This weekend could have been really rough. I was processing the demise of yet another promising connection. I barely knew this guy, but I really, really liked what I did know, the connection that was there seemed to surpass any I’d known recently, and my trusting (naive?) nature allowed me to believe that he felt the same. Only to discover that I was but one of several women receiving his devotions, and possibly not even the main one (not that it probably matters, but it’s an ego thing, right?). Sigh. I arrived home from work on Friday feeling decidedly un-special, with a weekend yawning before me. I don’t usually have difficulty with solitude; my life is busy and full enough that I would often welcome a quiet weekend to myself. But not this weekend.
I have written before about how my guy friends have a bizarre Spidey sense for when I’m hurting. Well, true to form, every single one of them surfaced this weekend, texting or calling “just to check in.” Apparently my sadness can be felt 2,000 miles away. It’s almost ridiculous.
I have one guy friend, whom I’ll call K.C., who is my local Knight In Shining Armor. K.C. is just plain hot: twelve years younger than me, 6′ 3″ tall, with brown puppy dog eyes and a body that makes grown women weep for joy. Top it off with the fact that he’s a (mostly) reformed bad boy who meditates every day and reads psychology texts “because they’re cool.” We tried dating — twice — before we realized that what we have as friends is abundantly richer and more intimate than we were ever able to sustain when dating. So now we have a friendship that makes complete sense to us and leaves lots of other people scratching their heads in confusion.
Friday night, as I lay tossing and turning, trying to banish all sorts of sweet nothings and the hopes that accompanied them, K.C. texted, “Wanna talk?” Yes, please. I poured out the whole story, and he listened patiently. It was a variation on a theme he’s grown used to: I open up too soon, get hurt, and feel bad. This never happens to K.C. He is amazingly adept at keeping women at bay, but he is always completely honest about it. It works for him, but he has accepted that I am not that way. I told him that I couldn’t sleep and he said, “Want me to talk to you until you fall asleep?” Yes, please. And so he did. I was lulled into a gentle sleep by his deep voice recounting his latest exploits.
Saturday was better but I was still on unsure footing. After a busy day, I was preparing for a quiet evening at home, and anticipating more tossing and turning at bedtime. Once again, K.C. to the rescue. He called and convinced me that he really wanted to see me and that I needed to come to a party he was having that night. I tried to demur, but he was insistent that he wanted to see me. And so I went.
Even just getting ready to go helped so much. There’s nothing quite like getting dressed up and gorgeous for a party to bring a girl out of a funk. Then, as I was on my way to his house, K.C. texted and told me to meet him across town. Seriously? I was annoyed, but I went. I found him and his two best friends on the top floor of a parking garage, standing beside his cherry red vintage Mercedes, the Rocky Mountains laid out in front of him, with a fiery sun slowing setting and giving those mountains the purple majesty for which they are famous. We stood together and watched the sun make its descent. It was exactly what I needed to be reminded of the beauty around me, of the world that is bigger and more important than my small problems.
At the party, K.C. was sweetly attentive, checking if I needed something, was I okay, etc. Against all odds, I had a great time. I laughed too hard, drank too much tequila, and stayed up way too late. We’d agreed earlier that I would stay over; his house is an hour from mine and he wanted me to be able to drink if I wanted to, which turned out to be another good call on his part.
Last night I slept like a baby, folded against K.C.’s broad chest and made safe by his strong arms. I fell asleep with his fingers playing with my hair. And no, there was no sex. I didn’t need to get laid this weekend; I needed to feel cherished. Bless you, K.C., for sensing that and rescuing me from my sadness once again.
I think every woman should have a K.C. in her life. The pitfalls of dating are so much easier to bear with a friend like him around. The boy has got my back.