The most surprising part of the Not Boyfriend-kid's dad meeting

I seemed to be the only person nervous for the Not Boyfriend and Lil E's dad to meet. I fretted about it quietly, then on Facebook, then by drinking 27 cups of coffee and applying 14 layers of lip gloss under a pretty calm-looking veneer. 

All of that, even the under-the-surface stuff, turned out to be for nothing. The event was a non-event, five seconds of handshakes and man-nods with Lil E smiling in the middle and me in disbelief these guys were handling it all themselves.

Rewind a few hours: On the way to E's Taekwondo belt testing, we three were in the car, with my boy playing DJ on my phone. We sang loudly to the songs that get him fired up. If you have a 7-year-old, you are already humming Katy Perry and Black-Eyed Peas and Fun and Carly Rae Jepson.

The traffic was slow and I was winding my way around the Saturday drivers when I realized I'd perfectly positioned myself behind Lil E's dad. The car is unmistakeable. Not only is the license plate number burned in my brain but the dented scars of the time I brushed up against another car's side mirror remain. We live a few minutes apart and since E's dad moved so close about 18 months ago, I've been on high alert for this moment of meeting on the road that connects our homes to the school and martial arts studio.

And here it was, a preview for the meeting that could be moments away.

I slowed down, changed lanes, nonchalantly said, "Oh, there's your dad in the car ahead of us."

Lil E was surprised I recognized it, as he always is when I reveal what I know about the father he is so good at keeping compartmentalized.

"How do you know?!" he asked.

"I know the car," I smiled. Lil E was already back to DJing anyway.

My vehicle chess-strategy worked a light or two later and E's dad sped ahead while we turned off to stop at Starbucks. 

We arrived at the studio before he did, and I chose seats in one corner hoping his dad would find his way to another. In the mirrors lining the floor where the kids practiced on mats, I saw E's dad enter behind us, linger in the back, then find his way quietly to his own seat. I stayed focused on my son. That's what the afternoon was about anyway, even in the meeting of these two men.

Testing at this studio is a two-hour test of parental patience with ten minutes of overwhelming pride. Lil E stayed focused during his forms, stepped up his confidence and aggression in sparring and then broke boards in one swift kick and one powerful elbow strike that made it all look easy. My heart oozed all over the mat. 

And then, after lots of waiting and shifting in folding chairs and slyly checking Facebook while other kids tested, it was all over. Sweaty kids swarmed the waiting area, parents hugged kids, and the volume cranked up to nine, maybe 10.

Lil E stopped in front of me for a quick second, enough time to get a kiss and grab his bag to change, then scooted off to his dad for a high five and darted to the bathrooms. The Not Boyfriend sauntered over to the front desk, stood still and calm among the chaos. I breathed it in, then out and made my way to him.

Had there been a camera, the rack focus would have blurred out all the students and parents and instructors surrounding us and in a snap, we would have all been clear and defined.

I stood next to the Not Boyfriend and Lil E and his dad converged from different corners, creating a small circle at the center of it all. Lil E opened his mouth to say something. But he was interrupted by something I never expected.

E's dad reached out his hand and introduced himself to the Not Boyfriend. All on his own. E's dad initiated the meeting. Not me, not the boy. Not even the NB. It was so uncharacteristic that I stood silent, watching it all happen in front of me. Lil E's mouth closed.

The Not Boyfriend returned the greeting, and then they both looked down at the kid on the verge of a red belt.

His dad said one more quick congratulations, that he'd call later, then without looking at me or E at all, focused back on the Not Boyfriend.

"Good to meet you," he said. And then he was gone.

It was one tiny moment. Very small in the scheme of it all, and even in our relationship. But there it was, significant in its uneventfulness. It was important that it happened and I was relieved it was all over. 

There are a thousand questions to ask: Could things go smoother if there is just another man in the picture? Can E's dad deal with a boyfriend better than an ex-wife? What will unfold from here?

But there wasn't time to think of any of that on Saturday. There was just enough time to shake my head reactively in surprise and turn back to the board-breaker between us. I had no control in this situation. I wasn't even a factor. And Lil E didn't have to parent his other parent or even say a single accomodating word. It happened just as I'd told him it should, with those two adult men figuring it out. And they did, in five simple seconds. 

That was it. Nothing more. Thank goodness, that was it.

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Introducing the boyfriend to your child's dad: ACK! What do I need to know?

We talk things to death around here; it's just how we do. Lil E and I play "interview" during dinner, asking each other questions about our favorite movies, dream homes, what we'd change our names to if we could, and then, holding the air-mic in close, dig deep about what it might be like to have a brother or sister, how it feels to be around the Not Boyfriend, what things we'd like to make better in this slow-growing situation with our family.

The Not Boyfriend and I spend car rides and Skype conversations talking it out in similar ways. What's your favorite line in "Office Space"? If you could only listen to one CD for the rest of your life, which one would you choose? What kind of house would like to live in best? What might get in our way if the the three of us lived together? At what point should two people share financials? 

