s porch with a few of the gals for hours, having the kind of hilarious and deep conversations that women can have even if they’ve only just met.
(Shawna, Alana, Jules and Erin. Red Rocks Amphitheater, October 2026)
I wasn’t sure if Randy would return, and tried not to fixate on it. He did, and that night we managed to get to bed at a reasonable hour. The fact that he was staying with me again went unspoken.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I asked as we once again lay side by side in the dark.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to! I tried to last night!”
“No you didn’t,” I laughed and pulled him towards me.
He crawled on top of me and relief flooded my body when I realized he didn’t taste like booze or the vape he had been regularly puffing. Relief gave way to minor confusion when he kept stiffening his tongue and sticking it in my mouth, like a prairie dog searching for his next burrow. What was that? Was his ex into that? Where did men learn these things?
It was a common enough phenomenon that Erin and I had coined a term for it: Poop Tongue.
Well, I thought to myself, maybe you can teach an old prairie dog new tricks. He had already agreed not to fart in front of me, after all. After making out for a while, I started giggling.
“You know, the Midwestern accent doesn’t exactly lend itself to bedroom talk. ‘Ohhhhh gash yah. Right there, eh?'”
Randy laughed and immediately jumped in, “Give it tuh me harrrd, mis-tur!”
We fooled around for a while before settling into a loose spoon and falling asleep. Randy had already declared that he wanted to spend the following day showing me his favorite local nature spots, and said he’d take off of work on Monday to drive me to the airport. He would also show me some more of his generous bedroom talents on our final night together, though we wouldn’t have sex. I’d always been pretty hardcore when it came to safe sex and testing, and Randy seemed to have instinctively picked up on that.
After getting coffee on Sunday morning, Randy drove me across the bridge to his hometown where he and Shawna had grown up together. He wanted to show me two of the state parks, but not before making a detour to his dad’s house to shower and change. He hadn’t been planning to stay at Shawna’s for one night, let alone four, and needed clean clothes.
I was suddenly standing in his father’s kitchen, wondering what impression I was about to make. Not a walk of shame, per se, but a Four Day First Date didn’t exactly scream Downton Abbey, either.
“Sorry, it’s a bachelor pad here,” his dad said sheepishly, trudging upstairs from the basement. I’d later learn that he had had NO idea I was coming over.
Randy went to go shower and his dad offered me a “pop” while we fed Randy’s rescue dog chicken nuggets. (Apparently his dog was as picky as mine.) We moved to the living room and chatted about Randy’s genuinely impressive childhood sportsball talents and I gave him highlights from the wedding while he laughed.
The mantle was filled with photos and trophies and the dining room table was scattered with mail, newspapers, and a slightly dubious black cat. The conversation was easier than I could have ever imagined. Now I knew where his son got his charm.
It turned out to be 90 degrees with 1,000% humidity that day, which might have put a damper on our outdoor romp since we both loathed the heat, but somehow, it was still fun. I convinced him to cold plunge in Lake Superior (twice!) and we tiptoed around crawfish at the state park. I learned more about his parents’ divorce and the 13 year relationship he’d ended right around the same time I’d ended my two year one. He owned his house, they weren’t married, and didn’t have children, so he had faced fewer complications than me.
“It probably went on two years longer than it should have,” Randy confided. “I have a tendency to be avoidant. We didn’t even sleep on the same floor of the house for the final six months.”
We eventually wound up at a local dive bar after I insisted on getting to the bottom of their signage.
“HI RHONDA,” the marquee read. “KISS MY ASS.”
“I have to know, is Rhonda real?” I immediately asked as I bellied up to the bar.
“YES,” the bartender replied emphatically. “Rhonda is the woman who owns the shop down the road and she kept teasing our bar owner for having a blank sign out front. So that’s what he put up.”
By the time Randy drove me the two and a half hours back to the airport the following day, holding hands most of the way, I was wrestling with what I wanted to happen next. Would we pretend this was just a fling? Was it just a fling? Would we ever see each other again?
