I’ve known kitanzi for years. We’ve run into each other off and on, maybe a couple times a year, at various friends’ houses. She remembers that I asked her out the first time we met. It was at a party at Mark and Rachel’s, one where Dance Dance Revolution was the focal point, and given that I was younger then, I must have been either wired from silly dancing or moved by her to unusual boldness. I told her she was cute and asked if she’d like to have lunch. She declined; not out of any displeasure at the invitation, it was just that she didn’t know me.
She remembers this. Her husband remembers it, and my wife remembers it, and Mark and Rachel remember it. They’ve all told me about it with some amusement. I did not remember it at all until I was reminded. My memory sucks.
Thanksgiving Day, a couple of months ago: I’d finally gotten tired of feeling sorry for myself in the wake of the second heartbreak from the Professor, and I felt like coming out of my shell and being social. Our friends Brian and Suzan were having a friends’ Thanksgiving feast, and we went with Anna’s brown sugar brownies. Kit and her husband (autographedcat ) were there too. She’d brought this pumpkin trifle with an insane amount of rum in it. As usual, I thought she was really cute. I felt there was a bit of spark there. (Yes, before I tried the trifle.) I stayed close to her through most of the evening, and before she left I asked her to lunch again. This time she said yes.
Since then we’ve bumped around in the dark, we’ve seen dead people, and she’s introduced me to her world (Emma Bull and Tanya Huff are very cool people to hang out with, by the way). I’ve been reading to her: some of my stories, and then Gormenghast. She’s smart, she’s mature, she’s enthusiastic, she’s a clear communicator, she loves bad puns, and she kisses well. I didn’t think I’d ever meet a woman who appreciated my puns.
Anna likes her, and Rob likes me. I can’t go to their place without being lent more books and movies. Last time they sent me home with Animaniacs to entertain Alex. Ah, nostalgia. And I’ve paused from reading their copy of Winter’s Tale to write this. It’s a breathtaking book.
Things have gone very easily and very well. For a while I kept thinking it was too easy. She the same thing: she felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It took me a while to figure out why I felt this way. It’s simply the first polyamorous relationship I’ve had that didn’t start out with a handicap. She’s local, and we’re both poly-experienced, and there are no spousal trust issues on any front. Everything’s out in the open, including our past baggage. It’s refreshing and wonderful, albeit not what I’m used to. (She kissed me on our first lunch date because she felt like it? It’s supposed to be harder than that! There’s supposed to be drama!)
I don’t doubt that at least some of it is rose-colored NRE glasses. It won’t continue drama-free forever. That’s probably fine. We seem to be comfortable with each other’s personalities and intentions, so hopefully we’ll make it through that. And if not… Well, I’m having fun right now. I’m feeling more balanced this time, I’m not going overboard and losing sight of work or family. So I think it’s all good.
I just wanted to talk about her a bit, since I hadn’t yet. She’s probably blushing like hell as she reads this. I hope she’s doing it at work, on her iPhone; it amuses me to think of her trying to hide her buoyancy from her coworkers, and failing. If I’m right, she’ll have her revenge on me later.
And that’ll be fun too.
You’re cool, Kit.