At about four on Saturday afternoon, I announced that I was going downstairs with my book. We were back at the hotel after breakfast, a walk by the water, some browsing in shops, and lunch. Dinner was still ahead of us. I thought I had identified a perfectly serviceable gap for reading.
I asked him to come along if he wanted, with the warning that I probably wouldn't be much of a conversationalist. He looked disappointed. He'd thought we'd come away to spend time together.
We had. That was the part I hadn't expected to need to explain.
I'm 48, he's 51, and we'd been seeing each other for a little over three months. This was our first trip together: two nights in a small coastal town. We both live alone and have for years, so a whole weekend in each other's company was new territory. I was excited to go, and I was having a wonderful time. Nothing about wanting my book had changed that.
By the time we returned to the hotel, though, we'd been together almost continuously since the evening before. At home, quiet comes built into my day. I don't have to announce that I'll be unavailable for conversation while remaining entirely fond of everyone. On this trip, apparently, that feature needed an introduction.
I stayed in the room. There was no dramatic confrontation, and we went on to have a lovely dinner. Still, I couldn't shake the sense that I'd done something wrong. Forty-five minutes of quiet had seemed like a small request until I found myself feeling guilty for making it.
On the drive home, we talked about it. He'd heard my plan as a sign that I was getting tired of him. I explained that I need these little breaks even when I'm away with my sister or my closest friend. Being happy with someone doesn't make me stop wanting a spell with a book. I'd even invited him along, which, in my mind, was fairly strong evidence against a campaign to escape him.
He understood what I meant. But he'd imagined our first trip as two days of doing everything together. I'd pictured us enjoying a weekend away; I hadn't realized that, for him, the together part covered every available minute. Neither of us had mentioned our version before we arrived.
Neither of us wants to stop seeing the other. He's already suggested another weekend away, and I'd really like to go. Before that, there's a conversation I still need to bring up: how to leave room for a little quiet without making him feel unwanted. I want to say it before we travel, while somehow avoiding the impression that I've prepared a timetable for our enjoyment.
