My phone rings at 11pm.
"Are you ready? I'm out back," he says.
I slide into his black XTerra and we head to the PCH. For the last few nights we've been heading south into Orange County in search of bioluminescence, the kind that makes the waves glow blue. The marine layer is thick tonight, so our chances of seeing anything are low, but we go anyway, because cabin fever is real.
He holds my hand while he drives. We spent the whole day apart, me reading in the park, him watching 70's film noir at home. The quarantine is getting to both of us, but for very different reasons, and it's nice to reconnect tonight.
We stop at Sunset Beach first. The fog makes everything eery and spooky and we hold hands and poke each others butts as we walk across the beach. It's nice to breath in the ocean air, to hear the waves crash. But there's nothing to see here tonight.
"Let's keep going down to Newport," he says.
We roll through Huntington Beach. It's eerily quiet, like a ghost town. All the street parking and the parking lots along the PCH are blocked off. It's Saturday night at 11:30 at there's not a soul out, except for the gaggle of police officers in front of the Havianna's store. This is the third time we've seen police since we left Long Beach - they must be bored.
We stop at a second beach somewhere between Huntington and Newport. It's in a neighborhood, probably on the Balboa Peninsula, but I'm not paying attention. After years of driving alone, it's nice to be the passenger. We hop out. The marine layer is just as thick and swampy here.
"Do you remember that short story, the Stephen King one?" I ask.
"The Mist! Yeah!" he exclaims. We make jokes about the kinds of creatures this mist contains. Probably prepubescent assholes just looking to jack off on the windshield, we agree. This is why I love him, because his sense of humor is my sense of humor.
"Do you want to come over?" he asks.
We don't see any bioluminescence tonight, but the drive was a success in other ways.
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The roommate-cum-ex-girlfriend bomb did little to deter us. We met on August 17th and by Labor Day we'd spent more days together than apart.
"I can't believe you're gonna be gone the whole weekend," he texted. "Two weeks and you got me sprung :)"
I couldn't believe it either. I'm usually quite aloof, but he was different. It was scary and exciting and I was terrified of fucking it up. Still am, if I'm being totally honest.
We both knew it would come to an end, though, because just as we were getting to know one another, Will was furiously trying to finish an album for release in February, plus get ready for his first-ever European tour. Our time was limited and we acted like it. Before we knew it, September 19th would be here, and this dating whirlwind would come to a screeching halt for five weeks.
The next five weeks were magical, though, - all hilariously fun dates and sex and talking. We both marveled at how fast things were moving and how out of character that was for both of us. I think we were both trying to convince the other that we were not, in fact, stalkers; that we were both incredibly reasonable people who happened to meet on Tinder and were surprised by the perfectly fantastic person we'd found.
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We finally make it home around 12:30. Both of us are tired, but only one of us is burnt to a crisp.
"You're half-baked," he jokes. Indeed I am. The entire backside of my body is an angry red and I'm finding it difficult to sit down.
"I can't believe you didn't put on any sunscreen. You have to put on sunscreen, Mindy, it's not good for you," he admonishes me. He's right and it's annoyingly endearing.
We both head to bed. His room is stuffy, so he leans over and turns on the air-conditioner. We can both feel the heat radiating off my thighs, in the most non-sexual way possible.
All the sun is making me sleepy, but I missed him today. We have very quiet sex and before we fall asleep, he whispers, "Remember that time you met me in Berlin?" I smile. It is good.
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"I just want you to know that if anything happens on tour, it's okay. Like, you don't have to tell me, we can just move on."
We were having dumplings at Din Tai Fung the night before he left for tour. Things had been going so well, and I was dreading this conversation. I knew this was the first time he'd been single on tour in a LONG time and I didn't want him to feel any pressure, since things were so new. But I also knew I wanted to keep dating him when he got back to the States. I figured I'd play my cards right and just advocate for a Don't Ask, Don't Tell situation. I was surprised by his response.
"Oh, that's definitely not my style. And I want to keep dating you, too," he assured me
So I suppose it was settled.
But in the back of my mind an idea had begun to percolate, one my good friend Lindsay had suggested. What if, in an epically romantic gesture, you MET HIM ON TOUR IN EUROPE?!
I could never...
4.20.2020
Sunday Night Watch Parties with My Boyfriend and His Ex-girlfriend
My phone rings at 7pm.
"Hey, we just finished dropping the dog off at the dog walker's house. He's gonna keep the dog for a few days until the ASPCA opens on Wednesday. I need a drink. What are you up to?" Will calls an hour after our Killing Eve watch party was supposed to start. I'm a little annoyed, mostly because I hate when plans change unexpectedly. This is something I'm working on.
"Just doing a bit of writing," I say. I'm not sure how he'll respond if I confess what I'm really up to. Best to sit on this little endeavor for a minute.