Randy jumped on board and helped me replicate photos once we realized we were having a parallel day with Jeff and Erin, who’d traveled a few hours away to visit her college hometown.
My swirling thoughts kept me reserved during our goodbye, standing shyly on the airport sidewalk next to my bulky suitcase. Randy swooped me up in a giant hug, movie scene style, and said pointedly,
“See you soon. Sooner rather than later.”
Well okay then.
PART II
“I told my boss apparently I’m INFATUATED with this girl. I can’t wait to kiss your neck. I just can’t wait to see you!”
Randy was gushing, and probably more than a little tipsy, the first time he called me. By then, he’d already bought plane tickets to see me, a mere three and a half weeks after our Wedding Date That Never Ended. We used a concert he wanted to see as an excuse, but he even canceled a sporting event to make the trip happen.
“That’s basically the Midwestern Man equivalent of saying he’s obsessed with you,” Shawna informed me.
I was pretty sure he was in love with me at that point, so it didn’t come as a surprise, but it was still fun to hear. Apparently he was kind of a big deal in sports ball and was constantly recruited for tournaments. He also had a very grown up job that belied his goofiness, requiring an exceptional level of training and precision – and not a lot of time off. I would catch glimpses of his intelligence in his texts, which I occasionally needed Erin to help me interpret.
I was a Jersey girl like he had teased me about when trying to kiss me, but had moved to Bend, Oregon in 2019 and now considered it home. Soon after I’d gotten back to Oregon following the wedding, I had mustered the courage to text something along the lines of,
“We should probably have the safe sex talk. Getting tested is really important to me.”
He had replied with a Princess Bride GIF.
I had thought it was the perfect response, but as his trip neared, my anxiety intensified. He still hadn’t confirmed whether he’d gotten tested. I reminded him a week out, and he again responded with the GIF, but by the morning of his trip (he was due to arrive just before midnight), he still hadn’t produced results. Or even mentioned it.
I bit the bullet and texted late that morning.
“Your evasiveness on the testing thing is kinda giving me anxiety.”
My heart pounded as I watched those three ominous dots fill my phone screen. Why is it taking him so long to reply?!
“Yeah…” he texted back. “Didn’t want to spoil the mood that I couldn’t get in to my GP till after the trip which is awesome… So there’s that. There’s more delayed gratification.”
I stared at my phone like I’d been sucker punched. Hang on… was he just going to show up here and THEN drop that bomb? Lie about getting tested? Still try to sleep together?
“Why do you have to go through your GP?” I asked, jaw clenched.
“Good question. First time. I had some other things to check out and thought I’d get two birds stoned at the same time. Get an appointment with my dermatologist for my skin moles.
“My only experience is from Forgetting Sara Marshall where Pete goes into a pediatrics doctor and has him look at his dick. I assumed that’s the deal, get some tests and slap the willy around.”
I didn’t respond and he continued,
“I can’t blame you for being protective of your body. Can’t have a dude with a dirty dick fucking up the rest of your life and health for a couple moments for fun. I’d expect the same.”
My head was spinning. Was he being flippant about it now, just hours away from his visit?
“Yeah it was awkward to bring up / remind,” I wrote with tears pricking my eyes, “but it’s really important to me so I wanted to get ahead of it and be able to just enjoy the natural flow of things in person. I’m glad I know the status now and appreciate the context, but I wish I hadn’t had to force the issue.”
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t more upfront with that,” he answered a short while later. “I didn’t realize, well a lot of things, [including that] Planned Parenthood is [for] more than just women’s health.
“Got an appointment for tonight so hopefully it’ll be done by my flight. Completely understood, sexual health being super important to you and it should be for everyone. Didn’t realize it was that simple.”
I felt relieved, if a little wary. At least he tried to turn it around, accept accountability, and take action. That was the next best thing, right? A few hours later, he texted again.
“Well… I’m a big dumb idiot. I lost the appointment because I didn’t have my insurance card on me and it timed out. I’m super sorry. I really boned that up for being a bone head. I’m just looking forward to being with you in your wonderful city of Bend. Boning would have been the cherry on top.
