Untangled 34: Date with Disaster

For the next day, he planned for us to go to breakfast, then the zoo, and then I would cook a Sunday dinner for him to eat throughout the week. He came to get me around 9 a.m. for breakfast. He asked again what I wanted, and I said, “I don’t care.” He smirked and drove to Cracker Barrel. Now, I inherently have no problem with any of these places; the problem was that we had discussed unique places to eat over the phone. I realized that our whole conversation was a lie, and that was my issue only until I left Tuesday morning.

After Cracker Barrel, he took the scenic route to the zoo. We passed some new construction areas, and he pointed out houses he liked and ones we could buy as a married couple. He even asked how long it would take for me to move there. I said nothing. If he couldn’t read the room, that was on him.

We stopped at his mom’s house first to “pick something up.” I waited in the car while he grabbed an envelope stuck in the screen door. We then headed to the zoo around 11. He said he would get the tickets, so I waited on a bench. After a few minutes, I went to see what was going on because it was taking longer than it should. When I got to the window, the cashier was explaining that he couldn’t use senior passes without the senior being present. I was secondhand embarrassed and wanted to be away from that window, so I offered to pay my own entry while he paid his. He still put up a fight, so the cashier conceded and gave him the senior discount “this one time.”

I was so angry I didn’t even want to go inside. I wanted to go back to my hotel, get a car, and explore Nashville without this half of a man, but still, through all this, I wasn’t mean. After we left the zoo we went directly to Walmart for dinner ingredients. At the register, he asked if I could pay for the dinner because he hadn’t anticipated Cracker Barrel being that expensive. The cashier had rung everything up. What else could I do? In for a penny, in for a pound.

While driving to his apartment, he got a phone call from his attorney. Turns out his ex-wife was taking him back to court for spousal support. He legit started crying while driving, saying he wouldn’t be able to afford his apartment if she got both spousal and child support. When we got to his apartment, he sat in the car, blubbering, and explained how she was doing these things to spite him. The lawyer needed $1,000 to file a motion, but he wouldn’t have the full amount for a week. I suggested he use a credit card or ask his mom, but his highest credit limit was $250, and it was maxed out.

I had no idea his finances were so bad. On the phone, he was so confident that his car was paid off, he had no debt, and he had a good job lined up for a raise. I felt sorry for him, so I told him I would Zelle him the money until he got paid. I sent the money, and in the memo line, I noted that it was a loan until the following week. I just didn’t want to see anyone homeless, even if I had no plans to date him. After I Zelled the money, he called the attorney and made the payment over the phone.

We carried the groceries up to his apartment so I could start dinner. I wasn’t ready. This was the nastiest apartment I had ever entered. The kitchen and trash can were right at the front door. The garbage can was filthy and overflowing. The sink was full of food and dishes, and the faucet looked like it was caked with mud and grime. The countertop was cluttered with crumbs, dishes, old takeout cups, and appliances. The dining room table was so full of mail and bankers’ boxes that I still don’t know what color it was.

The living room had a 90s-style hunter green and burgundy loveseat with dirty, flattened cushions. There was a blanket over the torn corner. He had lights on the TV wall and a red and black gaming chair in the center. He was a gamer. I had no idea. He never mentioned it on the phone. Clothes and toys littered the floor. He had a schnauzer who was forced to live in this filth with him.

The bathroom was a whole different animal. There was hair from shaving in the sink; the toilet was stained right up to the lid; the tub looked like an engine had been in it, and there were cobwebs in every corner. I was tired. I had enough. I blurted out, “I DON’T LIVE LIKE THIS!”

He laughed and said, “What are you talking about?! I’ve been cleaning all week!”

I said, “If you think this is clean, we have a bigger problem. You should’ve been embarrassed to have ANYONE up here! If you want me to cook anything, you have to clean this nasty kitchen.”

He pretended to look for cleaning products but had none. I said, “I’ll go to Publix across the street and get some.” I walked the aisles to clear my head, then got bleach and dish towels, used their bathroom, and left. He cleaned most of the kitchen, I cooked, and put everything in bowls.

After dinner, he went to walk the dog, and I went with him. I noticed he didn’t have any poop bags, so I asked how he’d clean up after the dog. He said, “We don’t clean up after dogs down here; that’s a northern thing.” I was appalled. Strangely, that was worse than anything else. He watched his dog poop on the neighbor’s lawn and just walked away. I was SO disgusted. I was ready to leave after the walk. He pleaded with me to stay a little longer because I was leaving the next morning. So I agreed to stay and watch one movie because it was still early.

After the movie, he drove me to my hotel. Just as I was getting comfortable, he texted an hour later that he was feeling sick and headed to urgent care. I asked if it was serious. He said he had blacked out in his bathroom the week before, hit his head, and was feeling the same way. I suggested he call an ambulance instead of driving, but he yelled at me, “Why in the hell would I call an ambulance and pay for that when I can drive myself?”

I said, “OK, do what you want,” and told him to text me when he got to urgent care. I simply didn’t care—I was in the home stretch. My flight would be leaving at 11 a.m. the next day. He texted a few minutes later and said he was downstairs. I called and asked why he’d come here instead of going to urgent care. He said he needed some support and pleaded with me to come; then he started crying. So I slipped my clothes back on and went downstairs. What was the worst that could happen? Urgent care would take an hour tops, right? WRONG.

They turned him away because they didn’t know how to treat him without knowing what was wrong, so he drove to the ER. While driving, he went into a rage about not knowing his father, his ex-wife selling the house he loved, and how he didn’t know if he could trust me because I was fresh out of my relationship. I didn’t want to say anything because he was crying yet again and driving. I really didn’t care what he thought of me. After I left Nashville, I would never see him again.

He checked in at the ER while I waited, holding his wallet and phone in the waiting area. After check-in, he asked why I hadn’t helped him register. I told him it was personal, something he should do alone. He said he wanted me to come for support, so I went with him into triage when they called him back. I was so embarrassed. He told them he had been on the toilet all day and more things he shouldn’t have wanted me to hear.

About an hour later, we were called to another waiting area in the back with the nurses. While waiting, he kept jumping up to go to the bathroom. On the third trip back, he stopped at the nurses’ station, looked at me, and passed out. It looked so fake I rolled my eyes and looked down at my phone. I didn’t have the bandwidth for another fake-sick man! The woman across from me said, “Your husband passed out!” I said, “He’s not my husband,” then casually got up to see what was happening. By then, nurses were running from everywhere. They got him up, put him on a gurney, and took him into a room. He gave me his phone and asked me to text his mom to tell her what was going on. He added, “Tell her not to tell my ex,” so I did.

His mom texted back, “Thanks,” and that was all. That told me all I needed to know. She had been here before, so had I, and I would not be going back. The doctor told me he would be admitted and that I could stay if I wanted; I said I wouldn’t be staying. After an hour or so, I told him I’d be going to pack for my flight in the morning. He said, “I would think you would change your flight,” but I ignored that. He asked if I could take his car and, in the morning, stop to feed his dog and get a change of clothes for him. I agreed, took his keys and got to my hotel room at 2:15 a.m. I was so wound up, I could hardly sleep. I was ready to be home. I woke up very early, went to walk his dog, fed him double, and went to the hospital to leave him his keys. His mother was in his room, so I met her. She was a kind woman, gave me a hug, and seemed excited that he had a “nice girl.” I felt bad for her because I would never see either of them again.

It turned out he was just dehydrated; that was it. They kept him another day for observation and to get fluids. I told him I wished him the best, left his keys, and grabbed an Uber to the airport. I was so relieved to be home. As soon as I landed, my text messages went off. It was my ex.