Sign On The Dotted Line, And You Have Yourself An Affair

We all have an ardour for romance we understand. Relationship economy, by which everyone understands who gets what from the transaction.

It’s all implicit, of course. Don’t mention the unsaid contractual obligations between two lovers. That would be eradicating the romance. You can’t win a relationship without that.

This is romance, not business. Or at least the hopeless romantics want to think like that.

Once upon a time, I understand the implicit connection between two people. Even in affairs and cheating, I knew the routine. But just when you think you know it, there’s a man who comes to challenge it.

And it’s always a man. Or at least, it was for me.

---

The day I met Caleb was a blur.

Not because it was beautiful, poetic, a day unlike any other. It was because I had been drinking since mid-afternoon, and by the time we crossed paths, I was barely able to hold a conversation.

At least, this is what I assume. I don’t remember. Yet, I must have made a memorable impression, one enough to go home with this sexy stranger, forgoing all reason.

But I had been in this scene before. I had met the man, kissed him, slept with him and woke up in my bed the next day, a one-night stand in the can.

It was like a short production with zero follow-up episodes planned.

Why Caleb would differ from my previous routine, I couldn’t answer at the time. To say he was special would be an overstatement. The next day I woke up and went about my life like he didn’t exist.

And then, the day after that, I got a plane from Melbourne to London and toured Europe for two months, losing both my best friends in the process. You know, as you do.

---

Somewhere, in the middle of jet lag, bad Russian vodka hangovers and Contiki regrets, Caleb resurfaced.

And he wanted more than I could bargain for.

For some reason, the little beachside cafes never had tables big enough for three people. Two or four, and if you were a three, as I was with Anna and Louise, the waiters shoved you onto an awkwardly small table.

The woman serving us only spoke Greek, and up until that point, the whispers between Anna and Louise might as well have been Greek, too. I was on the out. Having been travelling together for a month already, it was clear they were keeping secrets from me.

It was more than the beginning of the end. It was the conclusion to a fabulous and flawed love story.

Heartbroken, knowing my friendships were crumbling in front of me, a well-timed Facebook request from a seemingly mysterious man couldn’t have come at a better time.

Though I was in a fragile and new relationship back home, my then-boyfriend hadn’t clued into the friendship hardship I was suffering. The combination of his ignorance and arrogance stifled his ability to check on me.

He didn’t know it, but Caleb called on me at the right time. I needed someone, a rescue, a distraction, something to carry me until I got home.

“Hey, it took me a while, but I found you on here. How is Europe?”

He knew I was away. I must have told him more about my life than I thought. My kingdom to have remembered more about that night.

Yet, in front of the Santorini sunset, with my two ex-friends by my side, I furiously typed my response into my very un-smart phone.

I unloaded and told him everything that happened since our one forgetful night together.

At the end of my unromantic venting, he told me he was there for me. And when I got home, he would do anything to make me feel better. He meant sex.

They always mean sex.

At twenty-one, I was pretty damn happy that was what he meant, too.

Six weeks later, I stepped foot on Melbourne soil. A day after my Facebook account reflected my new location, Caleb started his pursuit.

I don’t mean for that to sound predatory, not in the slightest. It was romantic, a man chasing me.

Up until this man, no one had ever chased me. I was always on the front foot of desire, which was probably why every relationship I had (and was then having) felt stunted, at best.

Caleb asked me to his house for lunch. On a Tuesday. No Friday date night for me.

He owned a business, so he had the flexibility. And I worked in retail, so I had the day off. Sure, it all made sense.

The lunch part, though?

Perhaps he was seeking a friendship, and I had this guy all wrong. We had slept with each other, but that didn’t mean anything when I was wondering about the plutonic time slot.

It was then I realised that every time I first slept with a man, it was in the safety of darkness. Unless it was a boyfriend, daytime sex didn’t exist in my world.

We were in a new territory of romance, a whole different ball game.

You know when you walk into a house and you know a woman lives there? That was Caleb’s house. I knew he had a girlfriend, a commonality we shared.

Neither one of us wanted to split up our relationship, but neither one of us was entirely happy.

We were in status quo mode in our lives; let’s not rock the boat.

In private, in secret, we could, though. And after Caleb kissed me and held me and made me forget the world outside of his four walls, I couldn’t help but agree to his proposal.

Yes, a proposal on the first date.

Will I be his secret affair?

No, not an affair. He didn’t use that word. Relationship. With rules of course. We only contact each other during working hours. We see each other when we can.

We don’t tell anyone. It was our little thing.

