I often wonder what my life would have been like if I had grown up in the warmth of  reliable men. It’s my own small sadness that every man I’m related to has been an unfaithful one. A reliable man was a mythical folklore in my home. Generations of men that share my blood have been untrue to their wives and unavailable for their daughters. A certified love girl like me craved validation that love was real. I dreamed of a fairytale story for myself. Hell, I wouldn’t have batted an eye if he flew in through my window with glittery wings and puff sleeves. I just wanted what I knew I didn’t have.

 Having built in male validation would, I assume, clear the path for me not to seek it elsewhere when I got older. So then maybe the doom of a divorce wouldn’t knock me out cold if I wasn’t already so desensitized to failure in love. For all I know, I could have been a different shade of jaded than the one I already rock on a daily basis despite scraping by on my own personal life success ( hello being married before 30). I should be congratulating myself on fulfilling the impossible dream of finding something from a pile of nothing having no familial idol to emulate. 

Even the good things that happen feel like a carpet atop of hot stones burning holes through it. I want to enjoy them, I really do. However, when I found myself on the other side of betrayal I started to question what it meant to cheat and be cheated on. 

Truthfully, it would have been easier if Aaron was a rat bastard. If we had a hard earned love turned sour and volatile and that’s what made doing what I did forgivable. Our relationship was easy from the very start and so was cheating on him. 

I met my boyfriend Aaron on the apps, he was six years older than me. I wondered what he was doing with me frankly, not by means of success on his part but by maturity. I could barely muster up the courage to order a drink  from the bartender much less date someone so seriously in my early twenties. Away we went though, into the highlight reel of falling in love. Meeting friends, going on trips, spending time with one another’s famalies.We did this song and dance for almost five years almost completely unscathed until I realized that we hadn’t had sex in six months and we both didn’t mention it. 

How could this have happened? Sure, we weren’t having it at a tremendous rate anyhow due to his stressful job kicking his confidence and then there was his insecurities about the number of ailments that kept him from feeling confident in his body. Six months without so much as a touch of foreplay was slightly outrageous. Embarrassing even. Then again, coming from a man who wasn’t outwardly affectionate- it made sense. He only wanted to hold hands around other couples. Kissing in public? Forget about it. I once brought up the idea of allowing him a butt slap  if he was interested to which he laughed and so did I because what was I actually asking for? Assurance? He gave me that with affirmative dialogue, a plan for our future. Attention? I had enough to live off of but not enough for dessert. 

The old assurance we all know, that cheating isn’t about the person being cheated on but about the person doing the cheating is a cliche I shouldn’t be so happy to relate to, but I do. Aaron wasn’t a saint but he wasn’t a bad boyfriend. He just shouldn’t have been my boyfriend. He spoke softly to me, put in effort to commemorate our four and a half anniversaries, and we integrated our lives together to the point of almost sharing a home. When that conversation started to become a  real possibility I felt shaky in my soul. The very foundation of my being was being broken apart like opposite sides of a magnet. He could ask for things like that because of the longevity of our relationship but also, simply, he was at the age to ask for those things without expecting hesitation. So, I didn’t give him any. I just felt it radiating in my body like my funny bone had been smacked by a rocketship. 

Timing is everything, impeccable and reason bound. An old flame who didn’t have social media, therefore not knowing my relationship status, had wanted to “catch up” which is universally known as code for sex. Then, my developing crush on a children’s gym teacher I knew through work was finally returning my attention. He made quippy comments during class instruction that were targeted at me through the child I was nannying. Give your grown up a great big hug! Especially yours, Avery. You’re so lucky to have her. The doors of opportunity opened themselves up to me and I decided to step in their direction. Letting these other men into enemy territory  made me make excuses for my actions while stroking the fur of my sensitivity. How could I, a witness of the pain infidelity has caused my loved ones become what I always swore I’d never be? 

Once I crossed that boundary and officially cheated, I knew this was the marker for the beginning of the end with Aaron. It would end with him finding out what I’ve done and breaking up with me or me breaking up with him and never admitting to my indiscretions. I remember once asking a family member to come clean to the woman he stepped out on after accidentally finding out. He said that it would break their heart and why would they do that if it can be avoided. I remember feeling rigid and dirty with this information that I could never do anything about. Now that I had done it, what I thought I knew I didn’t anymore. It was hard to come clean. Bearing the adulterous side of myself was oddly awakening to what I found myself capable of doing. I could keep secrets. I was able to have this dual life of a dutiful girlfriend and adulterating mistress. It also turned me into a coward.

 I never wanted to tell Aaron. I didn’t want to hurt him. I just wanted to feel desired. I just wanted to feel what everyone wants to feel and he didn’t want to give it to me. 

I had asked him to go to couples therapy with me. He declined citing our relationship was too young to get to that space. I was baffled that he considered our relationship “too young” to be worked on by a professional but not our dried up romantic life that was begging for aid. Our deflated sex was walking on crutches, but no, not ready for therapy. When we were together, I thought about the others. When I was with the other men, I was thrilled by our liaisons but constantly staring at my phone. Scared my boyfriend would call demanding to know where I was. Imagining he already knew and was waiting for me outside my apartment leaning on his car, arms crossed, visibly destroyed seeing me come home from seeing another man.He never did though. He always trusted me when I said where I was and that was enough for him.  The bare minimum was enough for him. The plain life he wanted and a plain sex life with a plain partner was almost in reach and therefore, enough for him. I couldn’t keep doing this but I couldn’t break up with the only adult stable relationship I’ve ever known. 

Staying with Aaron was weighing on me more than the betrayal I was committing. I was betraying him in the worst way a person could do to another, and yet the betrayal I was committing to myself felt of greater importance. Hanging around something comfortable and well worn was consequential to my soul. A raggedy sock full of  holes ripped by the dryer. I knew that if I wanted to, I could let myself grow old with him. We’d have great hangs, couples trips and eventually a little house in San Diego, even though I told him I could never leave L.A but he would try to persuade me otherwise. I knew I would waste my youth with him just like how I wasted his. 

When I broke it off I never told Aaron of my infidelity. He said he didn’t see the breakup coming, that I had blindsided him. Hearing that eased my guilt because  I knew he was lying too. About us, about how we both have been validating a love that no longer existed between us. The next year I met the man who would become my husband.  Within a week of knowing him, I came clean about everything. I could feel the beginning feelings of love and I wanted to give him his exit before our lives became entangled. Maybe he wouldn’t want to commit to someone who cheated on their partner. Maybe he shouldn’t. He surprised me by loving me, and staying anyway. 

 I thought that knowing unreliable men had left me destined for one myself. Infidelity was my family inheritance waiting patiently for its turn with me. I understand now that the inheritance wasn’t cheating. It was doubt. Doubt that love could remain once it became ordinary. Doubt that being chosen once meant being chosen again tomorrow. 

I don’t think cheating on Aaron was my saving grace. It remains an unforgivable thing I’ve done. Cheating forced me to confront parts of myself I would rather have ignored; my hunger for validation, fear of settling, my capacity for dishonesty, and my confusion of being desired with being loved.

The reliable men I wished for as a child never arrived in glittering wings. It turned out to be an ordinary man who told the truth and asked the same in return. The real surprise for me wasn’t finding one. It was learning how to become someone who could do the same.