The Friend Everyone Assumes You’re Dating: “No Guys, We’re Not A Couple.”
You two always get put in the table in the corner.
It’s the same every time you go out to get dinner together after not seeing each other for a few weeks, but still finding ways to catch up despite the distances of where you decided to go to college after high school — one of you stayed in New York, the other went off to pursue their degree Boston.
You have been friends since high school, and nothing more. Just friends. Still, you hear the same thing every time you grab a meal together, most commonly while getting dinner.
“How many?”
“Two.”
*look of strange admiration from a host or hostess*
“Follow me.”
… to the most intimate booth or table. The one with slightly dimmer lighting, or away from the cacophony that is usually located in the middle of the restaurant, around crying children and busy families having large dinners.
People have pegged you guys as a couple for years. You have to explain to them, or to everyone, that you’re not dating, that you’re not a couple, and will probably never be a couple. I say probably because, can it happen one day? Who knows? People grow, feelings change, but from what has been seen from your past (and present) times with each other, there’s no romantic connection.
You guys go shopping together, and both of you act as the opinion givers, when asked. The verdict sometimes lies on your other’s opinion, shooting down a shirt you’re unsure of, or a blazer that might not have the right fit. What is mistaken for a couple shopping together as you both lazily link arms wandering the mall, is actually you helping your other pick out an outfit for a date they’re excited about, or a job interview that you know will keep you guys even further apart.
Of course, your mother loves them. She loves that they’re smart, and asks about how they’re doing, even if she hasn’t seen them in months. She thinks they’re handsome, and an all around “nice boy.” Or, it’s that “she’s such a nice, pretty girl” who “has a good head on her shoulders.”
As much as you hate to admit it, your mom’s right.
He’s a smart, handsome guy, an all around nice person. She’s funny and pretty and smart. But, you knew this. You knew this, and more. You attribute traits to your other that one might give a lover: beautiful, smart, giving, to talk up the best friend you’ve had for years.
In some alternate universe, in some other dimension, it would happen. You would take the friendship a step further, you would date, and would probably end up getting married, maybe have a family if any of that is what you both wanted.
If you had a family, everything would be balanced with devotion and respect for each other. You would raise them with the similar values, beliefs, and same taste for music that you both share a love for and want to pass down. Your kids would grow up listening to the songs you recommended to each other in the long distance messages sent from New York to Boston.
You know that at the end of the day, you don’t care much about the perceptions people have of your relationship. You know you have someone who you can cry on at 2 in the morning after too many drinks, and have someone who shows up as your rescuer at your worst moment. You know that your relationship is a solid partnership. The complications are still there, with differing opinions and petty fights once in awhile. Still, you know that if romance was in the picture, it would be one of those relationships that people dream about, and brag about once they have them. Yet, you still find yourself bragging about this person anyway, because they’re your best friend. 