My Online Boyfriend Moved Upstairs

I dated my boyfriend online for five years and never once thought about actually meeting him. I have terrible social anxiety.

Then he showed up in my city out of nowhere, and when I saw the text I screamed and dropped my phone hard enough to break it. Three days later I got the phone back.

He had sent me more than ninetynine messages.

They went from asking whether he was my side piece, or number four in line, or number five, to deciding I must be married, to deciding I must have been in some kind of accident.

At the end, he said, [Please. Just meet me once. I'll be the side piece, I don't care.] [I'll be your dog.] […] Chapter 1 I dropped the phone off for repair.

The shop said they were waiting on a part and told me to come back in three days. For those three days, it never occurred to me to check my messages on my laptop or my tablet.

I knew exactly what that was. Avoidance. I don't like socializing, and I'm even more afraid of letting anyone get close to me.

It has gotten worse as I've gotten older, which is why I don't have very many friends. Rowan and I had been together five years.

I was alone up in Minneapolis, he was alone down in Austin, eleven hundred miles between us, and I had never once had to think about the risk of actually seeing him.

If he had asked me first, meet up or break up, I would have picked the second one without blinking. I picked up the repaired phone and turned it on with my stomach in a knot.

Unread messages and missed calls came flooding in all at once. The thread showed 99+. I tapped into it with my heart in my throat. I scrolled down. The first few were still jokes.

Then he must have started to realize something was actually wrong, because the tone got more serious.

He said everything there was to say, the sensible things and the ridiculous ones both. The last one had come in the night before, and it was a voice message. "Magnolia.

You've been jerking me around this whole time. Real nice." I could hear his teeth grinding. Three days had gone by. Surely Rowan had given up by now.

I didn't dare answer him, and I couldn't make myself block him either.

I even opened Venmo, very carefully, searched his name, and started to send him money, purely to find out whether he had blocked me.

I tapped all the way through to the PIN screen, then backed out with a complicated feeling in my chest, without sending a cent. People like me are walking contradictions.

Indecisive, wishywashy, textbook avoidant attachment. Not everyone can live with flaws like that. Some days I can't stand them myself.

That night in bed I thought about the last five years, and my chest went sour and tight. I wanted to cry, and then I decided that crying about it would be so extra.

Better that it ended, really. I cried my pillow wet anyway, somewhere in the middle of the night.

I called Kirsten, the friend I've had since before I could form memories, and let out one long wet moo before I got a single word out.

My oldest friend: "…" She was exasperated with me. "That's your boyfriend. You've been together for years.

What is the actual problem with meeting him once?" "I'm scared…" Scared of the awkwardness, scared of the disappointment, and most of all scared that everything good about us would evaporate the second it touched anything real.

I would rather live in the fake version. Kirsten has a line she's been saying since we were kids. "There was no fate involved.

I threw an elbow at every other kid in that room, knocked them all out of the way, and took you." I was a pretty cute kid. Just quiet.

Kirsten has been a sucker for cute things her entire life, so she appointed herself my friend and did not take questions. A friend acquired by home invasion.

You don't get many of those. Kirsten clicked her tongue. "Then text him. Tell him you want to keep it online." "That's so unfair to him…" "Magnolia Caldwell.

You want a clean conscience and a boyfriend you never have to look at.

Have you considered one of those dating sim games?" I mumbled, "I do play those." "…" Chapter 2 I could hear keys clattering on Kirsten's end.

I paused, then asked, carefully, "Are you seriously still working at this hour?" "Yep." So much resentment in one syllable.

I was not about to go dancing on top of Kirsten's bad mood. "Aw, hon, you've been working so hard.

I'll go process my feelings by myself." Then I hung up without slowing down, because one more second and the resentment would have splashed onto me.

I slept the night through in a haze, got up, washed my face, threw together some breakfast, and went downstairs to the convenience store for a few things.

With everything sitting on my mind and no real sleep, I must have looked especially wrung out.

The guy on register that day was one I recognized, relentlessly friendly as always. "Those are three for six bucks today.

You want to grab one more?" I nodded and went back to the cooler for another bottle of the same thing.

By the time I got back to the counter, a tall figure was coming through the door. The whole store seemed to get better lighting the moment he walked in.

He had beautiful eyes, and a small mole under the left one, sitting exactly where it should be. A face like that is hard not to look at. I was no exception.

But in that one glance, what startled me wasn't his face. It was what he was wearing. I had bought Rowan the exact same outfit.

He picked up a single bottle of water, set it on the counter, and then a familiar voice came from directly behind me. "Just this." Every muscle in my body locked.

For the past two years, that was the voice I had heard more than any other. Add the clothes, and there was no question who he was. Why was he still here?

I paid in a daze and walked out, and on my way I glanced back through the glass door. Rowan was not what I had pictured. Online he was gentle and warm.

