I Adored My Boyfriend’s Family And Friends. Then We Broke Up — And Things Got Weird.

I hadn’t planned to date seriously when Jake and I met. Instead, I spent my 20s romantically unattached, organizing book clubs and weekly dinners for the friends I propagated like pothos clippings. I imagined sowing each of these cuttings into a garden, and attentively tending to these sprouting relationships as they nourished, sheltered, and supported me. I didn’t see any need for romance with a garden already so full.

My best friend, Katie — madly in love with her own boyfriend — didn’t understand this set of priorities. We squabbled about it endlessly until she responded with an OkCupid profile using my name, photos, and a description of me so insightful that I burst into tears after reading it.

I agreed to consider anyone she vetted through the app’s DMs. Eventually, Katie sent me a profile: a lanky boy with two left ear piercings, crouched in a cornfield. My born-and-bred Midwestern heart sang. 

Suddenly, Jake became my first boyfriend. I pictured him in a place of honor in my garden.

We bonded over chaotic work schedules and eccentric hobbies (him: fire juggling; me: collecting National Park junior ranger badges). Yet we repeatedly danced on the edge of breakup. Over brunches, during long car rides, on a rooftop at sunset, we battled over Jake’s fear of making a “wrong choice” while pretending I wasn’t, in fact, one of those “choices” open for discussion.

But there was always something to hold off the death blow: a global pandemic or a downstairs neighbor’s sudden, inharmonious, a cappella rendition of “Landslide” in the middle of a mounting argument.

I decided that if we weren’t going to break up, I would treat this like all the other relationships I maintained: if I was going to commit, I was going to commit. I began to relish having a boyfriend — someone who could finally reach the top of my cabinets, a default plus-one for parties, and send me daily texts wishing me a good morning. I had stumbled headfirst into love (my first love!), and it was easy enough to convince myself that when Jake asked for my patience, it meant he saw a future for us. 

After a few months of dating, Jake introduced me to his friends. They hung out frequently and overcommitted to themed activities monthly, often hosted by his brother and sister-in-law, Emily. There were trolley trips to Medieval Times, Formula 1 watch parties, and the social event of the year: an all-day marathon of The Lord of the Rings films.

I beamed any time Emily added me to a new text thread for an upcoming party or a more intimate “girls only” event. It felt natural to incorporate the group into my garden, and by the time I was Jake’s wedding plus-one, I knew I’d earned the invitation in my own right. Meanwhile, I feigned ignorance of how these friendships felt like a protective layer of roots stabilizing my rocky romance, preventing its further erosion.