This is going to sound nuts, but Costco is my happy place. Well, at least one of my happy places. Particularly the Costco in Mayfield Heights, Ohio. It’s always so clean, well-organized, and brightly lit, with exciting things to sample and purchase. I just love it there! On days when I felt a little down, I’d go to Costco, walk around, buy way more of something than I could ever need, and have the best darn hot dog you can find for $1.50. Shopping rarely makes me happy - unless it's for books or housewares - but somehow a trip to Costco could entirely lighten my mood.

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I’ve never been one for public displays of affection – at least not the romantic brand. They make me feel self-conscious and exposed. This hadn’t been a problem before him. He took my reluctance as an insult, even though I’d never shied away from affection when we were alone. It was important to him that everyone saw our love; a love that was deep, sensual, beautiful, but sadly uneven. He craved romance and forever while I wanted friendship and fun. Our asymmetrical love only made PDAs feel all the more inappropriate. So, when he grabbed my hand during a walk by the lake, I immediately withdrew. I knew that it would result in a full days’ worth of explanations, rebuttals, disagreements, and moping but, I just couldn’t; I wasn’t there.

The issue became one of many points of contention during our… umm… beneficial friendship. My refusal to allow a committed, romantic relationship inadvertently caused him to feel unwanted. Truth is, there were ways in which I wanted him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. His nearness bolstered my belief in the power of chemistry. Rational, stable, and functional in his absence, but the second he entered my atmosphere, heat, blushing, and precipitation ensued. Oh, and when he touched me… Like fire to kindling, my entire body would go up in flames, flames that licked at the moral fibers of my being. Forcing me to choose between his skilled extinguish or frustrated combustion. No, wanting him was not an issue; of that, I am sure.

But passion of such magnitude can’t be sustained. There must be strong psychological and spiritual connections to take up the slack as time calms that flame to an ember – there were none – at least not on my end. It wasn’t his fault, he gave me all that he could, all that he was, but I was a well to his bucket. He stayed full while, little by little, I was being depleted. I’m rather used to this arrangement in most of my connections, but this wasn’t an area of life where I was willing to compromise. To be honest, romance wasn’t an area of my life I was comfortable exploring at all. I have two pathological fears, #1: Rodents; #2: Commitment, and I was rather skilled at evading both. How I got to this point, with someone who was so wrong for me yet refused to let me go, was baffling. Stupid chemistry! I never did like science.

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It was a late December evening in Mayfield Heights, Ohio. The snow was at that in-between space of white fluff and gray slush, depending on where you looked. The night was beautiful. A few stars bright enough to battle through light pollution were visible, and the air perfectly chilled. As we entered my happy place, it dawned on me that this was our first shopping excursion together. I suddenly felt like half-of-a-couple and a wave of anxiety rolled through me. I deflected and focused on finding the perfect Christmas gift for his daughter while descriptively explaining the wonder that is Costco. It was apparent that the ‘couple-ness’ of our outing wasn’t lost on him either. His smile never faded as we weaved through every aisle, singing random bits of Christmas songs as they popped into our heads.

Per usual, I found a few must-have treasures and settled on an impressive art set for his little girl. The check-out lines were average Christmas-time length, and our conversation waned as we waited in the long queue. I don’t know what happened; maybe the perfect winter evening, the Christmas season, the fact that we were in my happy place, or how irresistibly cute he was, lovingly staring into my eyes from the other side of our shopping cart. But, right there, in front of dozens of people, in Costco’s check-out line, and for the first time in public, I kissed him.

Through a smile so big he could barely speak, he said, “I can’t believe you just did that!”
His inability to hide the swooning made me laugh.
“I couldn’t not.”
“But all these people are around?”
“I know. Your cuteness overpowered me. I didn’t wanna miss the moment.”

Words were lost as we both caught fire a little, smiling awkwardly like school kids. That half-of-a-couple feeling crept back again, wielding its familiar fears. This time, however, I wasn’t overwhelmed. I felt brave and oddly victorious. Was it possible that being a half didn’t have to be terrifying?? Perhaps relationships aren’t always the ominous beasts of confusion, suffocation, deceit, and probable emotional devastation that I’ve witnessed all my life. Maybe they’re a puzzle, built slowly by piecing together single moments of choosing to love someone out of the fullness of yourself. Moments of listening and compromise while yielding gifts of genuine affection. Moments of bravely surrendering your armor, allowing yourself to be loved in return… maybe?

With one kiss, my fears shifted, and rodents took an even greater lead over commitment – at least for that one night in Costco.