The first time I met him, I knew I would love him forever. I had no idea how right that thought would be. I’m talking about my ex, the guy who would eventually be the Man of Honor at my wedding. He’s been my best friend for fourteen years, and I often wonder how we survived those many growing pains suffered after the break-up. I knew people in college who “came out” to their fundamentalist Christian families and received less flack than Aaron (not his real name) and I did for staying together as friends, after the romantic relationship was long over. Even in our circle of people who were made up almost entirely of college-educated, freethinking, wheeling-dealing, young movers and shakers, there was a general sense of discomfort and embarrassment. Are we a generation that’s more ready to embrace the concepts of organ cloning and legalized drugs than a friendship that lasts beyond the romance?
It was a tough two years that he and I spent together as boyfriend and girlfriend. We were each other’s firsts and let’s face it—I was a total basket case. Suffering from major abandonment issues that left me with a serious fear of commitment, I vented every ounce of hurt in his direction. He was no angel either. Insecurities born from my wandering eyes forced him into a position of passive aggression and manipulation. And yet, somehow, he was the only person in the world that I knew would always have my back. He knew the same of me. We went through things together that I’m quite certain I will never have to go through with anyone else. I remember one time, I got the worst flu I’ve ever had in my life. I truly thought I might die. He sat with me, holding the bucket and my head because I was too weak to do either. After pulling me from the bathtub and my own filth, he cleaned up all of my messes and tucked me in to bed—I never once felt ashamed. My husband has never been allowed near the bathroom while I was ill, let alone at a time when I was sick from both ends.
The point is, with your truest friend, you can show the ugliest part of yourself and it really doesn’t matter. And this is where my theory—and the choices I’ve made with Aaron—become very unpopular in modern relationship theory. These days, it seems like your husband has to be your lover, your best friend, your family, and your support. Not for me. My husband is my lover and the man who will raise children with me. My friends are my friends. My mother, father, brothers, aunts, uncles, and grandparents are my family. My support is the web created by all of these people. And Aaron… he’s my best friend, and to me, that’s just as important as family or husband.
I can hear the gasping already. I know because I’ve heard gasping ad nauseum since Aaron and I broke up. My extended family raised eyebrows. Our friends were weird and ran around like gerbils in a wheel trying to figure out whose side to be on when Aaron and I still seemed to be on the same one. My grandmother was suspiciously silent. My father was baffled, but that’s pretty par for the course as I am his only daughter.
And then there was my mother. Something about our choice to stay friends turned her into a screaming banshee from hell. This was a tough one for me. I’m a Mama’s girl and my mother’s opinion had been a major weight on most of the decisions in my life. Not this one… and I think she hated that most of all. She was threatened by my affection for Aaron, an affection that she thought should end when the kisses did. Otherwise, it was like the love I had for my family, a love that could endure fights and fissures. That’s when things got ugly. My mother put so much pressure on me, said so many nasty comments about Aaron being in my life, and finally, she just pushed too many of my buttons.