The angriest he had ever been was these last few days, when I wouldn't see him and there was real heat in his voice messages.

The Rowan in front of me was tall and solidly built and cold all over, and he looked like he'd rather you didn't come near him.

If we hadn't met over the internet, our lives would never have crossed at all. The man inside seemed to feel someone looking at him, and turned his head my way.

I panicked, dropped my eyes, and walked faster. I didn't even dare look back to find out whether he had noticed me.

By the time I got home my chest was still hammering and my face was hot. I'm used to it by now. I still hate it. I've been like this since I was small.

Man, woman, old, young, it makes no difference. If I don't know them well, saying one sentence to them turns my face red. It has caused me a truly unnecessary amount of grief.

In middle school there was a boy who liked to mess with me, and when he got me to blush he went around telling everyone I had a crush on him. I nearly died of rage back then.

It has gotten a lot better as I've gotten older. At the very least it doesn't happen anymore when I go out to buy things.

I ran the cold tap and splashed my face, then set up my equipment, took the ingredients out of the fridge, and started filming.

I've been making content since I graduated from college. I know exactly what I'm capable of.

Someone like me was never going to build a career in an office and reach financial freedom that way.

Outstanding professionalism, social skills, family connections, a cushion under me. I had none of it. What I do is food content, and the work doesn't require showing my face.

From prepping the ingredients to the final edit, every step of it is mine alone. Chapter 3 The voiceover only goes in during the edit, after the shoot is done.

In college there was no avoiding presentations and events where I had to speak in front of people, so I practiced in private, over and over.

But no matter how cold I had the script, the second I was facing a room of them my head went completely blank. Alone with a camera and nobody else, though, none of that happens.

So the person I built online is a bright, outgoing young woman who loves her life and cooks beautifully. Even the brand reps who work with me believe it.

As long as I'm not standing in front of them, nobody notices what's wrong with me. I've been doing this for almost three years now.

My follower count has climbed steadily, and the income gave me financial freedom a long time ago. Today's shoot was done. Time to eat.

For the sake of the shot, I always prep more food than I can actually eat. Which means one cooking session covers my whole day, and sometimes there's waste. It's a shame.

Some ingredients just don't keep overnight. That evening I carried my trash down to take it out to the bins. The elevator doors opened, and there were already two people inside.

One was the older woman from upstairs. The other was Rowan, who I had seen that morning. I had not expected that, and my foot hesitated on the way in. How was he here?

Had he hired a private investigator? Once I was inside I tucked myself meekly into the corner farthest from Rowan. "You look new, young man.

Did you just move in?" the older woman asked out of nowhere. "Yes, ma'am. Today." "So you're the one who took the Petersen place upstairs. That's been sitting empty forever.

You don't sound like you're from around here." "I'm not." Rowan keeps his sentences short and his tone flat.

If the voice itself hadn't been the same, I would have doubted this was the man who used to talk to me so gently. That elevator had never once felt this slow.

Their conversation came at me whether I wanted it or not. I kept my head down and worked on existing as little as possible. The doors opened and I bolted, head buzzing.

Rowan had signed a lease here. He was settling in? Just to corner me? Was he really that vindictive? By the time I came back from the bins I was already thinking about moving.

But I had only just renewed my lease. Breaking it early would cost me money, and I'd have to go around and around with the landlord about it. So I went back to agonizing.

That night, after a great deal of hesitating, I texted Rowan. [Did you leave?] Then I threw the phone aside, pulled the blanket over my head, and rolled. So embarrassing.

I have a condition. Chronic cringe attacks. Before this one could run its course, though, the phone rang. I looked at the number for a long moment before I tapped accept.

The man's voice on the other end had a laugh in it, the kind that comes out of anger. "So you've decided I'm worth answering?

You have no heart at all." "…" I mumbled, "You're the one who came here without a word of warning." "Would I have dared? Every time I asked when we could meet, you put me off.

If I'd warned you, you'd have been gone before I got here. Magnolia. Why won't you see me?" Before I could open my mouth he kept going. "Don't tell me you actually have a husband.

Even if you do, it's fine. You can divorce him." There was not one inch of give anywhere in it. "You—" "Me what.

Right now I'm a poor young man who got strung along." Chapter 4 The man is built like a door. Nothing about him is poor or pitiful.

But I couldn't say I'd seen him. "Rowan, go home," I said. "Already did," said the person on the other end of the line, which I was not expecting. "What, were you counting on me pitching a tent outside your building and waiting for the day you came to your senses?" "…" Liar.

Was he being stubborn, or was he trying to get me to drop my guard? I sat in the silence for a second, then hung up. Rowan didn't call back.

He texted instead. [Get some sleep.] People like me can't sleep the moment anything is sitting on our minds, and my stress tolerance is catastrophically bad.

Pressure flattens me on contact. I hadn't slept properly in days. So, yes. Getting close to another person is hard, and no matter which direction I turned it, it made me anxious.

