Match.com Saga 2: My Almost Perfect Almost-Boyfriend

The longest relationship I’ve had since ‘06 was with a guy I met on Match.com last year. I really, really, REALLY liked him and pretty much thought he was perfect. But since he broke up with me, I’ll have to call him Almost Perfect. Sigh.

Almost Perfect was a good writer, so even though it took him weeks to finally ask me out via e-mail, I didn’t mind. He lived relatively close to me in Brooklyn, enjoyed his job as a computer consultant (what else?), was interesting and funny, and gestured vaguely like a rapper when he spoke, even though he was white. After our first date we stopped at a bookstore where he showed me some of his favorite books. (I’m a sucker for a guy who reads). He said his mother was a poet. When I told him I write plays, he said, “I once spent a year reading nothing but plays!”

He loved jazz, and on our second date he gave me a CD he’d burned for me of his favorite jazz songs. That night he also told me about how, a few months after September 11th, he’d needed a break from New York and moved to Asia for two years, living right on the beach. “And I have a foster daughter there,” he added.

I want to adopt kids in a few years, so that definitely got my attention. “In Asia?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah.” He showed me the photo of an adorable six-year-old on his cell phone. “Her father’s white, and he left before she was even born. And her mother – “ he hesitated, then said, “ – her mother was murdered.”

“That’s horrible!” I said.

“Yeah. So she lives with her grandparents in this really rural area, and the school system is terrible,” he said. “When I left, some of my friends said I should raise her, bring her to the U.S. and enroll her in school here. But I couldn’t. I’m not her father. That would be kidnapping. But I go back twice a year to visit her and help out her family as much as I can.” Then he paused and said, “I’m sorry – I know this is a lot –“

“No, I think it’s great that you do that,” I said, and I meant it. But I can’t explain why I didn’t push him further on this topic. How had he met this little girl? What motivated him to take an 18-hour flight twice a year to see her? And why would his friends expect him to bring a kid he wasn’t related to back to the U.S. and raise her? Did I sense that it was an emotional subject? Or was I so mesmerized by his perfectness that it didn’t occur to me to ask?

We made it to a third date, then a fourth. As we went bowling at an alley downtown, he regaled me with tales of moving to the West Coast as a teenager to live with his dad, and how his father moved out after getting re-married, leaving Almost Perfect, then a high school senior, and his younger brother in the house by themselves. You know all those movies about high school kids going crazy when their parents go away? Almost Perfect LIVED it.

On my train ride home that night, I was completely befuddled. I really, really liked the guy, but he told so many bizarre stories I didn’t know what to believe. Was he even who he said he was? I hadn’t done an Internet search on him because he had a fairly common last name. But it occurred to me that his first name wasn’t that common, so when I got home that night, I turned on my computer and typed his name into Google.

The first headline that popped up was: “Canadian Man Appeals for Justice After Fiancée Is Murdered”

I gasped, clicked on the headline, and there was an article, complete with a photo of Almost Perfect’s foster daughter as a toddler, smiling as she hugged her mother, who had been murdered by a jealous ex-boyfriend in 2004. She and Almost Perfect had met soon after he’d moved to Asia, lived together for over a year, and were ENGAGED when she died. I put my hand to my mouth, afraid I was going to throw up. There were other articles, and I clicked through them one by one. The most recent one was over a year old, in his hometown newspaper in Canada, and included an extensive interview with his mother the poet.

Everything he had told me was true.

Except that he’d never said a word about his dead fiancée.

I had no idea what to do. Should I tell him what I knew? Should I wait for him to tell me? For our next date, he invited me to his place for a dinner he’d cooked himself. He was so nervous he spilled red wine all over me, and in that moment I knew he liked me too. I decided not to say anything – let him tell me when he’s ready.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever had over to my apartment besides my family!” he said as he served the garlic bread.

Dread tightened my stomach. “Um – how long have you lived here, exactly?” I asked.

“A year and a half,” he said.

The words CAUTION: REBOUND ALERT! REBOUND ALERT! appeared above us in a bright red flashing cartoon bubble. No, not really. If only they they had – I might have avoided the heartache that followed. Instead, I thought desperately, “Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything -- I’m sure he’s had a girlfriend since his fiancée died! Maybe a woman who lived in Manhattan, so he spent every night at her place! Yeah, that’s it!”

Our second to last date was the essence of perfect. We went to dinner at a Thai restaurant, and I asked him how long his next trip to Asia would be. He said, “Well, usually I try to stay as long as possible, but SINCE I’M DATING YOU NOW (emphasis mine), I’m only going to stay a week.”

“Really?” I said, putting a hand to my heart – and he was in. I couldn’t have stopped liking him if I’d tried.

After dinner we went to the bookstore to see one of my friends do a reading of her brand new book of short stories, which was so much fun. Afterward, Almost Perfect said, “My brother and his wife were planning to go to this bar in Park Slope tonight. Would you like to go? Or would you be too nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous?”

“You know,” he said. “Sometimes meeting someone’s family for the first time can make people nervous.”

“I’d love to,” I said firmly.

We went to the bar, and I met his brother, who was just as perfect, and his equally perfect wife, and we picked out our favorite songs for the jukebox to play, and Almost Perfect held my hand under the table, and as his brother and sister-in-law left, they said they were so happy to meet me and looked forward to seeing me again, and then Almost Perfect leaned over and kissed me, then smiled and said, “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

See? I’m telling you. PERFECT.

