There's something about Peter...

I met Peter 12 years ago. 

We worked together, kind of, more alongside each other in different departments which met in the middle from time to time to discuss and compare non-related findings. The two departments were extremely sociable outside of work and, although I'd felt an element of needing to prove my worthiness to the group, I soon became accepted (but not quite welcomed) into the tight-knit fold. 

Peter was by far, the friendliest of the group: reserved, stoic and yet warm and accepting. He was very quiet in my company for a long time and I wondered if he disliked me; from a distance and from stories I'd heard of him, he had a much more outgoing side, though I was yet to be acquainted with this version of him. He was still the nicest of the bunch somehow. I remember thinking that he was a bit different; a bit of a loner, yet socially welcomed by many who knew him in a mildly pitiful way, I couldn't quite put my finger on Peter; I thought he'd potentially make a good friend, should he peep through his shyness. 

After a year or so, our two departments were set a very rare joint assignment and they requested a member from each department attend a five day training event in the south of England. Living alone at the time and having distanced myself from the club loving, alcohol guzzling, carelessness of my mid-twenties and looking for other activities, energies and interests to fill my time, I was first to volunteer. Nobody volunteered from Peter's department, until it was announced that I would be attending and Peter immediately nominated himself. At this point, I think I started to suspect why Peter had been so warmly shy around me. 

We traveled together on the train and in the absence of ego, banter and the dry, immature comedy warfare of the social group, Peter revealed himself to me as chatty, warm, interested and stable. There was a comforting mundanaity about him; no charm or charisma, just pleasant chatter about everyday, dull things which contrasted to the exciting, egotistical men I had been used to in my earlier years. Not only this, but Peter was a true, old fashioned gentleman. 

We spent the five days mostly together, ate our meals together and talked intensely during this time. 

On our final evening, we decided not to get the train home at 5pm and instead, paid for an extra night together at the hotel in a shared room to follow an evening of cocktails. Peter kissed me all night, held me, caressed me but did not try to have sex with me. This, after many years of shallow relationships and men only ever looking for one thing, warmed me to Peter even more. 

I decided that Peter was wonderful.

In the months that followed our blossoming relationship, I found myself becoming somewhat confused by Peter. At times, he seemed totally into me and yet in his absence, I wouldn't hear from him, he would never speak to me on the phone and he avoided me at work. I was sure that Peter was going to dump me on a few occasions, even on the night he asked me not to renew the lease on my rented flat and move in with him- all addressed in a very pragmatic and practical way. I couldn't weight him up, but decided to accept it. Peter was a gentleman and there was a lot to be said for that. 

Six months after the first night Peter and I had spent together in the hotel room, I moved in with him and days later, in a very sudden and surprising twist, I discovered that we were pregnant. Peter took the news in a very humble, stable and mature way, said that all would be fine, but it was like he hadn't got to grips with the news properly. He wasn't shocked enough. Not concerned enough. He didn't appear to think about it enough. He also didn't comfort me enough. 

I had all of these worries, plans, questions, things to discuss with him and he just kept repeating that everything was fine, everything would be fine. I needed to work things out with him, plan with him, look ahead with him, but it was like the information, the news wasn't really penetrating. Abortion was discussed, but we agreed it wouldn't be necessary owing to us both being in stable jobs, living in a stable home with fairly stable lives. We admitted that we both wanted children one day, but that it had happened a little sooner, that's all. He did wobble a week later and asked me to consider an abortion again, it was like the news had finally set in for him, but my mind was already made up. I offered him a ticket to freedom, but he declined it and vowed to stay by my side, like the gentleman I knew he was.

So within the following weeks, our lives became more entwined, my tummy grew, his house filled with my things, baby things, our calendar became littered with appointments, scans and intense family gatherings (on Peter's side).

And I was desperately lonely. 

Peter had special interests which devoured his time and energy where he'd barely communicate with me deeper than surface level for days. I remember spending hours and hours lying in the bath most evenings, staring at the art-ex on the bathroom ceiling, stroking my growing bump as winter set in and everything got darker. I'd moved away from my rented flat, away from my party-loving friends and their parties and had fallen into a new existence. He kept his friends for himself, our social group at work continued socializing with him and the others and without me because I felt so lost and low and unsociable. Peter didn't notice. I remember the rejection- my wonderful Peter, my attentive, warm and caring Peter. Where was he? Getting on with his life as it was before me. 

Only I was still there, in his home like a neglected pet. 

Our baby girl was born early and practically speaking, he was perfect from the moment she entered the world. Her bottles were ready before I asked for them, the washing machine was always on, he jumped to attention when she cried. But there was no connection, no feeling between us, it was like we were not only housemates, but work colleagues in raising this human being between us. I was struggling mentally, but he didn't notice and his special interests continued, he carried on meeting up with the social group at work who had long forgotten me by this point, he carried on and I didn't. I was totally lost, until eventually, I was referred to the mother and baby unit for mental health support by a healthcare professional. 

I couldn't understand why I was struggling with Peter, why wasn't I happy with him? He was so hands on for heaven's sake, what more could I want or need?! 

And then I picked a book up in the library one day called "The Rose Project" about a man with Aspergers and slowly, but surely as I made my way through the pages, I started joining the dots. I wasn't mad, I wasn't ungrateful, I wasn't even an angry, raging lunatic.

Because really it was Peter, there was something about Peter.