Sometimes, truth is, like they say, so much stranger than fiction. And, Tony* was a dish fiction would not have served up on her worst day. The same can be said of my decision to bear it out with this man.  I wonder now why I put up with all that he was for so long. That’s something I will have to have looked at one day.  Was I simply "young" in the business? Was I lonely?  Did I indeed lead him on?  Was I wrong to be on a dating site expecting a man to understand the word “friendship”?

Four weeks in and Tony was full of talk about marriage (to ME!). Absolutely everything, talk of the weather or the latest business news, was fuel for talk of marriage. He showered me with praises. I was so sweet to him. I wasn’t like the other women he had known.  Maybe it was his talk, of how different I was, that ensnared me.  Maybe it was his insecurities which made me reluctant to end it.  Don't I think him ugly? Wasn't he too fat for my liking? He was really working on his weight for me. Was I really attracted to him? Did I think I could love someone like him?

Tony had my cell number. He needed to be able to reach me. He took to using it most mercilessly.  Every three hours there would be a call from him.  Every four hours, there would be a text message. He was just calling to let me know he was thinking about me or that he missed me.  He wanted me to know that he was doing well at work.  I should know that as his girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, I would have little to no financial worries. He was put on earth to take care of me.

Initially, I shrugged all of this off with a nervous laugh. Everyone talks about the “honeymoon” phase in every relationship- friendly or romantic. This was just him being overwhelmed by the newness of me. His senses would soon kick in and he would know that we were destined for nothing but friendship.

But, by the sixth week, Tony became what I had not thought possible- even clingier. When I happened to miss a call or took too long to respond to his messages- he would send emails until I did.   So many nights, I would check my voicemail to find a sobbing Tony on the other end: why wasn’t I answering his calls? Who was I out with at this hour? Was I letting any man touch me?  Didn’t I care about him and about us?

I might have stuck around, but I never fooled myself about my feelings for Tony.  I was not in love with him. I had given up on “you never know what the future might bring”. After all, it was not as if the present had shown up with anything to impress me. I just wanted to be friends. But he, as he had told me so many times, did not want friendship with me.  Usually at that point in the conversation, I would suggest we end things. Then he would start crying. Tony was a man who could cry!  There came a point when his crying was more familiar to me than his voice. I’d pity him. I’d beg him to stop crying. We’d change the topic. And Tony would survive yet another day in my life.

 *Real name has been altered.

Coming Next Saturday: The Man Cried Some More