Craig was great, for a while. On the weekends when I didn't have my kids, I was at his house. He had a daughter, just two years younger than mine, and the girls got along surprisingly well. He only had her every other weekend, but we rearranged custody schedules to match. When we had our kids, we had them together. It felt like we were building something.
We did all the things families do. Movies. Parks. Lakes. He took my kids fishing. We went camping. (I hate camping, by the way.) But my kids wanted to go, so I sucked it up, pretended to enjoy it, and only complained in my head. We came home covered in dirt and mosquito bites, and I nearly cried in the shower, but the kids had fun and that made it worth it. For a few months, we were… normal. Domestic. Happy. That honeymoon phase was like playing house, and I won't lie, it was easy to fall into the rhythm of it. But looking back, I missed a few signs.
He was easily overwhelmed by my kids, by their noise, their mess, their energy. But I didn't see it at the time. I was just grateful someone was showing up. Someone was trying.
Then came the Colorado trip. One weekend, kid-free, we drove to Colorado with his roommate, his roommate's brother, and their other best friend. So that's me… and four guys… in a motel. Totally normal. Totally fine. Honestly? I wasn't worried. I knew all of them well enough. It wasn't sketchy. It was just five broke adults trying to have a weekend away on a budget. We were going to Colorado for one reason: legal weed. I had never tried it before, and they were determined to fix that. As soon as we crossed the state line, we hit the dispensary. I was a little nervous but curious. I figured I'd start slow, a low-dose gummy, maybe 5mg. At first, I felt nothing. Classic rookie move. I was walking through the grocery store with them, picking up snacks and random meal stuff, wondering if the edible was a dud.
And then we stepped outside. Boom!!!
Head spinning. Feet floating. Time was bending. I was giggly, happy, and definitely stoned off my ass. We made it back to the motel and I collapsed onto the bed, laughing at absolutely nothing like I was starring in my own sitcom with a laugh track only I could hear. They thought I was gone, like completely gone. I probably looked like I was out of my mind. But really? I was just relaxed. And high. And maybe narrating my own thoughts like a Disney movie voiceover.
It was fine. Until it wasn't. Because, well… things got weird.
I laid there giggling. On top of the covers. Fully dressed. Just vibing. High as a kite. Something odd started happening. My whole body was warm. I got flushed. I felt a buzzing between my legs...
Not one. Not two. Multiple. Unsolicited. Unstimulated. Full-body O's.
I'm talking intense, involuntary, back-arching, soul-leaving-the-body kind of orgasms. No one was touching me. No one was even near me. I was just lying there, high out of my mind, giggling at the popcorn ceiling and my body decided to host an exorcism by way of pleasure. And it wouldn't stop.
Wave after wave. Full-on wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am without the bam or the thank you.
Just… wham. Wham. WHAM.
I started laughing harder, not because it was funny (okay, it was), but because I couldn't explain what was happening. How do you even begin to describe that to four men in a motel room? "Hey guys, don't worry about me. I'm just over here having a medical emergency from a low-dose gummy while fully clothed in capris and a hoodie."
One of them asked if I was okay. I wheezed, "I think so?"
I was mortified. But also… impressed? Like, wow. I didn't know that was even possible. Spontaneous combustion, but make it orgasms. It was the weirdest flex my body has ever pulled, and I had absolutely zero control over it. Turns out, weed doesn't hit everyone the same.
Some people get the munchies. Some people get sleepy. And some of us… get catapulted into an accidental orgasm marathon in a motel bed with four dudes nervously watching from across the room. I didn't even look cute. My hair was in a bun. I was wearing a "Mama Bear" sweatshirt. Nothing about this said sexy. My body said: "It's go time." I don't remember much else about that night. I know I eventually fell asleep. Probably from dehydration or embarrassment. Or both.
Colorado was fun. We brought home a few souvenirs, some legal, some… less mom-approved. On the weekends I didn't have my kids, I'd indulge a little. Not every time. Just enough to feel like someone who still had a life outside of parenting. But Craig started spiraling.
First, it was just drinking again. Then he was always high. Eventually, other substances made their way in. And just like that, the man who had once made me feel safe and seen started to fade.
There was one bright spot in that mess, reconnecting with Lila, Craig's younger sister. She and I were the same age, and our history went way back. My mom used to babysit her. She basically lived at our house growing up. We'd drifted apart, but it felt good having her back in my life.
We reminisced about the weirdest stuff, old inside jokes, awkward sleepovers, dumb things we used to want. She even remembered how I was obsessed with the idea of getting my belly button pierced as a teenager. I had completely forgotten that. So one weekend, riding a high of courage and rebellion, I did it. I marched into that piercing studio like I was still seventeen and came out grinning like a lunatic. I showed Lila proudly. She screamed. It was a core memory.
Meanwhile, my relationship with her brother was quietly crumbling. But I didn't realize how bad it really was, not yet. Before I get into the next part of the story, I should explain something important. Craig and I had been "dating" for about six months. Except… we didn't actually call it that. He refused to use the word girlfriend. Refused to label anything. He said he didn't "believe in titles." Which, in my experience, usually translates to: I want the benefits of a relationship without the responsibility of one.
I think we were exclusive. Probably. Maybe? We never had that conversation either. It was a lot of emotional charades, date nights, cuddling, sleeping over, but if you asked him what we were, he'd shrug and change the subject. Looking back, the signs were everywhere. But at the time, I was too caught up in the almost-love, the almost-normal, the almost-future to see how far things were slipping.