EDWIN JONES

There are two sides to an article, right?

I was in Melbourne for a visit, after relocating to Bangkok. During a hang out with my friend Alberto, a photo memory popped up on my phone. He saw me smile and asked what I was looking at. I showed him a photo of Ivan, the child of one of my ex-partners, with whom I used to bake. In the photo it was during one of the many times we would spend in the kitchen, on a cold morning. To keep him and his twin sister Sophie entertained, less stir-crazy. Ivan’s face was brimming with joy, and it reminded me of those moments of pure happiness in New York City.

Alberto asked me if he could see photos of the kids. I had talked about my time in NYC, and he knew it was a delicate topic. I was happy to share, as there were so many great times during that period. I scrolled through some photos, of both Ivan and Sophie. Some had my ex in them. Alexis Bittar. I have never until now, mentioned his name in my writing. Not because it had power over me but just simply to respect privacy. Though I now question why, as so often, I was not respected.

Alberto mentioned he had also not seen a photo of my ex before. It really did show how much I had just swept along to the next place I could find a home. He asked me what he did, and I quickly googled him to show him that he ran his own jewellery design business, Alexis Bittar. Faster that way. Though in the process, google’s top search result was a New York Times article about Alexis Bittar, getting married. Alberto asked me another question but I didn’t hear, I had froze and wondered if I click on the article. (You can click on the article at end of this post).

Only earlier this year, Alexis had tried to DM me on Instagram. To apologise to me once again for hurting me. And that I was one of the best people he had ever met. That he had wished he had ended it better. I once again ignored it simply because I did not see the point, and it was self-centred on why he was reaching out. It had nothing to do with considering how I was or how it would impact me to get his messages. It was about getting a release that what he did was maybe forgiven.

I clicked on the article, the headline “After a Single Glance, an Unspoken Connection Blossomed“, and the byline – “Six months after seeing Alexis Bittar at the gym, Jack Miner remained intentionally “aloof” toward him. Once the silence was broken, a relationship and a family followed.”

I closed it. I had to go to dinner with some friends. I left Alberto to his work and began walking. My head was spinning; I didn’t too often dwell on him these days and the pain. The day we met after he requested we have a break in May 2019, as summer began to hint it was coming. In those three weeks, I navigated my birthday without him, in the city I moved from Australia to be with him for. And when we met up again in Prospect Park, he let me know he didn’t want to do this anymore. I asked him why, and he didn’t really provide me with answers. He hinted at topics like, I should have helped him more and been more proactive with his kids. To show I was ready to step up and co-parent. The same man who asked to take it slow, that hesitated when taking photos of the four of us. Who was concerned by our age difference of 15 years.

He walked me back to Carrol Gardens where I lived, and I could barely see through the tears and clung to him. I sobbed and begged him not to go. He had to shake me off, and walk off down the road back to Brooklyn Heights. Thankfully my wonderful friends I had made in NYC helped me through the next few days, weeks and months. And finally moving back home to Australia. I wrote about it at the time on here, poetically. Was only way I could. And now writing about the actual facts, closes it out.

I want to note that this entry is not written out of spite or anger. It is simply for me to be honest and open about that chapter. I was very much not a lot of things, just like Alexis was not. He also chose to share his day with one of the most well-known newspapers in the world.

Let me rewind and give some backstory about Alexis and me to everyone. We met on Grindr in February 2017. I visited my hometown in Sydney, and he was there on holiday. He was charming and insisted on going on a date with me. I declined, as why would I go on a date with a tourist? Then, after two weeks of his vacation and some more charm, I said yes. We met outside the gym where he had just worked out and went down the escalators to the Sushi Train. He had intense blue eyes, and his hand rubbed the top of mine. After that first meeting, we saw each other several times before he flew home. One of those was to meet his kids in the playground; he wanted to show me that gay men could have kids, too. This is a beautiful sentiment to share after so many of us think we must walk away from that construct.

