I love you

Taylor was a virgin when we met, and he was a virgin when we broke up. He wasn't your typical 19-year old college boy. He was a virgin by choice. I figured we would eventually have sex when he fell in love with me, at least that was what he always said. He would talk about how he would tell me that he was in love with me. He had planned the event, as if it were some type of proposal. Already, I could feel this relationship at full steam ahead, unfortunately.

His "declaration of love" was to be at his favorite restaurant in his home town, Portland. Portland was approximately 700 miles away from school, so I figured I had time. He told me we would be at a candlelit table. Just the two of us. I have to admit, I got a bit caught up in the whole thing. I imagined myself in a red dress with my hair in perfect waves and my dark eyeliner shaping my round eyes, the way he liked it. I imagined he would take my hand in his and tell me that he loved me. Crazy, I realize since I was nowhere near in love with him. I figured that by the time I went to Portland, I might be. I mean, nothing can compare with the first time. The first time the boy you love tells you he loves you. I just needed to put Ace out of my head and try to live in the moment, with Taylor.
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It was Sunday evening. Ace and I had just had dinner at my parents' house which was not something that happened often. Ace's mom rarely let him out of her sight on Sunday nights. They had "family time" on Sundays which was a new development since he started dating me.

Ace had to be home "at a decent hour" on Sundays, so right after dinner, I walked him out to his car. This had become a bit of a routine. It was our only alone time together. Both of our parents watched us like hawks, and for good reason. Walking Ace out to his car was our 30 minutes of privacy. No brothers or sisters spying, no parents checking in every 15 minutes and no lying about where I was. Just us, and his truck.

Ace opened the driver seat door and leaned against the seat. He brushed his dirty blond hair out of his face and smiled. My face flushed red, and I looked down smiling. He looked down and said, "there's something I want to tell you..." I looked at him waiting for the end of the sentence. All he could manage to say was "uh, well, hmmm..." for about five minutes. Finally he took a deep breath, looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I love you."

I was perfect. I smiled and said, "well, I love you too."

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During the summer, I went to Portland to meet Taylor's whole family and half the town, including his high school PE coach. The second night Taylor's family brought us to his favorite restaurant, and he kept his feelings to himself.

A few days later, we went with Taylor's parents and sister to a cabin in Bend, Oregon. For people like me that grew up in a city, Ben is in the middle of nowhere. One night, Taylor and I went for a walk on the nearby golf course under the stars.

It was freezing.

We sat down on a bench on the ninth hole. I kissed him and told him that I "liked him always" which was my way of saying something nice while avoiding the l-word or the f-word (love and forever). Those words were reserved, spoken for. I asked him why he always said things like "me too" instead of telling me the way he felt in his own words. He said that sometimes he just said "me too" without actually feeling the same way. He thought "like you always" was too serious of a gesture. He just said "me too" after I said it, so I wouldn't get upset.

UPSET?! Was he kidding? We were in the middle of nowhere on a golf course, and he was insinuating that I liked him more than me. The boy was practically obsessed with me two weeks ago. Who did he think he was? He tried to calm me down, but I marched off of the golf course, up into the house we were staying in and went straight to bed. He apologized the next morning, and said of course he liked me a lot. He just got "freaked out about the word always." What a moron I thought to myself. I made up that phrase to make Mr. Insecure feel better. Suddenly, his green eyes didn't seem so kind, his too-white Jordans seemed annoying and his soft voice irritated me. And how, after living in California for year, was he still so white. I tried to keep all of my new thoughts to myself since the trip was almost over.

When he finally dropped me off at the airport, I felt better about the whole situation. I was heading back to college, the place where my life made sense. He was a friend that kissed me, exclusively. That was all I really wanted anyway. No grand gestures, no sex, no love, just kissing. I passed out on the plane ride, and I was thrilled to see the hot sun shining as the plan landed.