While Lil E and I have talked a lot about what might come up someday with the three of us, we've never discussed what might happen in the moment when there are four in the room -- the Not Boyfriend, me, my son and his dad. The Not Boyfriend and I have talked that through, mostly with me cringeing at the very thought of my ex-husband being invited into this dynamic I am handling so tenderly and with the new man in my life offering to reach out in some man-to-man kind of way. 

"Tell me how that goes!" I've laughed, because the truth is that, even as a fly on the wall, I'd get all fluttery and buzz away, come back, retreat, wiggle around, ditch any fight for more flight.

It didn't make sense to linger over the possibilities of that meeting because, as long as the Not Boyfriend was far away and only here monthly, there was very little opportunity for an accidental run-in. Plus, time with we three was too precious to give any over to someone with such history and tension anyway.

It will be organic, I reassured myself, and dismissed the understanding that one day, we'd all be sitting together for the sake of my son.

Could that one-day be high school graduation? 

No, no. It'd have to be sooner. Eighth-grade graduation then? 

How about next year, earliest? 

Whenever the dreadful idea and images of the awkwardness embodied like a fifth person in the mix filled my head, I pushed aside with some kind of single-mama meditation about this being one small moment in time. One small moment in the time marked two-thousand-twenty-never. 

But I looked at the calendar this week and realized 20Never actually lands on Saturday. THIS Saturday. TOMORROW.

The Not Boyfriend's week-long post-army training stay at our house overlaps eight hours with Lil E's next Taekwondo belt testing. Belt testing is a big deal (even though it happens -- cha-ching cha-ching -- every 17 minutes at his studio) and Lil E, like all kids, loves a cheering crew. I wouldn't miss it for the world and I knew the Not Boyfriend would be happy to see E compete for the first time. And, of course, his dad will be there, too. My parents, who might be very welcome bodies seated in between the NB and the former husband, will be out of town, and so the crowd that fills the plastic chairs just outside the mat will feel smaller, squeezier, strange without a buffer.

When I realized that this might very well be the place my Not Boyfriend and son's father would first meet, I whispered it to the men who matter most. Would the Not Boyfriend be amenable to a handshake and then be willing to spend the next two hours staring down my kid and avoiding eye contact with the ex? He said he would, if E was up for it.

I presented the situation as casually as I could to my son.

"Here's the deal," I told him, "if you'd like the Not Boyfriend to see you test, that means he will meet your daddy for the first time. How do you feel about that?"

His voice went up a few notches as he answered, also making every effort to be casual.

"Well, I always thought when they first met, it'd be like a wave across the room or something. Buuuuut," he added, contradicting himself, "I haven't really thought about them meeting."

He paused. I let the silence sway between us.

"It should be casual," he added. 

I agreed. I also offered him options.

"The Not Boyfriend can come -- which I am sure he would love to do to support you. Or he can stay at home -- which I am sure would be totally fine. It's your choice."

He thought some more. 

"What do you think Daddy and the Not Boyfriend will think of meeting each other?" He was weighing it out. I could tell by the words he chose.

"I think it is not our job to worry about how they will handle it. I think it is their job. You don't have to worry about how adults manage situations, even ones that involve you. We just have to make the best decisions for ourselves and hope they do, too."

Another pause. It felt long, but I am sure it wasn't.

"He can come!" he suddenly chimed. "Yeah. He can come."

I looked back at him in his carseat. More silence, just a moment more.

"Are you ready for that? I want to be sure. You can make your own choice here and can change your mind if you need to. And no matter when they meet, I want you to know that we will all do our best because we all love you." That's what I told him. I didn't want him to feel overtaken by these three adults and I didn't want him to parent his own dad through the newness of this.

A bit more quiet. 

"Yeah, he can come. And I will let you know if I think about it and change my mind."

"That's a deal," I told him. 

But saying it out loud, at least most of the time, for Lil E is like marking it with a Sharpie in his own calendar. And over the last few days, he talks about us all being there like the inaugural meeting happened long ago.

Perhaps that's how I should think about it, too, like this is just another time we will all be in the same room. I am sure it will go unremarkably -- intro, intro, handshake, man-grunt, nod, desperately seek out seats on opposite sides of the room. 

There will be fallout in phone calls and other ways only other single mothers will fully understand, if the transition plays out as others before have. But I will put that off in meditation, focus only on the time when two hands of past and present clasp. 

Then I will get back to my boy, who will do forms and spar his way up to a red belt, who will amaze me with his focus and memory and limberness. I will squeeze the knee of the Not Boyfriend, who will be taking video and tucking away tips and acknowledgments to share with my son when it is all over.

When it is all over. The words are glorious and still, unrepresentative. Because this is still all unfolding. It's the beginning, really. The opening chapters, the first months of our years. This will be a sentence buried by much more, many other times with me and these men.

For now, I am ready for this part to be done.

What's your advice for me? What did you learn from your new partner meeting your kids' dad?

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Moments like these, I know these two were supposed to know each other

I'm the eyes, taking them in. The lips, laughing, offering little kisses and whispering "I love you" to each. The finger, snapping picture after picture. The mind, tucking away tiny moments as memories.

They just have to be them.

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