Yesterday morning, I woke up smiling at a text from my ex, “I had a dream I made the biggest loaf of banana bread last night.” Lying in bed with my phone dangling in my hand, I’m blushing – somewhat at the idea of an overgrown loaf of bread but more than that, the idea that the first person he wanted to tell was me.
I called my ex when Smith announced its temporary closing amidst the COVID-19 pandemic. After dating the senior year of high school, we broke up a month before entering my first year at Smith. But I found it impossible not to be with him; affectionate, sweet, and patient, he was as good a friend as he was a boyfriend. Throughout the fall we texted occasionally, checking in like old friends. And when I went home for winter break, I found myself at a party with him. It was evident that the attraction between us hadn’t ever really gone away. If anything, it grew. College had brought out a new side of him. He had become more joyful and spontaneous in his philosophy of life. We ended up spending the holidays sharing a new sense of love and youth. Between coffee dates, tipsy party hook ups, and cheeky midnight beach excursions I became re-acquainted with his humor, affection, and stories of college.
Inevitably, spring came and we went our separate ways on separate coasts. I knew he was seeing other people. I was too. We weren’t in an open relationship and kept our conversations sporadic. But no matter the time and distance, our phone calls and facetimes always felt intimate. Subtly romantic. When COVID-19 hit and we were both coming back home, his suggestion to get back together made sense. Kind of.
Part of me was apprehensive to fully embrace this relationship knowing I would let it go once again in the near future. I was afraid of breaking my heart; I was afraid I would never grow beyond my life at home. Maybe I never really moved on. Maybe I was just his most convenient option.
But the virus brought our lives together before I had a chance to think deeply about any of that. My ex’s father had been battling cancer for the last four years, and his treatment made his immune system fragile. To make it worse, my ex was traveling out of Seattle: an epicenter of the coronavirus at the time. He would need to quarantine at another house for two weeks.
I told him he could and should stay at mine. There was no question. My parents had been house sitting in a nearby area and our’s sat empty. Although I don’t completely remember what he said in response, I remember there was a sense of awkwardness, gratitude and disbelief of the daunting global situation – as well as a little excitement. The possibility of us, together, in an empty house. Maybe I would visit him. Maybe I would quarantine with him. Maybe this would give us the time and space to catch up while falling back into our old patterns of teenage romance.
But after a couple days being at my house alone, my ex ran a fever. Then he got a cough. Then he felt horrible. We never got a test, but we didn’t really need to. He had gotten the virus – or we were at least going to treat it that way. My mom brought him food, and I called all the time. We facetimed in the morning, texted through the day and thought of each other at night. I was worried about him no matter how many times he tried to reassure me with a half laughed “I’m fine!”. Of course he, being young and healthy, really was fine. He got better fairly quickly and eventually moved back to his house. The virus had scared everyone in our circle, but I was grateful he was able to keep his family safe. I was grateful he was in my life, that he recovered. He was grateful to my family and me. Mostly, we were grateful for each other.
Through this sickness and the situation, we had grown closer and kinder to each other. Our intimacy moved beyond an infatuation and became a deep appreciation for each other. For what we gave and admired in one another. There was no longer any part of me that feared becoming some vauge venture of an erotic teenage past. I now had a sincere and ardent eagerness to have him in my life again. I had caught up to the commitment and love he gave me early on despite my doubts. Now we have picnics in the park and take walks on the beach, soaking up each other’s adoration. And while I sometimes worry about the pain of leaving, I am happy to be intoxicated with love again.
