Love Story Part 2

Missed part one?  Don’t worry!  Catch up here!

It was years later.  Several years later, actually.  And I had been broken.  So broken, that I’d sworn off dating.  I was focusing on my friends and school and family.  All the things I’d flushed down the toilet while in my last relationship.  Mr. Husband was always around.  He’d actually come and sit in my car awkwardly in the mornings while we waited for the first bell to ring.  I never paid him much attention.

[worst feeling ever, right?  right…]

School ended.  Summer had finally arrived.  And with that, my birthday came.  Seventeen.  I had no big plans, but my friends and I got dressed up, planned on eating cake with my family then we were going out.  Anywhere.

Just after everyone sang Happy Birthday, the house phone rang.  I answered it upstairs in my room.  It was Mr. Husband wishing me a happy birthday and asking if I liked country music.

“Uh?  Sure.”  I said as I hurried him off the phone.  I had big plans of doing nothing all night with my friends.  I didn’t have time for him.  [shudder, I was mean.]

The phone rang again almost instantly after we’d hung up.  Mr. Husband again.  “Look out your door.”

“Huh?”  I asked as I made my way to the garage.  I swung the door open and there at my feet was a floral arrangement.  I gasped into the phone and thanked him.  Just then, his headlights appeared crawling up my driveway.  He said to check the card just before he hung up and got out of his car.

Two tickets to the Alabama Farewell Tour.  3rd Row.  Wow.


Please know that I was polite enough to invite him out to do nothing with me and my girlfriends that night.

Weeks went by, and I had two surgeries scheduled.  What a fun way to spend the summer, huh?  My wisdom teeth were up first, and then I was supposed to have my wrist surgery.  The day of my wrist surgery, Mom and I found out that it was really just the pre-op appt.  The surgery would be a week later.  Mom left town for a party in NYC, and my best friend came to spend the night.

The next morning, the doorbell rings at an ungodly hour.

A man is standing on my front stoop with an embarrassing display of flowers, balloons and a little teddy bear.

From Mr. Husband.  Sent from football camp.  Wishing me well from my surgery.  What a freaking sweetie.

But you know what?

My wrist operation [since it’d been rescheduled] ended up being the day before the concert.  I whined and complained to my mom [gasp! shock! I know…].  She said I had to go anyway.

My parents were out of the house that night, so my best friend came over to help me get ready.  Because I was one arm down.  Mr. Husband walked in to find bff putting deodorant under my arms.  Classy.  I planned the all too cliche “call in about an hour in case I need to be rescued” call with bff, then we were off.

We went to Panera again.  This time I actually ordered.  A salad.  Which Mr. Husband offered to help me eat because my good arm was totally useless.  #embarrassing.

When we got to the concert, do you know what I did?  I made sure Mr. Husband sat to the right of me.  The side where my cast was.  To discourage him from trying to hold my hand during the concert.  [I was SO mean!]


The concert ended.  We had fun enough, but I still just wasn’t feeling it.  Timing is everything, folks.  No joke.  When he got to my house, he asked if he could come up to see the bear he’d sent.  I gave him a lame excuse about my dad not allowing boys in the house after nine.  [Ever since we started dating, he’s given me a hard time about this one.  Because there is no such rule in my parents’ house.  Never has been…busted!]

He stopped calling after that…


About JoElizabeth

I am a writer who loves to explore all different types of relationships. I am most happy when surrounded by my loved ones and furry children. I've never met a stranger, and I talk way too much. My favorite things to do are eat {preferably at a restaurant} with good friends, write, watch DVDs of TV series {especially FRIENDS}, drink lots of coffee and learn.
This entry was posted in writing. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s