I was comfortable being called \u201cweekend girl\u201d and had even coined the nickname. We met running on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. Our first date followed: a run through Pacific Palisades. We talked about food. Our second date: dinner. We talked about running. I was coming out of a sticky romantic relationship and into a new job, so a casual fling seemed appropriate. We had endless common interests; making plans was easy. He was the best kisser I\u2019d ever come across, but I still liked my solo weeknights.<\/p>\n
It continued that way for a few months. There were sleepless nights of laughter and love-making. I didn\u2019t care where he was on a Wednesday. I had a dumpy, dark one-bedroom further south on the disregarded part of Bundy Drive, and he had a well-appointed and nicely lit two-bedroom, so weekends were at his place or occasionally the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs. Things were light and fluffy until he made a proposal.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want to be adventure buddies?\u201d he asked while we dined at the hotel bar.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, yes, I like that title. Does that mean I\u2019m not \u2018weekend girl\u2019 anymore?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cAdventure buddies\u201d had a nice ring, but it was vague.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was thinking we can clear out a closet at my place, and you could spend more time there.\u201d He faced forward.<\/p>\n
We organized the closet the following weekend. I was wearing a T-shirt and just my underwear, while he was wearing his sleeping shorts, no shirt. We agreed it was a fantastic Friday night. I woke up in the morning to a warm California sun and hot coffee, sipped on the balcony. Noticing that the outdoor space got just enough light to wring out some tomatoes, we headed to the nursery to top off our nest.<\/p>\n
I had been a serial apartment dweller with limited outdoor space, so I never knew the color of my thumbs. We plucked three healthy tomato plants and three pots. We added plant food and tomato cages to the cart. The staff offered their expertise several times, and I wondered if I was wearing something that screamed \u201cgardening noob.\u201d We declined the help, as it seemed easy enough; put the plants in the dirt and water them.<\/p>\n
Two blissful months later, we were getting some tomatoes and lots of loving. We were planning adventures, date nights and what we would cook with our forages from the farmers\u2019 market. It was effortless. We spent most of our time just the two of us, but we were slowly integrating our respective worlds and families. I was the happiest I had ever been, and I felt fortunate. Gratitude is due when your biggest problem is the sad-looking tomato plants on your balcony. Something was wrong.<\/p>\n
Back to the garden center we went, bringing a leaf as a specimen. They said we had an unidentified pest and pointed us to the neem oil. We got back to our babies, and as we started to spray, there they were: hornworms. They were bright green with pokey stinger-looking things on their butts, and they were as long as my index finger. There were dozens of them. We loaded them into a giant mason jar, but it was too late. My green dreams were now caterpillar nightmares. Maybe we should have asked more questions in the beginning? How did I not notice this sooner?<\/p>\n
\u201cWanna get froyo?\u201d I was a sucker for mochi and figured that would cheer me up.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, just gonna take a quick shower.\u201d He set his phone down and hopped in. I went to grab my mascara and saw the white and blue messages light up.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish I were with you tonight, but Em is here.\u201d No name, just a number. I scrolled up \u2014 boobs but no face. Who was this girl?<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t move to L.A. to become an actor, but I sure put on a performance that night. I let the phone go black without a word as the shower shut off. We ate the yogurt and called it an early night. I lay mummy-style and wide-eyed next to him through the sleepless night. By daybreak, I had a plan.<\/p>\n
I spent the next morning with his iPad reading through text chains. \u201cYou\u2019re so gorgeous,\u201d or \u201cI\u2019d love to take you to dinner,\u201d or \u201cI am not with that girl; you are the one for me.\u201d There were nudes and sexts and I love yous. And so, so many people. I gasped and shook while reading the first few lines, but it became more like entertainment as the minutes passed. It was more than two hours of reading material. I was hungry and had planned to get my nails done, so I grabbed the wallet he had left on the table and helped myself to a champagne lunch and a mani-pedi.<\/p>\n
I got home before he did and prepped myself for the fireworks. The bubbles and the \u201cfive-more-minutes\u201d foot massage helped boost my confidence.<\/p>\n
\u201cBabe!\u201d he exclaimed, excited and clueless.<\/p>\n
\u201cBabe!\u201d I parroted. \u201cI just finished reading your iPad! What a productive morning!\u201d <\/p>\n
I was calm while he paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh my god. Get out. I can\u2019t believe you violated my privacy,\u201d he yelled.<\/p>\n
I responded without defensiveness. \u201cIt\u2019s sad. I thought I loved you. But it turns out you love 13 others \u2014 and that ain\u2019t gonna work for me.\u201d With calculated confidence, I directed him to pack my things from the closet. I was eager to get back to my dungeon-like, safe apartment.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope you get help. It seems like you need it.\u201d I really did care for him, and it was hard to drive away.<\/p>\n
It was a lot to take in over a short time, but I am grateful for the lessons. For me, integrity is paramount and asking questions up-front is a must. Even when the dating gets tough, I won\u2019t settle for less than the truth. This summer, I will be companion planting basil, dill and marigolds with my tomatoes and an occasional spritz of a natural insecticide.<\/p>\n
The author is an entrepreneur and working on a book about overcoming betrayal. She splits her time between L.A. and Michigan. She\u2019s on Instagram: @emilybrynwilliams<\/a>.<\/p>\n L.A. Affairs<\/a> chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com<\/a>. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here<\/a>. <\/p>\n