"Come over when you're finished," he says.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Forty five minutes later I change out of my sweats (but keep on my favorite shirt - a soft black tee that says BUTT STUFF across the chest), brush my hair, slide on my mask and head over to Will's. I knock on the back gate and let myself in. Grace meets me at the back door. She's on the phone, but unlocks the screen door and welcomes me in with a smile. Will meets us there. He kisses and hugs me and asks about my day. We make drinks in the kitchen while Grace finishes her phone call.
"Goddamn that was stressful. I'm glad we got rid of the dog for a few days. Grace and I were getting really snippy with each other. Like, she was getting pissed that I didn't post about the dog on social media early enough for people to see it," Will says. "But I kind of wanted to keep him," he confesses.
"Oh, I KNOW you wanted to keep him. You fall in love too easily," I joke with him. He smiles. It's true, he's a sucker.
"Yeah, but he would be mine. Like, when Grace moves out, we'd share the other dogs, but I'd keep him for myself," he explains. It's the first time he's mentioned Grace moving since lockdown.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Two months ago, when I met Grace at the bar in Long Beach, we had a plan in place. At the time Will was on a six-week North American tour and Grace was still at the house caring for the dogs. It only made sense for her to move when he returned from tour and April first was the date we had all been counting down to.
At this point Grace and I had only shaken hands once. Will was on the West Coast leg of the tour and the bands were coming through Los Angeles. In an epic stroke of genius (or a drunken, misguided attempt at appeasement), Will thought it best to just "tear the band-aid off" and introduce us at a crowded bar in Long Beach on a Sunday night.
Except the bar wasn't crowded. The only people there that night was our crew, and to say it was awkward is perhaps the understatement of the year. Some of us got very drunk and some of us got very emotional and *some* of us made fools of ourselves. But it got done. The band-aid was off. Now I just had to make it to April first and the third wheel in our relationship would be no more.
Or so I thought.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Will and I settle in on the couch together. I bury my cold feet under his legs because he likes my cold feet.
"Hey, Grace, are you watching this with us tonight?" Will yells toward the back of the house.
"What? Oh yeah, just a second." Grace finishes her phone call and settles into her chair.
While Will searches Sling for AMC, Grace and I chat about how shitty it was that they killed Kenny on the last episode. He was so cute and funny, what a bummer.
"Shit. For some reason it's not letting me access the show. Do you guys wanna watch a movie, or 90 Day Fiance?" he asks.
We both choose 90 Day Fiance, maybe because we're both masochists who also like to laugh loudly at strangers. Grace has a laugh that is open-mouthed and loud and often reminds me of myself. Sometimes it is alarming how similar we are to one another.
_________________________________________________________________________________
It's the beginning of week two of our lockdown and we're getting into a groove. Will's tour was cut short and he had to cancel the last six dates. He ended the tour with a ridiculously under-attended show in Manhattan before flying home on March 14th. We've spent a lot of time together since he got back, mostly just catching up for the last few weeks he was gone. Over dinner one night he brought up Grace's move.
"So, I don't think Grace is going to be able to be out by April first. I told her I'd help her out financially, but that huge account she was working on for Coachella just got canceled and she might just be living off savings for awhile," he said.
I knew this was coming.
Since September Grace had been doing freelance graphic design work. Things were going really well. But then this goddamn pandemic had to go and ruin everything. And since my boyfriend is not an epic asshole, we carry on.
_________________________________________________________________________________
"Hey, we just finished dropping the dog off at the dog walker's house. He's gonna keep the dog for a few days until the ASPCA opens on Wednesday. I need a drink. What are you up to?" Will calls an hour after our Killing Eve watch party was supposed to start. I'm a little annoyed, mostly because I hate when plans change unexpectedly. This is something I'm working on.
"Just doing a bit of writing," I say. I'm not sure how he'll respond if I confess what I'm really up to. Best to sit on this little endeavor for a minute.
"Come over when you're finished," he says.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Forty five minutes later I change out of my sweats (but keep on my favorite shirt - a soft black tee that says BUTT STUFF across the chest), brush my hair, slide on my mask and head over to Will's. I knock on the back gate and let myself in. Grace meets me at the back door. She's on the phone, but unlocks the screen door and welcomes me in with a smile. Will meets us there. He kisses and hugs me and asks about my day. We make drinks in the kitchen while Grace finishes her phone call.
"Goddamn that was stressful. I'm glad we got rid of the dog for a few days. Grace and I were getting really snippy with each other. Like, she was getting pissed that I didn't post about the dog on social media early enough for people to see it," Will says. "But I kind of wanted to keep him," he confesses.
"Oh, I KNOW you wanted to keep him. You fall in love too easily," I joke with him. He smiles. It's true, he's a sucker.