“It wasn’t my intention not to get tested. I should have long ago before even meeting you. I should have known the process of getting tested. This all falls squarely on my shoulders and I will be taking all consequences of my actions. …We’ll just have to plan another trip.”
I swallowed and decided to accept that for now. I didn’t hate that he was already planning another trip, either.
I tried not to go overboard getting ready for his arrival; I was attempting to do that thing where the woman gets, what’s the word? Considered? Pursued?
I drove to the airport wondering if things would feel the way they had during the wedding trip. My only other long-distance relationship wasn’t exactly a model of success. Sustaining a new connection through so much time and distance felt like a tall order.
When I pulled up to my tiny local airport, Randy was standing at the far end of the walkway. As I drove closer, I couldn’t quite read his expression. Was he nervous? I got out of the car to greet him.
Just like his parting hug at the airport a few weeks earlier, he swept me into a tight embrace, adding a kiss this time.
“Are you ready for this?” I teased.
“YES,” he declared.
When we got to my house, he gave me a necklace “just because” and the next several days were a whirlwind of Central Oregon adventuring. We started with one of my all-time favorite summer activities: floating the river.
As usual, he made everything fun. From glitter face paint to swapping shirts to vegan sandwiches, he embraced it all with open arms. He didn’t even get upset when he realized he’d left his brand new concert t-shirt at the venue, never to be seen again.
“Ah well, I’ll just have to get another one,” he said as we walked side by side in the delicious, high desert summer air.
On Saturday, following the concert and night on the town, I scored last minute permits for one of my favorite hikes. I roused him at 10:00am even though we probably both would have stayed in bed past noon.
He geeked out on the beautiful drive that took us past impressive lava fields. “We have to stop on the way back!”
He grinned watching me in my element, dirt crunching beneath my trail shoes, arms outstretched as I repeatedly asked, “Isn’t this the BEST?!”
“I love tall hiking girls,” he teased.
We swam and talked and laughed, the eight miles flying by.
I had packed so much into the agenda that by that third and final night, we were too tired to even make out, crashing onto our pillows before midnight.
“The Bend Tourism Board really knocked it out of the park,” Randy said, giving us another ongoing schtick about the “BTB.”
We continued to talk about how wild it was that we had bonded so quickly and then spent the following 92 hours of the wedding weekend together, both claiming to have never experienced anything like it. When we parted ways at the airport, I could tell he didn’t want to go home. He wound up leaving several items behind.
“Now I have to come back.”
I didn’t know if his reluctance to get on the plane had more to do with returning to work and reality, or with leaving me.
“See you soon – sooner rather than later,” he said, echoing our last airport goodbye.
Once again, I tried to play it cool, unsure of what to expect next.
“Have a safe flight. Text me when you land!”
As much fun as we had had, there were a few things giving me pause, not the least of which was the testing debacle. The vaping was gonna need to go, for one. And he had spent the better part of the 8-mile hike hocking loogies behind me, even after I’d teased him about it in desperate hopes that he would stop. Could I stand that on the regular? Was I being shallow? Was I just afraid to fall for someone again this soon?
“I had a blast. Thank you SO much for your hospitality and amazing agenda,” Randy texted during his layover. “Bend lives up to the hype and we just touched the highlights. The people and the sights are top notch. The best part was spending time with you. You’re an amazing woman and I’m ever so lucky to have had the opportunity to meet and spend time with you. Tall hiking girls… What can I say.”
PART III
“I wish you were here.”
Randy and I texted daily after he got home while I wondered when he’d make another concrete move.
“I lowkey miss you,” he replied. “Trying to figure out the next time. Distance is dumb, I need more miles and money.”
“Do you have off tomorrow [for Labor Day]?”
“I have no leave left…” he said. “I used a ‘mental health’ day that Friday [when I came to see you in Bend]. Which was good for my mental health… Actually couldn’t have been better for my mental health. The BTB is doing its best work! Find me a [similar] job there or close with remote. I’ll teach [your] pops mahjong.”
“Tall hiking girls are clinically proven to be good for mental health,” I replied, secretly delighted that he was already fantasizing about moving to Oregon.
