Sam was searching for a soulmate quite seriously. At 37, he’d had his heart broken more times than a series regular on a soap opera. But, somehow, he still possessed an inherent optimism about people. Who would have thought that his gift of seeing the best in everyone would backfire so painfully?
Let’s start with Colette.
For three years, in his 20s, they were in love. She left Finland, his sweet Nordic home country, to work on an organic farm in Australia. She subsequently left Sam for a man with blonde hair and biceps who was shirtless in the background during a Facetime call. As Colette was (not very thoughtfully) explaining that they needed to just go in a different direction, the Aussie Ken-doll popped his head into the frame to say,
“You’ll be alright, mate.” Then, he kissed Colette in a way that made Sam drop the phone on his bare foot. What was Sam’s takeaway from this experience?
“No more vegetarians,” he told his buddy, Ian, as they walked their muddy dogs through the woods.
“Good call,” replied Ian thoughtfully. He had thought that Colette’s real problem was her tenuous relationship with reality but if Sam wanted to chalk it up to tofu and seitan, then who was he to argue?
“And no more brunettes,” Sam added, his head somewhere far from the shaded trail. Emily had been a brunette. Emily was the one that Sam often referred to as the ‘woman who got away.’ Emily didn’t get away. She didn’t go anywhere. She still lived in the same farmhouse in the same picturesque town that she had her entire life. She just now happened to live there, romantically, with a woman.
That one was definitely not Sam’s fault. But Sam Fitzgibbons was a true romantic, and for whatever reason, he didn’t see it that way. Ian believed that his buddy desperately needed some kind of wake-up call in the love and dating departments but how do you school an almost 38-year-old man? Old dog, new tricks…
“And never, EVER again will I date another horseback rider.” It wasn’t that Ian disagreed with this statement. It was simply that this tenet ruled out a huge amount of the dateable population in their rural area. Espoo, Finland, West of the country’s capital, Helsinki, was horse country. With its sprawling green fields, temperate climate, and a history of equestrian use for both farming and fun, you couldn’t get a drink in a local bar and not step on some girl’s riding boot. But, of course, poor Sam had been burned by another woman, Lydia, who had been taking a literal roll in the hay with her Swedish jumping trainer for the past two years of their two-and-a-half-year relationship.
If Sam had thought that he needed to avoid these categories to find his true love, who was Ian to argue? The brunette’s declaration seemed a bit much, but hey, Sam needed to do what he needed to do.
The two friends continued on the five-mile path through some of the Southern country’s most beautiful land. It was April. The snow had finally melted, the bright green buds sprouted from the fragrant pine trees and the sprawling Spruce. The birds chirped over their nests and the deer dashed through the forest, occasionally giving the dogs hope for what would always be a futile chase. Ian mostly listened while Sam pondered the problem that had become his quest for love.
“I’m not one of those guys looking to play the field. I am excited about walking down the aisle one day,”
“I don’t think you walk down the aisle,” Ian pointed out, unhelpfully, “I think that you’re, like, already waiting there. The bride is the one who walks down the aisle. To you.”
Sam wasn’t exactly a man who was great at letting go.
“Sure. But you still have to get to the altar somehow. I don’t think that there’s like a secret door in the back.”
Ian was similar. There was a reason that they were such good friends.
“Right. But the walk itself isn’t highlighted by the groom.”
They threw some sticks for the dogs. They discussed their jobs, both as structural engineers for the same firm, and the appeal of only having to go into the office three days a week. They talked about getting a boat that summer and spending some time on the lake since they both loved being out on the water, wakeboarding, and it was hard not to mention, what a good flex owning a boat was when you were talking to a girl.
“Who is going to say no if she’s even a little bit interested and you invite her out on your boat? It’s a slam dunk,” was Ian’s thoughtful perspective.
The boat discussion continued for the next two miles and by the time the guys had made it back to their muddy trucks at the trailhead parking lot, they were both jazzed about the idea of this very fun investment. Sam was particularly pumped.
