Two and a half hours after I’d bundled him up into the back seat with his blankie and a pile of books, Benjamin and I pulled up to Kennedy (aka Cabin Man)’s. Bang-smash-crush-bang. The divets and holes in his unfinished driveway were giving the underside of my car a severe beating.
“Wooo!!!” I shouted as we hit another one.
Benjamin joined me with a little shout of his own. I had just spent the last leg of the trip singing out loud to him. First to Feist then Old Crow Medicine Show and finally Bob Dylan. He sat incredulously as I sang, until finally – a few verses into each one he would crack a tiny smile before moving his eyes slowly back to the road. The ride had been perfect but he was ready to get out of the car.
Kennedy and his kids were sitting around the camp fire at the edge of the driveway. We’d nixed the joint camping idea. Why camp out when we could camp here – with his parents’ house right up the hill – it would be easier, safer and more comfortable for the kids.
“Hey!” He comes up to our car and then grabs me in a hug, wrapping his chisled arms around me. No! No hugging, I think.
“Hold on,” I pull away, “I can’t say ‘Hi’ until I get Benjamin out – he’s been so good the entire way here.”
I open the car door and scoop Benjamin up in my arms.
“Hey Ben!” Kennedy says.
The words drive Benjamin’s head into my shoulders and he keeps it there until we step into the cabin where Kennedy has resurrected his son’s old Thomas table. Benjamin jumps out of my arms and shouts in delight. I smile and whisper a thank you.
Two weeks ago this table had been buried in the back of the cabin. That morning felt different than this one. We were alone then, basking in each other and the highs of finding someone new. We had pulled the table out a bit to look for a train I could take home to Benjamin. After Kennedy picked Duncan because of “the cool gear that turns” I had tackled him with a kiss.
Now we were both knee deep in kids.
“You watch these two and I’ll watch this one while I grab this!” Each of us must have said this at least five times. His 6-year-old son and 3-year-old daughter are beautiful… Kennedy says after he and his ex split both kids changed dramatically. “It was like night and day – they are both so much happier.”
We spent the afternoon carving pumpkins, feeding the horses, drawing pictures, making paper airplanes and jumping on the trampoline. After the kids were tucked in – Benjamin in a camper and Kennedy’s kids up at his parents house – we met by the fire. Like the weekend before, the conversation turned toward relationships. (Something, believe it or not, I’m not a fan of talking about with virtual strangers, let alone men I’m just exploring.)
“I’m not sure if marriage is for me,” he went on, ” I just don’t think I can give myself over to someone again.” Why do we keep ending up on this topic? He’s still hashing it out in his head, as we all are I suppose.
“I think the trick is realizing you shouldn’t have to give yourself over to someone to be in a relationship,” I say. Then I have a realization of my own – this man is still wounded, still bleeding. Or maybe it’s scabbed over, but he’s not letting anyone back in – not even for a second. After a few more hours of talking and some quiet time in the cabin we headed to our respective beds.
The next morning he couldn’t take his eyes off of me while we were sipping on our coffee – the kids were running around in the cabin behind us – and then he said, defeated, “So, this really is going to be impossible isn’t it? I didn’t understand exactly what you were trying to get at before – but now… but now, I see what you mean.”
“Yes.” I say reluctantly, his blue eyes are so incredibly clear. I want to dive into them but I can’t. The little pile of red flags I’ve been collecting is now filled with a few land mines. The biggest one being the fact that we can’t see each other without our kids around – dangerous. The second being his raw healing process, still unfinished.
So I drive the nail into the coffin, “It just can’t happen.”
“It’s funny,” he adds, “Because I feel like this weekend has been a little lesson for me, in what I can expect now – how it’s going to be.”
“Welcome to the club,” I laugh.
The single parent club.
Dating, for us, is inexplicable. It’s like nothing we’ve ever experienced before… this is a universal truth.
A few hours later and after some home made popsicles, we said our good-byes. Strange saying good-bye to someone who you’ve just connected with so deeply, someone who you think you may never see again.
I’m so glad I decided to go… thanks for your advice.
And Benjamin is just fine.
If you missed the beginning of this story…
Cabin Fever, Part 1
Cabin Fever, Part 2
Cabin Fever, Part 3
