When my Boyfriend turned out to be married

I was barefoot in a bar when I met the Bad Canadian. One high heel was in my hand and the other was in my bag along with about twenty pieces of biscotti.

We were out celebrating my best friend who was getting married in four days- and I was craving a New York City sidewalk kiss – the kind where he tries to go up your shirt right there on the street with cabs whooshing by and you have to say, “NO!” but if you call me tomorrow maybe you’ll get lucky another time. And then he never calls.

“Want some biscotti?” I asked. I was tipsy and feeling bold.

Canada and his work associates just looked at each other.

“I took them from an Italian restaurant,” I explained. “They’re not poisonous. They’re wrapped!”

“That’s okay,” one of the buddies said, and went back to drinking his beer.

“My best friend is getting married and I’m the maid of honor,” I told them, and pointed to where she was sitting. “Are you not taking the biscotti because you think I poisoned them?”

Finally Canada spoke. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked.

Ten minutes later I got that kiss all over the bar.

Canada came to visit the following weekend.

When he met me outside my office  – a coworker whispered, “Wow! He’s CUTE, Rach!” And he was – aside from this one really gross  tooth that went dead after a hockey accident. He was 6-foot-5 with great coloring. A full head of hair.

But that weekend together? I had the creeps the entire time.  It was like an alarm was going off screaming: RUN! RUN! This guy is BAD BAD BAD BAD.

He had sad energy. He didn’t want to talk about his life in Canada.

“So you have a house?” I asked at dinner. “A big house all to yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have a house if it’s only you?”

“Why not?” He changed the subject. “I love your smile. It makes me happy.”

On Sunday I couldn’t get rid of Canada fast enough. After the taxi pulled away, the sun came out. Literally. I took that as sign.

From: BAD CANADIAN <BAD_w_CANADIAN@yahoo.ca>
Reply-To: BAD CANADIAN <BAD_w_CANADIAN@yahoo.ca>
Date: Thu, 1 Jun 2006 21:17:32 -0700 (PDT)
To: “PAULA, RACHEL”
Subject: Hello

Rachel,

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed with our call earlier (unfortunately I’m not made of stone) and you’re probably wondering why I’m bothering writing you an email – well I just wanted to let you know my thoughts.

I’d still like to see you again – I understand what you said earlier regarding the distance (sorry I didn’t pickup on what you were talking about right away) and you’re right it’s not easy, but that still doesn’t change it for me.  It’s kind of ironic because I’ll actually be in NY for the majority of June.  If it’s more than just the distance than I understand that as well – but would’ve expected you to say so.

I’ll be in NYC on Thursday June 15th and would like to have dinner and / or drinks with you.  You don’t need to respond right away – in fact you don’t have to respond at all.  However, if you’d like to – let me know.  I’ll certainly understand, and respect your decision, if you decide not too … but at the very least I still owe you some Canadian wine and an Italian meal …

Take care.

BAD CANADIAN

I went for that Italian meal. I told myself the BAD GUY ALARM was really just me running from something good. It was just me being scared because I finally met someone who was crazy about me. And once a psychic in Maine told me I’d marry a guy whose first initial was F.

Two months later – I pulled it out of him that he had a 9-year-old daughter.

“I was afraid of how you’d react!” he sobbed. “I was afraid you’d run away!”

Well, no big deal! I would learn how to braid hair! We’d make it work!

I was less understanding when three weeks later he revealed there was also a 7-year-old old son. More crying. He promised that was it. No more secrets!

Of course being the super sleuth that I am – I had my suspicions.

Me: “You said you don’t have a landline but I looked you up on Whitepages and found a number and when I called it a woman answered. And then I called again the next day and it was the same woman.”

Bad Canadian: “It was my ex wife’s mother. She babysits the kids.”

Me: “Oh! OK! Cool!”

*

Me: “How come we’re staying in a hotel when I visit?”

Bad Canadian: “My ex wife lives in the neighborhood and the kids stop by all the time. it would be hard for them. Can you just hang on a little longer?”

Me: “Of course! Have I told you lately that I love you!?”

It was as bad as it sounds.

The next summer – two days after after my birthday – and one month after I met his son - I got an email.

—-Original Message—–
From: Bad Canadian
Sent: Mon 8/27/2007 9:58 AM
To: Paula, Rachel
Subject: I am sorry …

Rachel,

I wanted to let you know that I’m so sorry for all the pain and hurt that I’ve caused you with my actions.  It was not my intention to inflict this upon you – but I was selfish.  You deserve someone who will take care of you and treat you like the person you are – kind, caring and beautiful.  That is not me.  You truly deserve the best and should not settle for seconds.

I’ve caused enough grief and pain for everybody – especially by Jen (with whom I was not separated), Sally and James.  Jen knows everything.  My love is for them and they deserve better than what I’ve given them over the past years – and I’m working on making it right again.

Apologize to your Mom for me – I know she will continue to watch out for you as she should. Don’t ever stop being yourself and trusting your instinct – as that is what makes you great.

I am truly sorry.

Goodbye.

Bad Canadian

Follow me on Twitter!

Advertisement