Don't See Her Again

Words Left Unsaid

Discomfort settled in – a heavy realization that my husband was having a great time bar-hopping with a stunning woman in Brooklyn, while I was managing things at home.

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Last year, Liam embarked on a thrilling three-week solo trip to New York. My excitement for him was so intense, it almost felt like I was there myself. Living vicariously through my husband, I could practically smell the Brooklyn air during our FaceTime calls.

"Vanderbilt and St. Marks," Liam announced with a grin. A flood of memories returned – the corner bar where we met the captivating Erin. We spent hours enthralled by her tales of polyamory and Burning Man before ending up at her place for the night.

Our years in New York will forever hold a special place in our hearts. We were young lovers in our twenties, navigating our paths – finding a community, discovering ourselves and each other, and exploring what our relationship could be, free from the judgmental eyes and expectations back home in Canberra.

It was liberating, challenging, and undeniably bonding.

That precious chapter overflowed with experiences. We embraced non-monogamy, embarked on adventures unique to New York City, and spent late nights envisioning our future together, defining what love and commitment meant for us. We'd run through Central Park, coordinating our Spotify playlists to play the same songs in unison, it was our way of connecting our senses as we ran side by side.

West Village happy hours were filled with playful games where we pretended not to know each other. I'd flirt with the bartender while Liam watched on, adoringly amused. Witnessing each other from a distance – both physically and erotically – has always been a source of joy for us.

Every walk included a spontaneous "stop and kiss!" One of us would halt abruptly, yell "stop and kiss!" and then sweep the other into a passionate embrace. It's a tradition we still cherish.

As winter snow blanketed the city, Liam filled me with love and life. Our bodies moved in perfect sync, tears tracing down my face as he whispered his love for me. Almost ten months later, primal and guttural moans echoed through our apartment as I gave birth to our son in a pool of water in our living room. Liam, ever the comforting presence, wiped my brow and kissed me with his familiar tenderness.

A month later, we strolled leisurely through Prospect Park, this time with our precious baby nestled against my chest. The "stop and kiss" ritual continued, a constant thread in the fabric of our lives.

Liam's solo trip to NYC last year felt monumental. It was like stepping back in time. He felt a seamless reconnection to the city, and he missed me terribly, wishing I was there. As he navigated familiar streets, memories and cherished moments surfaced. "I can't wait for us to bring our son back here!" Liam beamed.

While in New York, Liam reconnected with someone special – my first true metamour. Back then, I wouldn't have labeled my relationship with her boyfriend as polyamorous, but hindsight offers perfect clarity. Knowing she was my metamour again, this time with my husband, felt strangely comforting and secure. It was a familiar connection. When she sent a selfie with Liam, captioned "Look who I'm with," a flicker of excitement ignited within me. I tracked Liam's location dot on the map, watching them travel from the bar back to her apartment in South Brooklyn, a place I'd frequented years earlier when we were both cultivating our metamour friendship.

Those early explorations of non-monogamy solidified the importance of an open and caring metamour connection for me.

One morning, while making breakfast for myself and our son, a wave of sweetness washed over me as I received photos of Liam on a date with another friend of ours at a photography exhibition. As I sipped my coffee and zoomed in on their faces, their smiles were contagious. They radiated the energy of a genuine couple, stylish and attractive, her dark hair mirroring his. In that moment, a pang of longing struck me. I yearned to be there in that Manhattan gallery with my husband, missing the shared experience of exploring art in the city together.

A realisation dawned on me. While I reveled in vicariously living through Liam's adventures, our realities in those moments were so very different. I was content and fulfilled raising our four-year-old son in Canberra. This was precisely where I belonged. Liam's solo trip was a necessity – a family trip wasn't feasible at the time. I was completely at peace with that. Despite our incredible family support network, I had no desire to be away from our son for an extended period of time. The thought of being overseas for three weeks was unimaginable. My longest time away from him was three nights, and even then, I was only two hours away. I prioritise being present with our son. This is the chapter of life I'm embracing, and I'm fully invested in it.

Motherhood, with its immense joys and devotion, doesn't hinder me from carving out my own personal moments and experiences. I choose to explore non-monogamy in ways that don't ask me to step away from my son's essential need for me. I am not away often, and when I am, it is never for long.

Two days later another text from Liam arrived: "Babe, I'm going on a date tonight with the podcaster I told you about. I can't wait to meet her!" "Oh amazing!" I replied, immediately scrolling through her Instagram feed, a curated glimpse into her life. It highlighted the differences in our paths. Younger and brimming with an adventurous spirit, her tanned skin and playful eyes radiated a carefree energy. She attended festivals and we shared many mutual friends from the open scene in New York. There was no denying her beauty. We quickly connected on Instagram, exchanging messages. I offered my support and well wishes for their date.

Later that afternoon, I tracked Liam's blue dot traversing Brooklyn's map. Bed-Stuy. A rush of nostalgia washed over me. I missed strolling those streets with Liam, our son nestled against his chest. Were they holding hands? Was he making her laugh? Would they discuss me? Though I didn't know her, I recalled listening to her podcast. I remembered her sounding warm and smart. I wondered if Liam felt the same way about her. Glancing down at my jeans and sneakers, I suddenly felt somewhat self-consciousness.

Discomfort settled in – a heavy realization that my husband was having a great time bar-hopping with a stunning woman in Brooklyn, while I was managing things at home.

I never uttered the words, "Don't see her again," but I subtly shut down their possibility of a second date. Not overtly, but through a coldness in what I didn’t say or ask in my texts. I wouldn't inquire about her, wouldn't respond to Liam with my usual immediacy. It was a conscious tactic that left me feeling awful and distanced from him.

Her confusion after the date, coupled with Liam's awkwardness – wanting to avoid rejecting her while navigating my unexpected resistance – mirrored the internal struggle I was grappling with. Envy and a perceived pressure to be the perfect example of a non-monogamous partner swirled within me. I yearned to be in that Bed-Stuy bar with Liam, reliving moments in our cherished city. It felt like she had in that moment intruded on our story.

That was April of last year, and I still think about what came up for me. It wasn't about her; it was about me. It wasn't about a lack of trust in Liam or a failing in our relationship. It was the unexpected grief for a chapter I hadn't realised I missed so much. A bittersweet yearning for that time, coexisting with the unwavering certainty that I wouldn't trade my current life for anything. Holding my son as he drifts off to sleep each night is a treasure beyond compare. Motherhood has brought immense joy and self-discovery, but it's also okay to acknowledge and cherish fragments of my pre-motherhood self. Allowing myself to feel that longing without guilt is a journey I believe many parents navigate.

Next year, we'll be making a family trip to New York to visit loved ones and to show our son his birthplace. The excitement is brewing within me. I can't wait to reconnect with friends.

I am also looking forward to apologising to the woman who I distanced Liam from.

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Photo by my husband, June 2024