“Let’s go out to The Three Monkeys tonight. Just chill. Have a few outside on the deck.”
The plans were solidified. Sam went home, rinsed off Rusty who had managed to roll in something absolutely disgusting, send a dozen emails, and then shower himself. Zipping up a pair of faded jeans and pulling a green polo over his head, Sam took stock of himself in the old mirror above his dresser. Ok, fine, he wasn’t the Ken doll of Colette’s dreams, but he wasn’t a terrible-looking dude, either. He’d grown out his stubble to a sort of inch-long dark beard that he was pretty into. He’d been trying to get himself to lift weights a few times a week to go along with his hikes with Rusty. And he’d been suckered into a protein shake subscription from a social media post and was positive it would change his life. It tasted like crap, but, hey, Sam was optimistic.
That night, The Three Monkeys Bar made a place for the perfect meet-cute. With a pint in each hand, Sam tripped and into Grace. She was blonde and petite and drinking a cider while she played darts with a group of people whom Sam had never seen before. This wasn’t too common in their tiny town. Maybe they just don't come here much, he thought, since Grace’s darts didn’t even hit the board. Each one just sort of bounced off the wood paneling behind the bullseye, falling onto the floor.
She didn’t seem to mind. She put her drink down and took a giant bite out of her kebab, sitting on the bar top.
Not a brunette? Not a vegetarian? Not wearing riding clothes or covered in hay or coming from the barn? Hello, check, check, and double-check.
So, Sam slid in. It was a good call. They connected right away. She worked remotely for an Architect in Tampere. She loved the lake. She thought that his freckles were cute. She touched his arm. Sparks flew. It was a bar with exposed brick walls, framed photos of local heroes, and a giant stuffed herring fish floating from the ceiling. It was the first nice night of Spring and it was all that a person could ask for if they were looking for a perfect night to fall in love.
Now, this is, of course, not just a story of Boy Meets Girl. This is more. Because let’s remember that this particular boy has been burned harder than a firestarter. Sam was torn. He was smitten with Grace. She was fun- so fun. She was silly and wild and he’d never realized how much of a turn-on someone was who didn’t take themselves too seriously. Grace had a talent for laughing at herself like no one he’d ever met.
The summers in Finland are wild because it never gets dark. Creeping up to nineteen hours of daylight in a 24-hour period, Sam used to dread the months of May through August. Working from home already made the distinction between day and night somewhat tenuous. With his circadian rhythm all out of whack, he found himself spending way too much time hunched over his desktop computer in his converted office in the spare room of his flat. His previous girlfriends had always insisted on thick blackout shades, noise machines, and silk eye coverings to continue some sense of sleep-time normalcy. Not Grace. No, Grace interpreted more sunshine as more time to have fun. She was only two years younger than Sam but sometimes, she made that age gap feel a bit wider.
She always wanted to go to whatever concert was happening, whatever restaurant was opening, and wherever the hiking club was hiking. Sam had lived in this town for a decade and was unaware that there was even such a thing as a hiking club. And she was full of surprises. OK, and surprises were not Sam’s forté. He was a planner. He liked predictability. Knowing what was happening was sort of Sam’s love language. But Grace was different. The first surprise was that she was, in fact, a vegetarian.
The kebab at the bar hadn’t been real meat, after all. It may have looked like a normal kebab but was made out of soybeans. But, Sam wasn’t going to get hung up on this detail.
“It’s fine because she’s normal around food and not obsessed with it,” Sam rationalized to Ian. “It’s not like it’s her entire personality. Not like Colette. You could be talking about anything and she’d find a way to make it about her not eating meat.”
Ian nodded. Again, he had thought the problem with Colette had been that she was a self-absorbed pathological liar but if his friend thought it was her protein choices, then hey, he was gonna let him run with it.
