He’s getting married.
Marriage itself is not unusual– I’ve heard talk. I know it happens. But he’s getting married, and he is not marrying me. That can’t be right. We dated for 10 years, and while we haven’t been together for a number of years now– a sneaky, dangerous part of my heart never believed that we wouldn’t be together again… one day… someday…
Well, I guess we’ve shot that idea straight to hell.
I found out by email– simultaneously awful not to be told in person and protected because he couldn’t see me stomping around my tiny Hollywood apartment yelling”IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME!!” (Hey– don’t judge– I didn’t say it was logical). It’s a long, glowing email because we’ve remained friends and friends share. Haven’t responded yet– there are no words– at least not honest ones.
You know the real tragedy of it all? I’m going to have to date. In Los Angeles. I am not a supermodel or starlet. I am not under 25. Given these factors– is it actually legal for me to date here? Surely there’s a union fine when short, plain women from the east coast try to navigate these dating waters.
So, I guess this is it. I’m going to do this. My name is Kate, and I’m dating in LA.