A couple of weeks later, Randy called and we talked for over an hour.
“So good to hear your voice again,” he wrote right after we’d hung up. “Hour 20m? Lol”
“It did not feel like more than 30,” I texted back.
“Distance is dumb,” he replied, repeating his earlier line. “We’ll have to become phone people,” he had said during the call.
This really was turning into something and I realized I was prepared to explore what that might be. He regularly texted things that suggested he felt the same:
“We would have been friends [when we were in grade school]. This timing works out better. I don’t think I could have handled a Jersey girl back then.”
“I’ll fix [your washer and dryer] when I come for Christmas.”
“I’m pretty lucky to be where I am. Things happen for a reason and that’s why I want to nibble on your neck just below your ear […] And promptly fall asleep… With the biggest smile on my face.”
He was just so easy to be with and I could be completely myself. What else mattered?
Even my selfies to him proved that point.
“[We have] a few [vegan restaurants]. You won’t starve here,” he texted one day, giving me the perfect foothold.
“What would you do if I just showed up on your doorstep?” I asked, heart pounding. It was the first time I was even hinting at the idea.
I was getting a ton of dog sitting bookings (the source of my fun money) and I had a lot of miles. I didn’t want to seem TOO eager, but my job was fully remote, on central/east coast time, and I had unlimited PTO. It was a heckuva lot easier for me to travel to see him, and I suspected he hadn’t asked me sooner out of Midwest chivalry (and maybe a little self-consciousness).
“Probably say holy shit, give ya a big hug and a kiss. Then run inside and do the fastest cleaning of my life.”
“First open weekend for me to travel is 10/9,” I explained a few days later after it seemed crystal clear he was now assuming I would be visiting – and really wanted me to.
“I’m pumped. I may have to announce some games.”
“Would the following weekend be better?”
“You’ll have my full absolute attention the following weekend.”
The next day, after I’d had a chance to research flight options, I told him that I could fly in on a Friday afternoon or evening and leave the following Monday or Tuesday evening. I asked if he had a preference.
“Early Friday and late Tuesday!” he immediately replied with his usual Golden Retriever enthusiasm. “I’ll take the days off. That’s not a problem.”
In the weeks leading up to my visit, he said increasingly effusive things, but the STD testing issue remained unresolved, a little cloud floating over every interaction. When I finally brought it up, two weeks before my trip, he replied,
“I’m not used to all of this. Always been or at least been in [sic] a relationship so it wasn’t an issue so getting used to it. It’s a good thing. Learning.”
“It’s probably not fair of me to be making so many assumptions,” I replied cautiously. “I’ve been assuming we’re on the same page and not exploring anything (anyone) else romantically, and would really like to bone each other, lol, and do it safely. I’ve been tested and have an IUD (and vehemently don’t want children regardless), and want a safe place to play in with someone I really, really like.”
“Ah… Yes, yes, and yes… !!” he quickly replied, seeming to finally grasp the gravity of my request. “You are awesome, hot, and tall. I get off on thinking about the different ways of boning you. I want you to feel safe always with me… In the bed and everywhere else.”
“Well, I’m glad we accidentally had that conversation,” I wrote, swooning from his words. “I really like that you want me to feel safe with you. So far that is exactly how I feel.”
“So right now… I miss your touch, smell and the taste of your neck and lips… Distance and being old. Well whatever. Less than three weeks.”
The following day I said to Shawna, “I really think he’s in love with me.”
“Oh I think so, too,” she replied without hesitation. “Part of why I set you up with him is because he’s the type of person who wouldn’t hurt you, that it would be good no matter what actually happened.”
For the next several days, I floated on the high his words inspired. Despite some misgivings, I had felt so confident throughout the past two months, bathing in the adoration of someone who seemed to like me for me. And now that I knew we were on the same page about our exclusivity, I could fully relax and enjoy what might turn into a real relationship.
When I got sick the following week, he texted,
“Less than 2 weeks [until I see you]. I can take care of you. I feel that’s my life goal.”
