In spite of myself, I was working up a tally with two columns.

Identical/Opposite.

Heath/Kevin.

One clearly meant for the opposite column:  He stated from our first date that what he wanted was a serious relationship.

Another opposite: He didn’t want to rush into anything physical.  He was content instead to take things very slow, letting the anticipation build in its proper time, he said.

“I’m an old-fashioned kind of gal,” I told him with a smile, “so I’m okay with that.”  I was more than okay with it.  It was, in fact, one of the reasons we got on so well so quickly.  It made me feel comfortable with him, knowing he wasn’t expecting to get physical right away.  I wasn’t ready for it.  Not by a long shot.  Heath had been an anomaly for me in that respect, to be sure.

He was an accountant (one for the opposite of Heath column) and his schedule was as consistent as clockwork (another opposite).

“Tell me something about yourself,” he’d say often, his tone imploring and endearing enough that I always obliged.

“Like what?” I asked on our very first date.  He’d surprised me by taking me to one of the best French restaurants in town.  There was no way he could have known that was my favorite, so I chalked it up to the two of us having preferences in common.  How lucky was that?

“Anything, to start.  I want to know it all.”

I found that sweet.  And refreshing.  So I gave him something good.  “I have slutty feet,” I told him playfully.  Yes, I was flirting, quite shamelessly.

He looked more than intrigued.  He was delighted.  “It just so happens, foot rubs are a specialty of mine.  See how perfect we are for each other?”

That first date, he didn’t try to steal a kiss.  I was learning fast that he was a true gentleman in that way (opposite column).

But he did come back to my house, shared a glass of wine with me, and rubbed the hell out of my feet.

He was good with his hands (identical column).

I went to bed smiling.

If I was brutally honest with myself, Kevin was, more than anything, a tremendous stroke to my ego.  He pursued me relentlessly, not leaving me guessing about anything, not his feelings or his intentions.  It was just what I thought I needed.

We’d been seeing each other pretty regularly for a few weeks when Kevin said out of the blue, “I’d love to meet your boys.”

That made me uncomfortable, but I leveled with him as best as I could.  “I’d rather hold off on that.  Give it some time.  I doubt they’re ready to meet someone I’m dating just yet.”

Of course I hadn’t told him about Heath, but he did know about my messy divorce, and the fact that my boys were overprotective to a fault.

He looked briefly annoyed, but his face smoothed of the expression so fast that I almost thought I’d imagined it.  I’d never seen him show so much as a hint of annoyance before, so it threw me for a brief moment, and I stared at him.

“That makes perfect sense, of course,” he finally said.  “Whenever you’re comfortable with it.”

This was more the response I’d expected from him, so I took it in stride and didn’t give the incongruous expression that he’d first shown another thought.

I found out on our fourth date that he wouldn’t even consider letting me photograph him (identical column).  Not for any reason.  He was adamant about it, which surprised me.  It was such an innocent request.  What did he have to hide?

But of course he had nothing to hide, I told myself.  That was Heath baggage, clearly.

A quality of Kevin’s that I was pretty shocked went into the identical column hit me on our fifth date.

He was unreasonably enraged by phone calls from my ex-husband.

Kevin didn’t even get a true preview of how unpleasant our actual conversations were, but he reacted nonetheless.

My phone rang, I checked the screen, and shoved it back into my bag.

“Who was that?” Kevin asked, his tone polite.

My nose wrinkled up.  “No one I wanted to talk to.”

“Oh.”

His baffled expression had me explaining further.  “It’s my ex-husband, but there’s no good reason for the call.  In general, he just says something unpleasant to me, and I hang up on him, so I just skip the middle part now and don’t answer.”

He scowled, actually scowled, something I’d never seen him do before.  “Want me to have a word with him?”

I almost laughed out loud.  What would mellow Kevin say to my volatile, asshole ex?  I couldn’t even picture him confronting someone, let alone someone that hostile.

“No, there’s no need.  He doesn’t bother me.  I just ignore him.  Someday he’ll get the hint.”

“He needs to get the hint sooner rather than later.  You should let me handle it.”

He was so menacing when he said this that I was taken aback.  Clearly there was a side to Kevin that was unknown to me.

“I can handle my ex,” I reassured him.  “Trust me on this.”

“Okay,” he begrudgingly agreed.

I didn’t write the list down on paper, but I didn’t need to.

It was branded into my brain.  It was the strangest thing, how the opposites and identicals grew.

And it was tedious, how fixated I was on it, though I tried not to be.