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I was 900 miles from home, in a new state, at a new school, and moving into a new apartment when I ran into the guy who lived next door. Consumed with grief over a recent break-up and busy acclimating to all the new and rapid changes in my life, I hardly noticed him, assuming that the quiet, average-looking ginger wasn’t my type.
But after a few months, we started to get to know each other and become friends, watching movies, studying at the coffee shop together, sharing pizzas, and sometimes, a few beers.
We started casually seeing each other
Turns out, we had a lot in common besides the shared walls of our little duplex. We had both moved from other states to attend the same university, were interested in politics, shared a landlord we could gripe about, and as recent desert transplants, neither of us was used to Arizona’s sweltering summer heat.
So it wasn’t long before the relationship morphed into a friends-with-benefits fling. Fresh out of a long-term relationship that left me lonely and brokenhearted, and busy with a part-time job and full class load, it seemed like the perfect solution — a casual relationship with no strings attached and the convenience of being right next door.
It felt very adult, making what seemed like a practical arrangement, avoiding any commitments or expectations that would distract me from work and school. I liked feeling independent, and after all the intensity of my previous relationship, something more casual felt like a welcome relief.
I hadn’t thought about what it would be like if it didn’t work out
Since it was my first real friends-with-benefits situation, it didn’t occur to me to think it through and consider what it would be like when we stopped hanging out together or one of us brought someone else home. Being friends with benefits is, by definition, a non-committal and non-monogamous arrangement.
For a while, it was fun. My neighbor was a nice guy, and I had no complaints, except there also wasn’t any real chemistry, and there’s only so long convenience can carry a relationship.
My first instinct had been right. We just weren’t each other’s type, and were probably better off as friends without the benefits. There was no drama, but just as easily as the relationship started, it fizzled out. We stopped hanging out and soon started mutually ghosting one another, which created a lot of unnecessary awkwardness when we ran into each other in the laundry room, getting mail, or paying the rent.
It was awkward, and I decided to move
As a result, I decided to move a few months later when my lease was up for renewal. After all, our apartments shared thin, cheap, definitely-not-soundproof walls, and it was only a matter of time before one or both of us started seeing someone else. So I decided to spare us both the imminent discomfort and moved out without ever talking to him again.
In retrospect, the knee-jerk decision to move a few blocks away, while not uncommon in a college town, especially after a summer spent elsewhere, was probably unnecessary, but I didn’t want to risk it. I also found a bigger, better, and more private apartment a few blocks away, so it was an easy decision.
Looking back, I have to laugh at my emotional immaturity and the way I unwittingly created an awkward situation that could’ve been avoided with a simple, honest conversation about it being time to move on.
If I had to do it all over again. I probably wouldn’t get involved with my neighbor in the first place. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned from experience that it’s not a good idea to unnecessarily complicate a good situation, especially when there are plenty of other options that don’t live right next door.
But I also don’t regret it. We had fun while it lasted, and I learned a valuable life lesson without any negative consequences. Plus, I trust that younger me did the best she could at the time, even if she may have acted impulsively and prioritized instant gratification.
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