"Yeah, but he would be mine. Like, when Grace moves out, we'd share the other dogs, but I'd keep him for myself," he explains. It's the first time he's mentioned Grace moving since lockdown.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Two months ago, when I met Grace at the bar in Long Beach, we had a plan in place. At the time Will was on a six-week North American tour and Grace was still at the house caring for the dogs. It only made sense for her to move when he returned from tour and April first was the date we had all been counting down to.
At this point Grace and I had only shaken hands once. Will was on the West Coast leg of the tour and the bands were coming through Los Angeles. In an epic stroke of genius (or a drunken, misguided attempt at appeasement), Will thought it best to just "tear the band-aid off" and introduce us at a crowded bar in Long Beach on a Sunday night.
Except the bar wasn't crowded. The only people there that night was our crew, and to say it was awkward is perhaps the understatement of the year. Some of us got very drunk and some of us got very emotional and *some* of us made fools of ourselves. But it got done. The band-aid was off. Now I just had to make it to April first and the third wheel in our relationship would be no more.
Or so I thought.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Will and I settle in on the couch together. I bury my cold feet under his legs because he likes my cold feet.
"Hey, Grace, are you watching this with us tonight?" Will yells toward the back of the house.
"What? Oh yeah, just a second." Grace finishes her phone call and settles into her chair.
While Will searches Sling for AMC, Grace and I chat about how shitty it was that they killed Kenny on the last episode. He was so cute and funny, what a bummer.
"Shit. For some reason it's not letting me access the show. Do you guys wanna watch a movie, or 90 Day Fiance?" he asks.
We both choose 90 Day Fiance, maybe because we're both masochists who also like to laugh loudly at strangers. Grace has a laugh that is open-mouthed and loud and often reminds me of myself. Sometimes it is alarming how similar we are to one another.
_________________________________________________________________________________
It's the beginning of week two of our lockdown and we're getting into a groove. Will's tour was cut short and he had to cancel the last six dates. He ended the tour with a ridiculously under-attended show in Manhattan before flying home on March 14th. We've spent a lot of time together since he got back, mostly just catching up for the last few weeks he was gone. Over dinner one night he brought up Grace's move.
"So, I don't think Grace is going to be able to be out by April first. I told her I'd help her out financially, but that huge account she was working on for Coachella just got canceled and she might just be living off savings for awhile," he said.
I knew this was coming.
Since September Grace had been doing freelance graphic design work. Things were going really well. But then this goddamn pandemic had to go and ruin everything. And since my boyfriend is not an epic asshole, we carry on.
_________________________________________________________________________________
4.19.2020
I'm Sheltering in Place with My Boyfriend and His Ex-Girlfriend
My phone rings at 10am.
"Hey. Come over, I made breakfast. Also, Grace* found a dog."
"What? What kind of dog?" I ask.
"Looks like a German Shepherd. He's smart. Just followed Grace home on her walk this morning."
"Ok. I'll be over in a few," I say, and hang up.
I brush my hair and teeth, slip on jeans, a tee-shirt, and flip flops, and don my mask for the three block walk over to the house where my boyfriend lives. With his ex-girlfriend.
______________________________________________________________________________
I knock on the fence door. Grace opens it for me while she holds onto this foreign doggo.
"Good morning! Watch out, he's a bolter!" she warns as I slip past her and the dog.
Will* meets me on the back step, motioning me to come in and eat. I step inside the house and slip off my shoes. Will kisses me, slaps me on the ass, and says, "Good morning!" He offers me an orange juice. He prepares my plate of eggs, sausage, and toast. We chat about the dog. When we're finished, we head back outside so Grace can eat breakfast and we can watch the dog.
This is normal, this eating in shifts. Sometimes Grace eats before we do, sometimes she joins us and the three of us settle down at the table together, like a weird, slightly uncomfortable throuple. Today, she eats last.
________________________________________________________________________________
"Are we still on for tonight?" I ask.
Tonight is the second episode of season three of Killing Eve, a show we all fell in love with during the first two weeks of this shelter-in-place order, when bingeing shows felt fun and novel.
"Yeah. Is it on at 6?" He confirms. A plan is made.
Grace finishes her breakfast and joins us outside. We all play with the dog. We all make guesses as to what kind of owner would give up such an expensive, well-mannered dog (he's a Belgian Malinois, probably no more than a year old, and lovable as fuck). We all throw out names, just in case Will and Grace decide to keep the dog. Will likes "Ronnie", as a sly nod to the Corona virus. Grace suggests "Kevin", and I'm totally on board with that, but not like in a "agree with the ex so she'll like me" way, more like "I'm an asshole who loves human names for animals" way.
I finish my coffee and get ready to head home for a few hours of work and Zoom catch-ups. Will takes the dog and skateboard and accompanies me to my place. We kiss on the street and he heads home for the afternoon, where he will deal with the ASPCA, the foreign dog, and lunch with his ex-girlfriend.
