The Safe Side of Love

There was underwear coming out of the credenza. Like if you sat on the sofa and looked at the little slit in the drawer of my mid-century modern credenza, you could see a 2xist label. Should’ve been a lululemon label. I need to buy him new underwear, I thought as I walked over and shoved the underwear further in. I sat back down and stared at the drawers that aren’t meant for unmentionables but for extra candles and the Moroccan tajine where I keep loose change in. Something must be done. The man needed more space. What had been all mine could remain mine or I could lovingly accept that this is what we are doing and make some damn space. Stare at boxers in a credenza or give up a night of Scandal in leiu of desperately needed reorganization? Was I in or was I out?

I lit a candle and put on some music -cleaning music. I rearranged the closet shelves by shoving my boxes of stationary and basket of sunglasses next to Mia’s dog toys. I threw out a bin of never-used iPhone cords. I rid two drawers of excess, useless stuff and made a formal boxer area. Next, I tackled the closet. I took out my bike, box of unworn winter shoes and squeezed my dresses and coats to one half of the closet so my handsome boyfriend could hang his belongings. I admired my work. Not exactly enough, but enough for now, I thought. Exactly three months from our second date, I eagerly waited for him to get home to show him the fruits of my labor. I guess I live here now, he said. It seems that you do.


I never liked the kind of guy who played on the safe side of love. The kind of guys who never tell you what they feel or open up. The ones who always keep you guessing. I dated them because in my hyper-Type A social circle these kind of men abound. Had I stuck to the creative, venturer-of-the-spirit type maybe I’d have had more luck finding a risk-taking lover worth writing about, but the strife and emotional torment that accompany the arts never suited me much. I can’t stand the unpredictability – the schedule, the employment ebb and flow, they have to call you back later because they are “using their imagination.” On the other hand is a lot of repressed, uptight men weary to predict how they’ll feel next week. One Ferragamo toe holding the door open just a crack. And everyone in between was a total bore.

On our second date my boyfriend asked me if I wanted to go to Yellowstone with him and stay in a cabin and find wolves. Is there running water? I asked. Yeah, I’m pretty sure there is running water, he said. Okay, then I can go. Six weeks later he moved into my apartment. Sure, it was largely circumstantial, but he could have subletted or gotten an Air B&B or extended his lease. There are many things he could have done, but he actually wanted to spend all of his time with me. And I with him. Was it a sure thing? Of course not. Nothing is a sure thing. But if we didn’t take the risk, how could we reap the reward?

Calculated risk of course. We weren’t buying a beach home or opening a bank account. But after six weeks and one lovely Caribbean vacation, we decided it was stupid for him to get a new apartment when he would just be at my apartment all the time anyway. With several other unknowns, we decided to throw the safe side of love out the window and sieze the day. What started as a couple weeks turned into, “My boyfriend lives with me.” which morphed into “We live together.” Mi casa es su casa. Or as my mom says, Mi casa is your house.

Last week he sent me an article on taking risks in love. At the end, Arthur Brooks writes, “Courage means feeling the fear of rejection and loss but pursuing love anyway.” We had a few fears. Risky love is not for the faint of heart. But playing it safe doesn’t appeal to us. This by-the-book, cookie cutter kind of love is not a story I’m interested in telling. Never has been. Learning how to share and compromise and oh my god, how to properly fight in a studio apartment is like skipping a grade. Actually, it’s like skipping all of middle school. You have to grow up faster than you should, but you can forever reassure yourself that you are gifted. So there: we are gifted.

Either that or extraordinarily insane.

Emma Dinzebach


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