James was the boyfriend who did everything right.
He asked me out first, and asked me out again the very next day. He didn’t play games. He called if he’d be late, if he missed me, just to say hello. He listened patiently. He dressed well. He told me I was beautiful whether I was opera-ready in a ballgown or sweaty from a day-long hike. He’d plan lavish marathon dates with rooftop picnics or bonfires on the beach. He was tall, athletic, and good-looking. He held the door for women, and not just the attractive ones. He loved me.
My friends approved. My brother hung out with him. My parents loved him. James, it seemed, was good enough for everyone.
But no one was good enough for James. Keep reading »