I beamed and rolled my eyes. What a goon. But after he wrote that, I didn’t hear from him for two full days. My trip was getting closer and I was expecting more contact, not less. I eventually caved and texted,
“Finally feeling better although afraid to jinx it!!”
“Well… I have a sore throat now too. Can’t swallow, hurting… I’m hoping because I had too much fun on Monday after my [sports ball] tournament and nothing crazy.”
I blinked back tears. Two days of silence after that grand declaration and he’s only talking about how he’s feeling?
I knew he was probably drunk when he was sending some of those lovey-dovey messages, but did that make them any less sincere? And the texts weren’t just limited to sweetness; there were plenty of X-rated ones that left no room for the imagination. In fact, some of them were so explicit that they made me blush.
A few days later, we were both fully recovered from our flus/colds. It was now only one week away from my trip and he still hadn’t confirmed whether he’d gotten tested. I couldn’t believe I was going to have to ask AGAIN. It was the only thing I’d ever requested of him. (Well, that and the not farting.) I wasn’t asking for long-term commitment, just honesty in the present.
“Also checking in on testing status,” I wrote, trying to sound casual while giving him the benefit of the doubt. “I think it can take a week or more for some results…”
“Our good friend reminded me to do that and told me to make an appointment before you asked me…” he answered. “Hopefully the speed of government is good. Well… If the results don’t come in on Friday… I’ll just have to [pleasure you] all night. Hiking Saturday or white water. I haven’t figured out the exact plan… [The agenda is] not laminated yet.”
He included a screenshot that showed a Planned Parenthood appointment for the following Tuesday afternoon…three days before my arrival.
I immediately started to cry. He needed a REMINDER?! He still hadn’t done it?! He was going to put us through the same situation AGAIN?! I was beside myself. I spent hours crafting my reply, but waited until the next morning to send it.
“Honestly, Randy, I’m pretty hurt and confused about some things.
“I’ve been asking about testing since early August, and I’ve tried to explain why it’s important to me. When you came to Bend, I understood you’d arranged a PCP appointment for after your visit. What happened to that appointment? I’m having a hard time understanding how, two and a half months later, we’re now at the point where you’ve booked a new appointment for three days before I arrive, with no guarantee the results will be back in time.
“I think part of what’s making this harder for me is that we just had a conversation last Friday about being on the same page and not exploring other people romantically. You emphatically confirmed that you were, and told me you wanted me to feel safe with you, in bed and everywhere else. I took that conversation to heart. But then the one thing I’ve asked for to make me feel safe was…forgotten…repeatedly.
“I was also surprised to hear that a friend had to remind you to make the appointment. I’ve tried to be clear with you about how much this matters to me, and I don’t want to feel like I need to keep bringing it up or that other people need to remind you to follow through on something we’ve already discussed many times.
“For me, this isn’t just about whether we can have sex next weekend. It’s about something important to me falling through the cracks, even though I’ve tried to communicate clearly about it. And because we already went through the whole situation in August, I’m really, really struggling to understand how we’ve ended up back here.
“This is also coming on the heels of this past week. You told me that taking care of me was ‘your life’s goal,’ but then you didn’t check in or ask how I was doing. I had to reach out to you, and even then, the conversation became about how you were feeling. I know you were sick, and it’s hard to be at your best when you’re feeling lousy. But given what we’d recently discussed about how our exes treated us when we were sick, I was hoping for a little more consideration.
“These things have left me questioning the gap between what you tell me and what I actually experience. I’ve really enjoyed what we’ve been building, and I believe you feel strongly about me. That’s part of why this is hard to navigate. I want to be able to take your words at face value, but I need the actions to match them, too.
“I’m not expecting perfection. I’m not looking for another apology or reassurance. Those are more words. I need to see that the things I tell you matter to me register, and that I can trust you to follow through without having to keep reminding you. Right now, I’m struggling with that, and I need to figure out how I’m feeling about everything.”