Little thing.

It was a big f-ing thing. It was a big deal with high stakes. But standing in the middle of his home, surrounded by his girlfriend’s things, I didn’t even hesitate.

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

Why was the answer so easy when the consequences were so dire? And why was the answer so easy when the morals were questionable?

---

Caleb sent me an address for a local park.

I hadn’t heard of it before, but it was somewhere between his house and mine. His instructions were explicit about where to park, so our cars weren’t visible from the street.

The selection of a park bench to meet him was equally explicit. I appreciated his planning, but it wasn’t what I had in mind.

“I take it someone is home,” I said to him, taking my seat next to him and immediately draping my legs over his.

“She took a sick day. Though it’s not all bad. We’ve had a good six-month run without interruptions.”

It was true. Anytime I had off, he took off from work. Sometimes I was spread-eagle on his couch. Other times he was wrapped in my doona, holding me, unable to let me go.

And if we weren’t together, we were messaging, calling. Sometimes I forgot to call my boyfriend on my lunch break at work because I was too busy speaking to my other boyfriend.

It was frustrating that we were having to meet in a park. I wanted him, I always wanted him.

Yet, today we had things to talk about, and sex would only confuse the situation. I was thankful for the passers-by, the parade of middle-aged retirees walking their dogs. It meant whatever the outcome of this situation; it would remain civil in front of an audience.

“Are we going to talk about the other night?”

Caleb couldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Come on. We’re both adults here.”

I was going to point out he was ten years my senior and should know better. He should know better than to go against his own rules. He still wouldn’t speak.

“Did you mean it? Yes or no?”

He nodded. “You meant it?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It wasn’t the drinks talking?”

“No, it wasn’t. I love you.”

Now he could look at me. “I love you.”

I seem to recall this wasn’t in the agreement. Loving each other wasn’t meant to happen—no mention of falling for each other in the contract.

---

They don’t teach you how to affairs in school.

If they did, the first lesson would be never to leave your Facebook account logged in on the computer you share with your girlfriend. I couldn’t believe he had been so careless.

Though we hadn’t gotten busted by anyone for over fourteen months, it was impossible to think why it would happen now. Cliched carelessness. I didn’t think it would happen to us.

We prided ourselves on being like no other two people dumbly having affairs.

This was our warning.

Most people in our situation would see the warning and quit whilst they were ahead. If ahead is what you could call it.

Caleb insisted he had smoothed everything over with his girlfriend, and we could continue. I still have no idea how he convinced this woman that the overt, affectionate messages she read on his Facebook were nothing to worry about.

Part of me wanted to know so I could have it ready for when I assumed I would get busted. The other part of me didn’t want to know what lies he was capable of spinning.

I was more content with my head in the sand.

---

It had been two weeks since we had spoken.

We were trying this new thing where we didn’t make contact and see how we went. It wasn’t like we had been all that close lately. I wasn’t sure why there was a shift between us; it wasn’t like we had a fight or anything like that.

And when we were alone and away from any prying eyes, it was as if nothing had changed. But two weeks was a long time, or at least it felt like it.

And for Caleb, it was all over.

With me.

With his now ex-girlfriend.

They had broken up, and she had moved out. Now it was my turn to do the same. It didn’t help that he had someone new and wanted to start it without our cloud of past mistakes hanging over him.

Yeah, that made me a mistake. A nearly two-year affair was a mistake. Seems a little too late to make that assessment.

It’s a shame how he regretted it too.

What a waste of my time and his.

The new girl didn’t know about me. Caleb made sure of it. He also made sure never to tell me about his breakup because he didn’t want me to think it opened the door for him and me.

For some reason, I was the desperate one now, even though this was his proposal, his contract and his profession of love.

---

I often ask myself, how did I not see Caleb coming?

How did someone like him through such a wrench into my life? Perhaps it was ego, thinking I knew all there was to know about this economy.

Or maybe it was that something like this belonged on the page of fairytales and romance novels. People don’t really act like this, do they?

Well, I guess they do.

But was Caleb onto something?

I, unlike Caleb, don’t regret our affair. It showed me a possibility for relationships I had never seen before; contractual honesty. Beginning a romance, enduring a love affair with the necessity of honesty at the forefront.

We couldn’t lie to each other; that would negate the contract.

Sure, his execution might not have been spot on. But he had a point. Why not lay down our expectations and our wants from a relationship without fanfare? Why do we have to follow the routine?

Why can’t we sign on the dotted line a little sooner? I guess that's a question for the next lover, I've told myself.