Have Lots of Kids.
My ex-boyfriend just bought a house. Normally this wouldn’t make the news. Ex-boyfriends are meant to stay in the past. But I must admit, this one has always haunted me.
“Luke” was the one who broke my heart. I was in my mid-twenties, and Luke was almost a decade older. My plan was to marry him, have five kids and two dogs, and live happily ever after on a farm somewhere in North Carolina. His plans were different.
“My stepfather did it right,” he once said, laughing. “He lived his whole life as a free man. Then he turned 60 and married my mother so someone would take care of him in his old age.”
I thought he was kidding.
Luke said that I was the least pretentious person he’d ever met. He seemed to like this about me. But he often gave me “tips” on how to improve my appearance. And he was especially concerned about not allowing the tags to show on the towels in the tiny bathroom in his basement apartment.
Things were expected to be “just so” even if nobody ever saw them.
Shortly after shopping for engagement rings, Luke and I broke up. We weren’t ready for marriage. The break-up sent both of us into a tailspin that went on for months. He’d come over for a hug and then he’d leave. To this day, I don’t understand.
Later, Luke dated my close friend, “Cindy.” He called her “Cynthia.” She was both conceited and pretentious, and she treated me like dirt, so I never spoke to her again.
But Luke still called me regularly, even after they broke up and I moved away. He was a loner, and we talked about loneliness. He “fell in love with the Pacific Northwest” and lived there for awhile. But Luke always ended up back in the gray-cold of Pittsburgh, where people from Pittsburgh often end up.
Meanwhile, I moved on with my life. When Luke was still very much alone, I got engaged. The last time I spoke to him was just after Dylan was born.
“Have lots of kids,” Luke said. “That’s what life’s all about.”
Then he finally realized he wasn’t doing me any favors by calling, and he stopped.
I occasionally googled him to see what he was doing. Once I saw a photo of Luke and his brother-in-law playing golf. My supposed non-pretentious ex-boyfriend was golfing at a country club.
Luke moved out of the basement apartment into a townhouse which, I assumed, was a waypoint. Luke was well past 40 years old by then.
During the pandemic, his mom died. Nine months later, his stepfather died – alone.
The obituaries noted that Luke had gotten married. Luke is now well past 60, and his new wife is 23 years his junior.
Maybe coincidentally, Luke’s wife (partially) has my name. Her middle and maiden name are the same as my middle and maiden name. On Facebook, her similarities to me – the me of 30 years ago – are astounding. Luke basically waited 30 years, and then found me again.
Meanwhile, he lived his whole life alone: “a free man.”
Luke kept his first townhouse for literal decades, and his wife had a separate townhouse even after their marriage. He still uses some of the same decor he used when I dated him in the 1980s. (Thanks, Zillow.)
A couple of months ago, he finally bought a house with his wife, Mini Me. They have no kids, even though Luke told me that kids are what life’s all about. They don’t even have a dog.
I hope he is happy. To me, it just seems sad.