Cannot do relationships. Not even a little. And of course Rowan had moved in, so I was running into him more often than most people run into ghosts.

The day after he moved in, I saw him in the courtyard feeding the strays, dressed in light colors. Also an outfit I had bought him. "…" Does he not own anything else?

There were a few cats in front of him with their heads down, snuffling through their food.

A goodlooking man plus small cats is an easy picture to look at, and I was not the only one looking. I didn't go over.

Not even when one of the cats I knew trotted up and rubbed against my ankles. For the next two days I kept seeing him drifting around the building's common areas.

On his fifth day, I saw him walking a cat in the courtyard. A longhaired calico. Greta! My eyes went straight to that fluffy little animal on their own. He had brought the cat too?

Back when we video called, neither of us ever showed more than part of ourselves.

On Rowan's end, he had picked up a calico kitten last year, and after that every call involved him shoving that steadily rounder cat into the frame. "Greta.

Say hi to Mommy." Who can resist a cute cat? I can't. Neither can anybody else in the building.

In the time he'd been out there, several people had already come up to ask if they could pet her.

He smiled, warm and easy. "Go ahead." If it was allowed… could I slip into the crowd and sneak a turn? "Hey, what's your cat's name?" "Greta." "…" Enough coincidences stop being coincidence.

The man standing in front of me was, in fact, my online boyfriend. Greta was a hit. A cluster of tenyearolds had her surrounded and were petting her with enormous care.

There were some young women too, petting the cat and admiring the cat owner's face at the same time. I couldn't help myself. I went over and touched her, lightly. Fluffy.

So that's what Greta feels like. Her dad had fed her into a nice round shape. Cute.

While I was petting her I noticed that Greta was rubbing against everyone within reach, distributing herself evenly.

When she pushed the top of her head into my palm on her own, I heard the girl beside me mutter, "Ugh.

How am I supposed to win custody against a total stranger?" "…" Can you fight your online boyfriend for custody of a cat? A few more strokes and I was satisfied.

More people were pressing in, so I started to sneak back out of the group, and then I heard, "Done petting her?" I looked toward the voice and found Rowan's eyes resting on my face, apparently by accident.

My heart lurched. I made a thick little sound of agreement, stood up, and fled.

Chapter 5 Inside of a week Greta was the building's celebrity cat, and by extension her tall, goodlooking owner was pretty popular too.

With Rowan's face and build, finding another girlfriend would be no trouble at all. I didn't dare get near him again. Until one night, when I heard a cat crying outside my door.

I checked the doorbell camera. Nobody there. Just one clueless calico.

The little thing was meowing with her tail straight up, full of longing for life on the outside. "…" Rowan let the cat get out?

I froze for a second, then hurried to open the door, crouched down, and waved her in, keeping my voice low. "Greta, how did you get out here?" That cat has never met a stranger in her life.

She came chirping and meowing past my legs with her tail up. Fluff dragged across my shin, and a second later my apartment was full of cat noise. I looked out into the hallway.

Silent, empty. She had apparently run away from home. I did have the cat owner's contact information in my phone, but I couldn't exactly use it.

After turning it over for a while, I took a picture of Greta and sent it to the building's leasing office and asked them to find her owner.

Then I immediately ordered cat food, litter, a bed, and toys, and all of it arrived the same day.

I took the food and the toys and went to bribe the cat. "Greta, you're so cute." Petting her healed something in me.

Dealing with small animals really is so much simpler than dealing with people. The leasing office didn't get back to me until the next morning. [Hi Ms.

Caldwell — the owner says he had to go out last night and won't be back until tomorrow evening.

He's asking whether it would be all right for you to look after the cat, and he'll pay you a petsitting fee.] They were giving me the cat for two days?

Do things this good actually happen? It didn't take long to figure out that this wasn't entirely a good thing.

Less than two days in, my urge to fight Rowan for custody had gotten considerably stronger. She fell asleep purring in my arms, affectionate and gorgeous and well behaved.

How on earth had Rowan raised this? I could sob. I kissed the top of her head, hard. "Greta, how about I be your mommy?" The singlemom kind.

Two days of all cat and no work, and while I was filming, Greta's big fluffy tail swished through the frame.

I didn't cut it, so someone asked in the comments, [DO YOU HAVE A CAT???] That video did noticeably better than usual, on the strength of one shot of Greta's tail.

All good things are short. One evening after that, Rowan came to get his cat.

I answered the door in a longsleeved smock with my hair down loose and a mask on, looking exactly like a person with something to hide. "Ms.

Caldwell, thank you for taking care of Greta. It was my own carelessness that let her get out.

Let me send you what you spent on her these two days, plus something for the trouble." The moment "Ms. Caldwell" came out of his mouth, my whole scalp prickled.

He knew my last name. What about my first? But if he knew my first name, he would not be this calm. "No