13 hours ago
8
“There’s something I need to tell you,” said my new boyfriend, Brent. We were sitting on his leafy balcony in Sydney. His expression was grave, his skin pale – nothing like his usual relaxed, smiley self. He’d been hiding something from me and he’d finally decided to confess.
My thoughts raced. He’s married. He has a kid. He’s moving to a small island in the South Pacific.
“I have a pet,” he blurted. I blinked.
He rubbed his palms together nervously, then disappeared into his bedroom. I waited, beginning to guess where this was going. He reemerged clutching a writhing snake.
Brent had been hiding his pet python from me because he was terrified it would be a dealbreaker. It wasn’t, I actually love snakes – although if it had been a tarantula, this story might have had a different ending.
We had met at my work Christmas party only a few weeks earlier. He was invited as a guest from another company and was busily chatting with a friend of mine whom he already knew. I stood on the sidelines and stared at his face. So handsome. Then, his eyes flickered to mine and held my gaze, and something quietly stirred within me. The shift was subtle, but it was unmistakably there.
After my colleague drifted away, Brent and I started talking. We couldn’t seem to stop. Noticing his accent, I made the rookie mistake of asking him (a Canadian) where he was from in America. He didn’t mind at all.
There wasn’t much that bothered him. He was gentle, patient, kind – and irresistibly intelligent.
We swapped numbers and for our first date, he took me to a buzzy Thai restaurant beside the Sydney Harbour Bridge. We talked so much our jaws ached. I still couldn’t quite tear my eyes off him.
Things moved fast. There were weekend drives in his cool vintage car, staying up all night babysitting wide-eyed puppies, countless red carpet events I dragged him to because I was working as an entertainment reporter, and more of that endless, joyful talking. He told me he believed that if we’d met when we were little kids, he would have wanted to be my best friend. I told him I could be locked in a jail cell with him for the rest of my life and never get bored. He was utterly fascinating to me. Still is.
Not long after the snake reveal, my ex-boyfriend contacted me out of the blue asking if we could do a video call. When he and I broke up, it hit me pretty hard. Even though I was just about to leave to go to Brent’s place, my ex said he had something to tell me. Apparently, those words are my relationship anthem.
Somehow, though, I knew this wasn’t going to be about a pet.
Through the screen, my ex revealed he’d cheated on me while we were together. Not once, not twice – around 20 times. He’d come to realise he had some issues he needed to work out and part of that involved telling me the truth. And I do commend him for that. It can’t have been easy.
But at that moment, I felt as though I’d been punched in the chest. I was sick with hurt and humiliation. All the signs I had missed began flashing back in vivid detail.
I thought I’d be fine by the time I got to Brent’s; after all, my ex and I had been over for a while. But the grief and sense of betrayal wouldn’t let me go. I walked into the apartment, sat down on the couch, and broke down in tears. I couldn’t stop.
I was so embarrassed – and horrified for Brent. This was supposed to be our honeymoon phase. Why was I crying over someone else? I tried to hide my face.
He asked me what was wrong and I told him everything. I braced for confusion, jealousy, maybe even a fight. Brent had every right to question why I was so upset over another guy.
But instead, he reached for my hands and looked straight into my eyes, his brow furrowed. He looked heartbroken – but not for himself.
“I am so sorry,” he said. “That must have been really awful to hear.” Then, he pulled me into a tight hug, his palm stroking my back. He never once made it about him. His concern was all for me.
That was when I knew what a good man looked like, and that I had fallen in love.
Seventeen years later, we’re still together. We’ve lived overseas for 10 of those years, been married for 12, and have two amazing children – plus the slightly alarming reptile who has been with us all along.
Brent is still my favourite person to talk to. With him, I’ve found a kind of safety and comfort that I hope lasts a lifetime.
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Natalie Murray is the author of Lights, Camera, Love (Allen & Unwin; $22.99)