“She’s still amazing,” Sam continued, “I feel ok breaking a rule for Grace.” Sam might have thought that her dietary restrictions implied a certain flexibility on his part. But he had no idea what he was in for.
Three months into their fun, fabulous, whirlwind romance, Grace texted that she’d be late for their date because she was at the hair salon. Not thinking much of it, Sam asked what she was having done. He loved her choppy, blond bob and was going to be secretly bummed out if she went shorter or - of course - dyed it brown. And, of course, you know where this was going. And you can blame Sam if you want for not realizing that Grace was not a natural blonde. But, he was a heterosexual man totally blinded by love and, honestly, a little dizzy from all the daylight. He never noticed her roots.
“It’s just hair dye,” Ian shrugged. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and dark sunglasses. August was a lot for him.
“But it’s my rule.” Sam knew in his heart that he was going to force himself to break the second out of his three commandments and he did not like it one bit. He loved his rules. They made him feel safe and protected. But, he also loved Grace.
“It’s a dumb rule,” Ian stated helpfully, wondering if his friend had actually learned anything from any of his heartbreaks. “If you need a rule, just come up with a new one. Like, I don't know, no tall women.”
This didn’t sit well with Sam. It seemed ridiculous to eliminate an entire group from the dating pool for something so arbitrary and out of their control. Poor Ian was too hot to argue.
That night at dinner, gazing at Grace and her perfect blonde hair over her meatless plate, Sam privately congratulated himself on being so cool. I’m becoming so much more flexible, he told himself, so much more understanding, And, of course, this was the perfect moment for Grace to take a large swig from her pint and tell him that the horse show season was fast approaching.
What?? Horse show season?
Sam excused himself from the table, his heart racing and his hands sweating. He could not break 100% of his rules. Then, when she inevitably broke his fragile heart into smithereens, he would have no one to blame but himself. And that was the whole point of the damn rules. To not get his heart trampled upon yet again. And then, also, to not blame himself for it.
He rushed outside to get some air, pressing a few buttons to call Ian on speed dial.
“Horses! She rides horses!” Sam breathlessly explained to his best friend, who, if you got him in a moment of weakness, would admit that his buddy was becoming a little too much to take.
“So what?” Ian’s mouth was full of something, and his concern sounded a little bit less than genuine.
“RULE NUMBER THREE.” Sam exploded, immediately checking himself as the crowd turned to look at the sweet-looking man shouting into his cell phone.
“You know what? She’s going to dump me. I’m going to be alone and the loveliest woman that I’ve ever met is going to be running around Espoo with her perfect new boyfriend who will turn into her perfect new husband and then they’ll have perfect children while I calculate weight adjustments and die alone in front of my computer. GREAT. IT’S ALL WORKING OUT.”
“Get ahold of yourself,” Ian was trying to be helpful but he’d taken another bite and there was something about chewing that diluted his sincerity. “This is dumb.” And Ian hung up on Sam which was actually the right and very best-friend-y thing to do. Sam was not in a place to be argued with. He was going to have to figure this one out on his own.
If Sam had a tail, it would have been tucked right under his legs as he walked back from the table. He tried to calm his breath as he sat back down across from his date and placed his napkin back onto his lap.
“So, Grace,” Sam began with a measured tone. He didn’t want to lose it. He looked at this energetic, kind, driven, smiling, beautiful woman and told himself that she was worth breaking another rule for but it was such a sharp pill to swallow. “How come you never told me about this hobby before?”
“Oh,” Did Grace’s cheeks turn pink? Sam had never seen that look before. “I don’t know. I suppose that some might say that I’m a bit old for the sport. But, I love it. And it’s a fantastic community. I’ve been doing other things because we take a break over the summer.”
Of course, they do, thought Sam. His mind traveled back in time to his equestrian girlfriend, Lydia, who stood him up for dates more times than he could remember on account of her horse. The endless weekend shows, the training, the vet emergencies, and none of that even touched the affair with the Swedish jumping instructor. Sam tried to get ahold of his emotions.
