When my husband's BFF told me that he believed my friend, "Luccio" had a crush on me, I almost choked from disbelief. Not that I'm chop liver (smoked ham, maybe) but at 38, the last thing on my mind is some high school crush that a man may have on me. When I asked the BFF what made him think of such a thing, he told me that Luccio had this "way" that he exhibited when he was around me. "What way?" I asked, left brow arching. "Y'know. The way." He said. "No, I don't know." I relented.
As a young adult, I was not the most beautiful swan in the pond. I proudly represented the geeks and nerds of my generation--wire rimmed glasses and pompous scowl for all to beware--so it was not for me to inquire if someone liked me or not. My training was to love from afar but not up close and definitely not to look for signs noting a "way" about someone but BFF was insistent.
"He likes you," he continued. "Because every time he's around you, he starts getting antsy; shaking his leg like a nervous puppy."
"Oh, C'mon." I say, blushing at the thought that someone could appreciate the adult version of my Freshman 15.
When I asked my husband what he thought, he said, matter of factly, "Yeah, he does."
What am I supposed to say to that? Luccio is definitely a nice guy. Shy, bright, very witty. Every thing my husband is but younger. In fact, Luccio is ten years younger than me so, it makes me wonder why he'd be so interested in someone like myself.
"Don't you see?" My husband continued. "You're smart, funny, and very cute. Who wouldn't like that?"
"But I'm fat," I say, degrading myself. "So?" My husband says. "You're not fat; you're chunky, kinda curvy and plush."
"Yeah, " BFF added, "curvy and plush."
"So, Luccio's into stuffed animals?" I ask.
"See?" My husbands laughs in exasperation. "That! He likes that! You don't even see it. You're such a nutty professor. That's what the whole draw to you is about."
"Huh..." I say, lost in my own thoughts.
"Well, even if he does like me; and I doubt that he does," I insist, "I just don't think of him like that. It's flattering, I guess."
I think about all these conversations that I have with Luccio; conversations about politics, movies, relationships, and I wonder if I should even continue with such a friendship. When I asked my husband if he feels threatened or annoyed he tells me, "No." "Really?" I ask.
"Really." He says.
"Oh..." I sigh.
"Well, it doesn't mean I'm not a little jealous. I mean, I like the guy; he's a great guy, but I don't want him hanging around you all the time. He needs to get a wife."
My laughter at my husband's comparison to the phrase "Get A Life" is loud, hearty, and unapologetic.
"See?" he says, taking my hand in his. "That. He likes that. And I like that, too."
I look at my husband and see his eyes sparkle. I mean, really really sparkle. I'm flattered that Luccio likes me, but I'm thrilled that my husband loves me.
relationships