_________________________________________________________________________________
I first met Grace nearly two months ago, at a bar in Long Beach. My boyfriend and I had been dating for about six months. I knew about Grace, in fact *had* known about Grace since my sixth date with Will. Typically that sixth date would have been a few weeks in, but we moved fast. I had known him for a week and we had already spent a ridiculous amount of time together. As far as I knew, Will had a roommate who was kind enough to care for his dogs when he went on tour. What a score, I thought. And then, during a dinner date at the park overlooking the Queen Mary, he confessed that his roommate was not, in fact, just a roommate, but his ex-girlfriend.
"But we split up in January," he assured me. It was August.
"If you want to be done with me, I totally understand," he said. "But I want you to know we're over. If there is a red flag, it's not that I live with my ex-girlfriend, but that I wasn't honest about it from the beginning," he said.
I was stunned. He looked at me expectantly. I sat on a rock overlooking the marina and thought, "I could just push him in and be done with it." And then I sighed. He seemed like a good dude. He didn't seem like an asshole. Was I really going to write him off because real estate in Southern California was fucking cutthroat?
And so we decided to tentatively give this whole thing a try. And hilarity (and tears and frustration and a whole lotta grace) ensued.
"Hey. Come over, I made breakfast. Also, Grace* found a dog."
"What? What kind of dog?" I ask.
"Looks like a German Shepherd. He's smart. Just followed Grace home on her walk this morning."
"Ok. I'll be over in a few," I say, and hang up.
I brush my hair and teeth, slip on jeans, a tee-shirt, and flip flops, and don my mask for the three block walk over to the house where my boyfriend lives. With his ex-girlfriend.
______________________________________________________________________________
I knock on the fence door. Grace opens it for me while she holds onto this foreign doggo.
"Good morning! Watch out, he's a bolter!" she warns as I slip past her and the dog.
Will* meets me on the back step, motioning me to come in and eat. I step inside the house and slip off my shoes. Will kisses me, slaps me on the ass, and says, "Good morning!" He offers me an orange juice. He prepares my plate of eggs, sausage, and toast. We chat about the dog. When we're finished, we head back outside so Grace can eat breakfast and we can watch the dog.
This is normal, this eating in shifts. Sometimes Grace eats before we do, sometimes she joins us and the three of us settle down at the table together, like a weird, slightly uncomfortable throuple. Today, she eats last.
________________________________________________________________________________
"Are we still on for tonight?" I ask.
Tonight is the second episode of season three of Killing Eve, a show we all fell in love with during the first two weeks of this shelter-in-place order, when bingeing shows felt fun and novel.
"Yeah. Is it on at 6?" He confirms. A plan is made.
Grace finishes her breakfast and joins us outside. We all play with the dog. We all make guesses as to what kind of owner would give up such an expensive, well-mannered dog (he's a Belgian Malinois, probably no more than a year old, and lovable as fuck). We all throw out names, just in case Will and Grace decide to keep the dog. Will likes "Ronnie", as a sly nod to the Corona virus. Grace suggests "Kevin", and I'm totally on board with that, but not like in a "agree with the ex so she'll like me" way, more like "I'm an asshole who loves human names for animals" way.
I finish my coffee and get ready to head home for a few hours of work and Zoom catch-ups. Will takes the dog and skateboard and accompanies me to my place. We kiss on the street and he heads home for the afternoon, where he will deal with the ASPCA, the foreign dog, and lunch with his ex-girlfriend.
_________________________________________________________________________________
I first met Grace nearly two months ago, at a bar in Long Beach. My boyfriend and I had been dating for about six months. I knew about Grace, in fact *had* known about Grace since my sixth date with Will. Typically that sixth date would have been a few weeks in, but we moved fast. I had known him for a week and we had already spent a ridiculous amount of time together. As far as I knew, Will had a roommate who was kind enough to care for his dogs when he went on tour. What a score, I thought. And then, during a dinner date at the park overlooking the Queen Mary, he confessed that his roommate was not, in fact, just a roommate, but his ex-girlfriend.
"But we split up in January," he assured me. It was August.
"If you want to be done with me, I totally understand," he said. "But I want you to know we're over. If there is a red flag, it's not that I live with my ex-girlfriend, but that I wasn't honest about it from the beginning," he said.
I was stunned. He looked at me expectantly. I sat on a rock overlooking the marina and thought, "I could just push him in and be done with it." And then I sighed. He seemed like a good dude. He didn't seem like an asshole. Was I really going to write him off because real estate in Southern California was fucking cutthroat?
And so we decided to tentatively give this whole thing a try. And hilarity (and tears and frustration and a whole lotta grace) ensued.
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