A few weeks ago, my ex-wife suggested that I meet her boyfriend. I, too, would like to be in a new relationship that is good for me. To be with someone I love, someone I might one day move in with, the two of us trying to build a new family that includes not only her and me, but also the children each of us brings into the relationship, as well as our exes, who will always be part of our lives.
In my fantasy, children from three separate families — mine and my ex-wife’s, her boyfriend’s and my hypothetical girlfriend’s — play together while we pat ourselves on the back, pleased that we managed to free ourselves from the shackles of ego. Much like building a coalition of refugees from different tribes who insist on finding common ground rather than deepening the divide.
But I’m not there yet.
I am willing to come with an open heart and try to create a kind of unity government, but I still do not have a partner. My ex-wife, meanwhile, has already been with her boyfriend for a year. So I do my best to listen patiently to my children’s stories about meeting the daughters of the man who may one day replace me in the role of husband, while trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
The first time my ex-wife suggested such a meeting, it felt too strange. All I could picture was awkward silence. Crickets. It felt like planning a first date, even a blind date, without the payoff of a possible romantic relationship at the end.
I told her that for the time being I did not see the need, but both the suggestion and my attempt to avoid it made me feel as though I was failing in my role as a father. After all, this man sometimes spends hours with my children, so the right thing to do is to get a sense of who he is.
Getting to know my ex-wife’s boyfriend better is not something I pulled out of the pencil case where I keep all my spiritual, liberal, tree-hugging tools. It is simply an acknowledgment that my ex-wife may be biased, or that her judgment may be clouded, as all of us become a little stupid when we are in love.
I just need to make sure the man is not a serial killer or an Iranian nuclear scientist or someone from that general collection of nightmare scenarios, and that overall he is a pleasant person who poses no threat to my children’s physical or emotional well-being.
So the second time my ex-wife suggested a meeting, I agreed.
For a moment I thought perhaps he and I should meet alone over a beer, or some other drink that might make the experience a little easier to swallow. In the end, however, we decided on a meeting mediated by the woman who connects us, at her home, after the children had gone to sleep. A basic introduction, if only to avoid the awkwardness of the next chance encounter.
Yes, there had already been one of those.
I had just arrived at the building where the mother of my children lives to drop them off with her. I was busy scolding them or having some other educational moment when a man I did not know came out of the building and tossed a general greeting in our direction.
I knew we were arriving more or less as he was supposed to be leaving, but of course Murphy’s Law — or perhaps its friend, irony — made sure we did not miss each other.
For my part, I invested in some internal denial. Even though I suspected it was him, I chose to treat him as a friendly stranger who greets people passing by, as is customary under the rules of Western politeness.
The discomfort and embarrassment backed me into a corner, but already in the elevator, on my way to the handoff point, I asked the children if that had been him. I was not really surprised by the answer.
I admitted to myself that I was avoiding the meeting, that it was childish and only adding to the general discomfort in our strange coalition.
Tomer On met his ex-wife'spartner
(Photo: Ben Kelmer)
I told my ex-wife that as far as I was concerned, we could go ahead with it, and a few days later the four of us — me, my ex-wife, her boyfriend and our collective awkwardness — found ourselves sitting on the couch trying to get a basic conversation going.
I will not deny there was a certain uncontrollable degree of comparison involved. The guy is good-looking, more than nice, pleasant-mannered and clearly intelligent too. On the age metric, he has the advantage. The man is a relatively fresh product compared with me in this world, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that he is also ahead in the rate of hair loss.
No, I have not had feelings for my ex-wife for a long time. But checking what she lost and what she gained is a reflex that, in my smallness as a human being, I cannot help activating on some subconscious level.
Beyond that, there were no special events worth noting about the meeting.
On one hand, no objects were thrown, which is already a good thing. On the other hand, no blood pact was signed either, which is, all things considered, both fairly reasonable and fairly hygienic.
Will we manage in the future to establish a unity government that successfully manages the fragments of our respective tribes? I certainly hope so. For now, it seems to me that at least we passed the electoral threshold.