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When I ordered the chicken salad, I was mid-conversation with the man who was more than a friend but not quite a boyfriend. It was a Sunday in late June, and we were two 40-something professionals sitting outside on a covered patio despite the heat and humidity. The pat-pat of rain on the tin roof added percussion to our intimate discussion about children, partners, mental health and futures.
He was sexy and honest and seemed to really get me, seeing through my vaguest statements with swift clarity. He listened, really listened, in the way you dream someone might when they truly care. It all made me like him even more.
But we were dwelling in ambiguity — a spark of a relationship that grew without really going anywhere. That was fine because neither of us felt ready for more.
That didn’t stop me from wanting it.
When our food arrived, I surveyed the plate of vibrant greens topped with a gray lump with dread. I knew I'd ordered it, but it wasn't at all what I wanted. I’d selected the dish thinking salad topped with grilled chicken instead of a lump of shredded meat adhered by an unholy mix of mayonnaise, celery and … is that relish? Why relish?
The salad was supposed to be my light dinner — something refreshing on a humid day.
It was not.
Had we talked about the weirdness of this dish on a previous almost-date? I think we did. I think we agreed it wasn’t appetizing. And yet, here it was. Again.
There was nothing really to be done. It was my mistake, not the restaurant’s, so I just went with it, figuring I’d survive eating chicken salad just once. Maybe I’d been missing something all along. Maybe it would surprise me and be perfect.
That’s not unlike how this man, who was maybe more than a friend but not quite a boyfriend, and I got together but didn’t. One meetup for a beer turned into another and then another. The nervous hellos of the first time gave way to the heat of mutual attraction and we continued in fits and starts. Maybe we’d both been missing something all along.
So many of the right ingredients were there — mental and physical attraction, the art of conversation, caring about one another, and even the desire to see each other. But it was slow-moving, a lazy river of a relationship that wasn’t a relationship.
If this was a romance novel, that mistake of ordering chicken salad would have propelled our friends-to-lovers story into a real relationship. We would have laughed about my gaffe. It would have bound us together with good humor, attraction, understanding and care. We would have walked out holding hands.
But in real life, I just nibbled at the salad and continued our conversation. Likewise, we just nibbled at the idea of a relationship and kept going until we didn't.
We had the right ingredients but were the wrong dish.
He wasn’t ready. Was I? I didn’t want to destroy our friendship by being too honest about what I felt or wanted. We both held back. It was that stasis — the hesitation — that prevented us from moving forward.
We dwelled in the ambiguity for months, but it never went further. We were two people who were more than friends but not a couple and would never be. Not then.
I tried dipping tiny forkfuls of the chicken salad in vinaigrette, taking big forkfuls of greens and tiny bits of chicken salad, but I couldn't find anything to enjoy on that plate. Later, I went home and had a snack.
As for the relationship, months later he saw my impatience in between the lines of a text message and admitted he was holding back. I read it with sadness for what would never be. I wasn’t devastated. Just friends was just fine.
Have you ever been in a similar relationship as this woman? Let us know in the comments below.
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Follow Article Topics: Relationships
