The Girlfriend I Never Broke Up With

DW and I met in 1988, though she says she's known me since high school. She was three years behind me and I admitted that I never paid attention to people in the earlier grade levels.

"But you always said 'hello' to Catheleen, and I was standing right next to her when you did," she told me back then.

"But Catheleen's sister was in my year and is a friend of mine," I explained. "That's the only reason I knew her." I only saw DW's best friend when my friends were hanging out in the Red Room, a student hang-out spot, and Catheleen (and apparently, DW) would pass by. Only the senior students really hung out in this part of the school.

It wasn't until four years after I finished high school that our paths would cross. When I was working at a camera store (more on that, tomorrow), one of my best friends, Andy, worked at the M Store, a department store close to the mall where I worked. On Thursday nights, after work, Andy and his coworkers would either go to one of the pubs at Ottawa or Carleton University, or to Sneaky Pete's, a bar underneath Peter's Pantry restaurant, in Lincoln Heights.

Andy always invited me to join them.

Among Andy's colleagues was Catheleen and her close friend, Lori. And often, the four of us would end up sitting together. Over the summer, Andy and I would also go to the ByWard Market, or some other event, and we'd ask Catheleen and Lori to join us. It was innocent, as Andy felt he was too old for these ladies (he's a year older than me) and I had a girlfriend (to whom I was quietly engaged).

My then-girlfriend, Louise, was on her summer break and lived in Mississauga, and I'd periodically drive down to visit her. She wasn't the jealous type and didn't care if I flirted with other women, as long as that was all it was.

Short story: one night, Andy and I were hanging out at the Equinox, at Ottawa U—where Louise was studying. Louise was there, too, but was hanging out with some classmates at another table. Andy and I would often ask women to join us on the dance floor, and would later join us to chat at our table.

As we were chatting with two women, another woman passed our table and said, "Hi, Ross!" as she passed by.

"Hi, [Jane]," I said in return.

"Is that your girlfriend?" the woman sitting next to me asked.

"No, just someone I've met here, before."

A short time later, another woman walked by: "Hi, Ross," she said and waved.

"Hi, [Amanda], nice to see you."

"Is that your girlfriend?" the woman next to me asked again.

"No, just another person I've met here."

Soon after, Louise passed our table. Without a word, she leaned into me, planted a kiss on my lips, and silently continued toward the bar.

"Another friend?" the woman asked.

"No," I said, pointing at Louise as she walked away, "that is my girlfriend."

The woman next to me got up and walked away. Apparently, she wanted to be more than just another friend.

In an unrelated matter, Louise and I broke up later that fall. It had nothing to do with my flirting: we just wanted different things for our future.

Andy, Catheleen, Lori, and I continued to hang out. After Louise, I started dating someone at the camera store, Sandra. She and I weren't really suited to be together, and there was a time where I wondered if Lori and I would be a better match, though I didn't want to ruin our friendship.

At the end of February, 1989, I broke up with Sandra, though she tried to keep our relationship going and eventually became a stalker. When I told her it was over, I also told Andy that I was done with dating and wanted to take a year's hiatus. I had been in short-term relationships for a few years and wanted a break.

"Your birthday's coming up this weekend," Andy reminded me. "What would you like to do?"

"Let's hit a bar. I want to be surrounded by women who I won't date, no matter what I think of them."

That week, Andy approached a lot of his women coworkers—most who already knew me—and invited them to come out for a birthday bash. Among these friends were Catheleen and Lori.

After the bar closed, Andy invited people back to his place, where he had a bottle of Irish cream that he had bought to celebrate my birthday. Because it was so late, everyone said they were heading home, except for Lori.

Both Lori and I ended up crashing at Andy's. We also spent the night together. I don't know where Andy slept but it wasn't in his bedroom.

The next morning, Andy drove Lori and me back to my car, which I had left at the Merivale Mall, where I worked. I drove Lori home, and as she left my car, I said, "I'll call you."

"Right," she said, not sounding convinced.

But I called her as soon as I got home. "Maybe we should talk about last night," I said. We made plans to meet two nights later. And it was there that we decided we'd take our friendship to a new level.

"Let's milk the cow until it runs dry," was how she put it.

I came across this photo that I took of her, about six weeks after we started dating. It was Earth Day, 1989, almost 37 years ago.

Before I dated Lori, I had never dated anyone for much longer than a year. Relationships just fizzled out. Little did we know that more than 37 years later, we'd still be together.

All of our travelling. All of our adventures. Our two fabulous daughters.

That's some cow.

Happy Thursday!