As we said goodbye at the subway station, he asked if I wanted to get together Friday night, and I said I couldn’t because I was seeing a play with a friend. “What about Saturday?” I asked.
He got a strange look on his face and said, “I can’t Saturday.” He didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask, just suggested he come over for dinner on Sunday night instead.

When he arrived on Sunday, he said, “Do you have an Internet connection? I can show you my photos from Asia!” With every click, I grew more and more anxious, thinking, is this going to be a photo of his fiancée? Is this how he’s going to tell me? And what then? Do I act surprised, or do I confess that I’ve actually known for over a month?

Finally, I said, “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” he asked.

So I told him that I’d Googled him, and what I’d found out. He looked at me in utter surprise and said, “I thought you already knew.”

???

“No,” I said slowly, “how would I have known?”

“I thought I told you!” he said.

“You told me about your foster daughter, but you never said how you knew her.”

“Oh!” he said. “I’m sorry! Well. This is awkward.” And then he told me the whole story. About how he and his fiancée had been planning to move back to the U.S. and get married, and he was going to adopt her daughter. How they’d started fighting a lot. How, as they were having problems, an old boyfriend started calling her. How, when she mentioned going traveling and visiting said ex-boyfriend, Almost Perfect had encouraged her, thinking that if another guy was going to make her happier, then he should be strong and let her go. How she went to see the guy. How he murdered her and fled to his native Europe, where he’s still a free man.

“I feel guilty,” Almost Perfect said, “because I encouraged her to go see him. I used to do a lot of work on the case, trying to bring him to justice, but every time I did, it would bring me to a really dark place. I finally realized I could visit my foster daughter, I could help support her family, but I couldn’t work on the case anymore.”

So that was that. We finished looking at his photos. We started watching a movie. He kissed me. He kissed me again. We went a little further, but still very PG-13. And then, suddenly, he sat straight up, looked around and asked, “What time is it?”

It was late.

“I’d better go – I can’t be late for work tomorrow – my boss will yell at me.” And let me tell you, he could not get out of my apartment fast enough! He was already nearly out the door when I asked, “Do you have everything?”

“I think so,” he said quickly. “I’ve got my wallet, got my cell phone, think that’s it. I’ll see you!” A quick kiss on the cheek, and he was gone.

I did NOT have a good feeling about this.

He was always good about e-mailing me within 24 hours of seeing me. But he didn’t e-mail me Monday. He didn’t e-mail me Tuesday. By Wednesday afternoon I couldn’t stand it anymore and e-mailed him. He responded saying he’d had a good time on Sunday but had felt like a pig afterward (?), and wondered if I could meet him for coffee that weekend so we could talk. He signed it, “Your friend (hopefully), Almost Perfect.”

I wrote back and said if he just wanted to be friends, tell me now, don’t make me wait until the weekend. And so he did:

“Yes, I just want to be friends. I had a great time dating you and I am grateful to you because you brought me out of a very dark place. But I don't want to commit to anyone right now and I have had the tendency to do that in the past. I had a wonderful time on Sunday and I will probably remember that night the rest of my life. The problem is, I don't have the heart to be intimate with you and then go out with other women the next day. But I want to continue to casually date until I am sure I have found the right match. I think the least painful thing to do is to break things off now, rather than later.
– Almost Perfect”

The next day, I wrote back:

“Oh boy. OK. Everything you said is completely understandable. As soon as those articles popped up on Google I began to worry that I was just your rebound person. Know, though, that you probably shouldn't introduce someone to your brother and sister-in-law, or make them think you are shortening your trip to Asia because you're dating them, unless you're truly sure about them. It's rare for me to actually like someone, but I really liked you, and your doing those things made me think that it was safe to like you and is making it hurt a lot more now.
I know I have some books of yours to return to you, but I need some time -- OK?
Friends, though....”

And he wrote back:

"You are extremely kind to respond to my email. I'm sorry that I hurt you, I did not mean to. I tried not to make promises but I know that introducing you to my family was an unspoken promise. I hope that one day you will not hate me and we can be friends. I think that you will find that I make a better friend than lover. Please keep the books if you can or give them away if you do not want them.
Sincerely, Almost Perfect”

And that was that. Except, he didn’t really mean it when he said he wanted to be friends, because a month later I e-mailed him asking how his trip to Asia had gone and if he wanted to go to a concert in Brooklyn later that week. He wrote back thanking me for the invitation but said he had to decline, because he had a date that night. Yeah. I got the hint after that.

My theory is that he’d met someone else he liked better. Remember how, when I asked him out for Saturday, he’d gotten that strange look on his face and said he couldn’t? And the whole time we were seeing each other, he was still getting on Match every few days – in fact, I’d stopped checking how often he was getting on, because it would just upset me. He had last logged in that Thursday or Friday, two days before our last date. After we broke up, I checked once a week or so to see if he’d logged on. He never logged on again, and after three months, he finally removed his profile.

I still feel like I’ll never know the full story. Meeting him did give me faith that there actually are people I’d like on these sites But if he was still regularly trolling Match looking for someone "better," he obviously was not as perfect as he seemed.

For a while there, though, he sure seemed to be. :(