“I needed to hear that,” he wrote back an hour later. “Truth is I’m scared of the consequences, both in rejection and commitment. I’ve procrastinated in my appointment probably because of that. I honestly want you to be safe and comfortable. I’m scared that I might fail at that. You’re an amazing woman that deserves that with whomever that maybe [sic]. Words do not equal actions. I need to show you that I am sorry and that I am able to provide you with safety and comfort.”
I stared at my phone. …With whomever that may be? What was he trying to say exactly? I once again chose my words with the precision of a woman who’d recently been gaslit for the better part of a year.
“I appreciate you sharing that. I understand how the stakes feel high and uncomfortable, but unfortunately, you avoided the discomfort and left me to discover the consequences in the 11th hour…again.
“That’s the part that concerns me most. Not that you have fears. Not even that you procrastinated. It’s that your way of managing those fears appears to have been to avoid a conversation that I had every reason to expect you to have with me.
“I can’t make informed decisions about my own life if you’re privately experiencing one thing while telling me another. I was presumably important enough for you to fly to Bend, make plans, talk about the future, and tell me that taking care of me was your life’s goal. Yet this one concrete thing remained undone.
“That’s a pretty significant discrepancy.
“I don’t know how to reconcile the things you’ve told me about how you feel about me with what’s actually happened. And I’m not entirely sure your response is saying that you genuinely want to show me that I can feel safe and comfortable with you, or that you’re ready to do what that would require. That would take consistent behavior over time, and right now, I’m not sure where that leaves us.”
I hit send and then spent the day with Babs (mom) hiking, drinking wine, and chatting. I felt calm, accepting of whatever was to come. By the next morning, though, the dread settled in. Did he think that last text was a break-up? Was he off getting drunk somewhere? Was he just ignoring me?
When nearly two days went by without a response, I started to really spiral. I mean…what the actual fuck? Was I getting GHOSTED? With plane tickets in my hand?? I decided to give it exactly 48 hours before canceling my flight.
My heart pounded as I clicked cancel inside the United app. I waited another several hours before texting him, still in shock by the complete radio silence.
“Since I haven’t heard from you I’ll assume you’re either not capable of the type of connection I’m looking for or dead. I thought what we’d shared deserved more care and consideration than silence. At a bare minimum, I expected the respect of an honest conversation, even if that conversation meant acknowledging that this wasn’t going to work. I’ve cancelled my flight.”
A half an hour later, I finally got a response.
“It does deserve more than silence,” Randy wrote. “I’ve spent the two days self reflecting and talking over what I wanted to say. I didn’t come up with a whole lot. I am a conflict deflector and push things off until it’s a bigger deal than it should be. You’re amazing and our time together was amazing. Maybe if we were closer geographically it’d be different. I can’t blame that. If I were better it could have worked.”
WHAT IN THE HELL KIND OF BULLSHIT MOTHER FORKING COP OUT IS THIS COLOSSAL PILE OF FECES? I felt dizzy.
All of the stages of grief hit at once. Denial, anger, sadness. But mostly disappointment. After all of that time together and a bond that I thought was characterized by its ease and authenticity, had I just been hit by another love bomb? Was I enough for The Girlfriend Experience but not enough for The Actual Girlfriend? Had I really, truly been that delusional in reading the room?
(Meow Wolf Denver, September 2026)
I didn’t respond. I also knew it was unlikely I’d ever hear from him again. He was too avoidant and I was too…experienced. I wouldn’t let myself believe someone was more than their actions just because they had potential. My last relationship ended after the heartbreak and exhaustion of doing just that.
(Shawna, Erin & Jules: Denver Taco Bell 50k finish line, October 2026)
“I hope you aren’t hurt too badly,” Erin texted immediately after seeing the screenshot of Randy’s final message. “I know you two had a good time when you were together and still had a meaningful connection even if it isn’t a forever connection. I hope you feel more proud of yourself and rooted in who you are. I’m proud of you for knowing who you are and what you need and not compromising any of that while still being generous and loving. That’s a big deal.”
The screen was blurry as I read her words. I knew I’d be okay. I knew it was for the best. But for now, my only consolation prize?
I finally had something I wanted to write about.
~*~*~*~*~*~
