It was Thanksgiving of 7th grade. The tiny decorative pumpkins were arranged on the table and the house smelled like turkey and pumpkin pie. There were generic, pleasant cooking sounds coming from the kitchen. There was a sense of joy and home all through the house. It was a perfect image of Thanksgiving. The only thing ruining it was the angsty annoying middle schooler. Hi, that was me.
I was texting the boy I had been...I hesitate to use the word dating, considering it was seventh grade and the only “date” we had been on was an uncomfortable day at Ben and Jerry’s (fun fact: my dad had been standing in the corner of the shop during the entirety of that “date”). He had been asking me for a couple weeks when we were going to go on our second “date.” I knew I didn’t want to go on that next date. Do you see where this is going?
Yes. I actually ended whatever that semblance of a relationship was on Thanksgiving day over text. I don’t remember the exact words I used. It was probably something vague like, “You know, I’m sorry but I don’t think there’s going to be a second date,” or “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
It still haunts me to this day. I think about how rude I was to say that over text on Thanksgiving. I try my best to ignore the memory and ensure the story never comes up. It all worked out for the best though. I’m now friends with that same guy. We tease each other and are comfortable around each other. Every once and a while, actually, he brings it up. He brings up the awkward date and the even more awkward way the whole thing ended.