“Would you like to come to a show?” Grace looked so kind, so eager, so thoughtful that it was all Sam could do to chew and swallow his food and nod, yes.
The week leading up to the show was torture for Sam. He was legitimately triggered by the idea of being in the exact same place with Grace that he was with Lydia. But he was going to go. He was going to stand around for hours in the heat, waiting for Grace to ride. He was going to make small talk with the other boyfriends and husbands and hold a horse who hopefully did not want to bite him while Grace dismounted and ran to the loo. He knew what to expect. And he hated himself for hating the idea of it.
When Saturday rolled around, Sam, trying his best to play the part of the dutiful partner, texted good luck to his girlfriend, and put on his rubber boots which he knew he’d sweat in but was better than accidentally stepping in a pile of manure in his sandals (yes, Sam had learned that lesson the hard way.) He headed out the door to the address Grace had given him over dinner the weekend before. But he wasn’t going where he expected.
No. Sam arrived at a very different kind of arena. This one didn’t smell like horses. There was no dust or crying riders covered in dirt. There were no piles of manure or flies or the loud stomping of hooves. This place was clean. There was a man over the loudspeaker clearly having the time of his life.
“And in the ring, we have Mary Louise Anderson riding The Time Of Your Life,” Sam swiveled his head, expecting to see a sweaty Thoroughbred mix pacing her way towards a large, brightly colored jumps. Those treacherous, menacing jumps. He’d seen some horrible falls when he dated his ex. But that’s not what he saw on this particular morning.
No, he saw people - both men and women, yes in full equestrian attire but riding, well, not your usual type of horse. These horses had sweet, glistening eyes, perked-forward ears, pink noses, and heads fully bridled. But that was it. That was where the “horse” as Sam had known the mammal, ended. Because at the end of the shiny neck and braided mane was...there was a stick.
The reason that this horse show was immaculate and lacking the stress of the ones he’d been to in the past was that these riders were on hobby horses. You know, hobby horses, like a child would ride in a nursery. But these riders were serious.
They were doing all the work. Hundreds of participants took turns in the turfed arena, jumping (with their own legs) over full courses, mimicking the movements of an Appaloosa or Warmblood, and working their way over the jumps. It was a little silly, sure, watching grown adults pet the neck of what was essentially a stuffed animal. But their fitness was impressive. The sport was more gymnastics than anything else. The riders were strong, graceful, and, dare he say - inspirational. And most of all - they were clean and happy.
There wasn’t any of the crying or grimacing that Sam associated with the big shows. These people were thoroughly enjoying themselves. The vibe was positive and carefree. Spectators clapped and shouted, eating ice cream and popcorn. Vendors hawked everything from treats to t-shirts. Families laughed and ran around, no one yelling at their small children to stay away from a large horse’s behind or dangerous hooves. No. This whole thing was nothing less than pure fun.
And, Sam began to wonder, spotting Grace waiting her turn at the gate, did this even really count as riding?
Considering that there were no live animals, Sam told himself no. This was an unexpected and brilliant loophole to his rules.
He smiled to himself, walking over to his girlfriend who was “riding” a beautiful white hobby horse. So, technically, he wasn’t breaking a rule. And Sam liked that. And Sam liked Grace. And Grace liked a sport that would not drag her away every weekend or have her constantly covered in dirt and hay and would not consume her every waking free moment. There also did not seem to be a Swedish trainer in the entire arena.
When she was done with her show, Grace only wanted to have a cider, stretch her legs, and put “Snowflake” back in the front hall closet where he lived.
That evening, sitting on her blue and white plaid couch, eating take-out while watching reruns, Sam quietly reflected on his summer with Grace. Yeah, okay, he’d learned a thing or two about compromise. Just not exactly in the way that he’d expected.
Sweet Dreams
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