We said our goodbyes, but he suggested that he could fly me to New York City a few days later to spend some time together since I was in between jobs. I agreed, and a few days later, I found myself in NYC in the snow, experiencing a whirlwind romance that you usually see in hundreds of NYC films. I spent time with him, his kids and got to meet his friends. My sense of adventure was on fire, and this felt true to my approach to life, without any regard for what was coming next. We had some excellent, realistic conversations, and over the next year, we discussed a plan that I would relocate to NYC to give our relationship a real try. It was easier for me to move to NYC than for him to move with his kids to Australia. During that time, we met in Hawaii, Australia, or NYC every few months for that in person face time, instead of just video FaceTime. We had that luxury.

I resigned from my job, sold most of my belongings (including my piano), and was all in. I landed in January 2018 into my new life. We always said that me going there was giving it a shot. I wasn’t moving in with him. And I wanted to set up my own life and job, etc. I did all that, maybe outside the job or industry I wanted, but it was a start. I fought the classic NYC rat race in parallel with experiencing the unique world of Galas, dinner parties and socialites. This was also the world of children’s playgrounds, museums, and nannies. I discovered that the kids’ needs set out the entire day’s agendas. And the mental effort needed to focus and be present with them. It was an excellent learning experience. And after some time, I realised this could be life for me. I could be a Dad with him.

By the time I had secured a work visa, settled in and started making my own friends and world, it turns out this NY Times article has told me more about that time. The article was a series the NY Times does on Vows. Weddings.  So this was all about Alexis’ wedding day and the romance behind the lead-up to this day. Now, I am sure you have worked out why it ended. Someone else.

I am not even mad about that. Life happens; we meet and fall for people. It’s an everyday story. Someone else comes along when everyday life ticks over. I asked him through my sobs and through painful texts in the days that followed, was there someone else? No, he said.

After seeing glimpses of the article, I had dinner with my friends. I told them that I had just read he got married. That confirmed what I had always wondered, something that I wish I had just been told about. And when I returned home after dinner, I googled a way to get around the paywall (sorry, NY Times, but as an Aussie, I rarely need to read your articles). And then read the article.

When I say read, I had to skim as it began pulling up the road I had paved over the memories. And the small grabs of information I processed just plugged light into the mystery I had to let go of four years ago.

They spoke at the gym six months after seeing each other there. The November after I moved to NYC for him.

They went on their first date a few blocks from my home, around the same time I co-hosted Thanksgiving at Alexis’ house for all his friends. In the same month, Alexis thought I needed a personal trainer, so he hired one for me (without me asking) at his gym, where he had already met his new husband.

The article mentioned a relationship ensued after those first few dates in late 2018. Which would have been when he bought me, for Christmas, flights to Morocco for 2019 adventure. Why? Why keep me going? Why pretend?

Based on the article, his now husband met the kids just after we went on a romantic trip to Puerto Rico. I can now imagine the conversations going on behind my awareness. “When will you end it, Alexis?”, “Why did you just buy his mother flights over to visit from Australia?” “Why is he still going to Morocco with you?”

Alexis would often talk about how he never wanted to get married. He didn’t believe in the institution. It’s OK that it’s just that he didn’t want to marry me. I am glad, for his sake, he changed his mind. I am also happy that Sophie and Ivan have a family unit and a new little sister. May it be a long-lasting connection and full of joy. I really do hope for that.

I do not understand why, to this day, when he would try to message me, he never simply told me the truth that he met his love elsewhere when we were together.

It was never because of who I was, what I looked like, or because I was too passive about parenting. Or the hundreds of other reasons that went through my head in the month after. And I just was never going to find that out, until I began reading the New York Times on a whim in my Melbourne apartment four and a half years later. And now publish this near my new home, on a beach in Thailand. On a Macbook Air, by Apple. Wearing navy sports shorts, by my good friends at Kmart.

I am thankful for NYC, Alexis and seeing what having a family would be like. I met some of my closest friends and was flung back to Australia when I needed to come home. And once I recovered from the heartache, I was so thankful I was finally let go. Free to keep moving, keep living through the dark times and the light. I look at the photos of that wedding day and know I would not have fit in. I would have been an accessory, like the rings or the designer tablecloth. Stylised for the camera, yet not living an authentic life.