How Much More Are You Going to Squeeze Out of This Relationship?

A dead-end relationship rarely announces itself by standing in the doorway with a little sign that says, Nothing further is coming from this.

That would be helpful.

Instead, it usually gives you just enough to keep you interested. One pleasant evening after three miserable ones. A suddenly affectionate text. A conversation that almost sounds like the conversations you used to have before everything became so strangely difficult.

And there you are again, holding the relationship like a nearly empty tube and thinking:

I know there is more in here.

There used to be, certainly. Once upon a time, you barely had to squeeze. Affection came out quite easily. Plans appeared. He called because he wanted to hear your voice rather than because you had finally stopped calling him. You could suggest making plans without watching his face as though you had proposed a joint expedition to Antarctica.

But somewhere along the way, things changed, and now you have to squeeze for what once came naturally. Every so often a little affection appears, and that is all the encouragement you need. Ah. There it is. Not empty after all.

Then You Start Rolling the Tube

This is where we become remarkably inventive.

When the relationship stops giving naturally, you do not immediately conclude that perhaps there is very little left. You simply start trying different ways to get something out of it.

Maybe you need to be more patient, so you roll the tube from the bottom and try again, hoping to coax out a little reassurance. Maybe you have been expecting too much, so you fold it over and squeeze again for a little more affection. Maybe if you stop bringing up the problem, the problem will become so relaxed by your hospitality that it will quietly leave.

So you keep squeezing, hoping for just enough warmth to convince yourself there is still something left in there.

And every so often, something does come out. He has a wonderful evening with you. He suddenly says something tender. For forty-eight glorious hours, the relationship produces approximately one teaspoon of what you have been asking for all month.

Aha. You knew it—there was still something near the cap, and that single teaspoon is somehow enough to inspire another three weeks of enthusiastic squeezing.

Meanwhile, the tube itself is now folded into a shape no tube was ever meant to become. You have rolled it from the bottom, flattened it against the counter and pressed both thumbs into areas that have not contained anything useful in months.

At some point, you are putting more energy into getting something out of the relationship than you are getting from actually having it, and from a little distance the whole scene becomes rather funny. You are no longer enjoying what is inside the tube. You are trying to rescue the last teaspoon with both hands.

Surely We Have Not Reached the Scissors

Of course, nobody wants to throw away a tube that might still contain something, especially when it once contained something lovely.

And this is where things start getting ambitious.

You begin cutting open the relationship.

Not literally, although honestly we are getting close.

There are long conversations about why things feel different. There are fresh starts, final chances and one more weekend to see how things go. You explain what you need in slightly different words in case the previous twelve versions were somehow too mysterious.

He improves briefly.

Another teaspoon.

Good heavens, we are rich.

Then everything slides quietly back to exactly where it was, which is usually when a perfectly sensible question begins circling your mind: What if I leave right before it finally gets better?

A perfectly reasonable thought, because apparently the missing relationship may still be hiding somewhere nobody has checked.

Perhaps behind the label.

Perhaps under the bathroom sink.

Perhaps in Switzerland.

And while we are discussing hopeless extraction methods, a small word about dead horses: do not try to squeeze anything from a dead horse. All that will come out will be manure.

Not one of Alexandra’s more delicate observations, admittedly, but certain situations have already moved beyond delicate.

The Last Drop Is Not the Whole Relationship

After enough rolling, pressing and squeezing, you finally start looking at the tube differently.

You stop being impressed by the occasional drop.

One lovely evening no longer convinces you that the previous six miserable weeks were a misunderstanding. A sweet message is lovely, but it cannot spend the rest of the month doing the work of an entire relationship.

And suddenly the amount of squeezing required starts looking rather extraordinary.

You used to pick the relationship up and there was something in it. Now you need both hands, a rolling pin and possibly a second pair of hands just to produce one pleasant evening.

That is an awful lot of squeezing for an evening.

And yes, the final drop may still exist. If you cut the tube open, flatten it completely and search every corner, you might indeed discover half a teaspoon of relationship hiding near the cap.

But by then, something else has become far more interesting than whether you can get it out.

You no longer want to spend your life squeezing for teaspoons.

And that poor, exhausted tube can finally go in the trash.