On Being the Other Woman

I admit it: I was jealous of a video game.

I never thought I'd feel like I was fighting artificial intelligence for the attention of a guy. My guy.

But I saw him thinking about Her all the time, talking about Her when we were at dinner or lying in bed or driving down the street. Planning how he could do this or that. With Her.

Sometimes I couldn't help but feel like he put more effort and thought into the game than he did into our relationship. I saw him taking for granted that I would plan everything and/or be willing to sit around with him on weekends and free nights. Watching him playing Her.

I should have known going in. He never hid or downplayed the fact that She was a big part of his life. But at first, while things were still fresh and new and we were constantly doing and going, She was less of an issue.

I even thought it endearing, at first, that he went to check in on Her first thing in the a.m., before taking a whiz or brushing his teeth. Found his brunch talk of manufacturing and investing plans entertaining, in a boyish way.

But when, one night as we lay together, I asked him for a story, and he told me Her creation myth, I began to resent the pattern.

She was everywhere. In everything we did. When he came to my place, he brought his laptop so he could check Her message boards as I cooked dinner. When we traveled, She always came along.

If he hadn't planned ahead, he couldn't stay the night. "Need to get home and update my skills." His investment in Her, his devotion and commitment to Her brought out my feelings of resentment, jealousy.

When I told him I saw Her as an issue, he told me he didn't. As I watched him walk away, leaving me lying in his bed, head resting on a tear-soaked pillow, to return to Her, I knew. It was over.

She, that game, had his human heart more firmly in her hands than I ever had or would. I had merely been a fling. The other woman.