He Wanted to Be Exclusive. So Did His Other Two Girlfriends.

Aaron asked me to stop seeing other people on Sunday. By Thursday, I'd discovered he was making excellent use of the time this freed up for him.

We'd been dating for two months. Both in our forties, good dinners, very good kissing. He remembered things I'd said and actually booked restaurants. I was having a lovely time.

Then he sent me a calendar invitation for Friday night while I was buying tomatoes.

Looking forward to having you all to myself.

Cute. Until I realised he'd shared the entire calendar.

Three women. Three promises. One calendar.

My Friday dinner was labelled Exclusive.

So was Wednesday with somebody else. And Sunday with a third woman. Wednesday's notes included: Glad we agreed it's just us now.

I checked the dates. Upcoming. I checked again, because apparently the first read hadn't been unpleasant enough.

A woman beside me asked for a punnet from the top shelf. I passed it down. It was nice to deal with someone whose request meant exactly what it sounded like.

At home, I put away the groceries and messaged Aaron.

You've shared the whole calendar. Call me.

He rang immediately. Amazing what a man can organise when properly motivated.

He tried blaming the labels

"That's an old calendar."

"Our dinner tomorrow is on it."

"The labels aren't quite right."

"Did you tell those women you weren't seeing anyone else?"

Silence.

I let him have it. Not the shouting kind. The quiet kind, where you don't rescue someone by suggesting a less shitty explanation than the one they're struggling to invent.

"I used the word," he said eventually. "But you're making it sound very formal."

"You asked me to stop dating other people while watering your basil. I didn't realise the promise was only valid until the pot drained."

I'd happily dated non-exclusively before. We all knew. That was the rather crucial difference.

Aaron liked me. He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. Things had become complicated.

Yes. Three people believing they were your only girlfriend would do that.

"Let's talk at dinner," he said.

"I'm not coming."

"Over a calendar mistake?"

"Sharing it was the mistake. Lying to us took considerably more effort."

Friday stayed booked

I asked him to leave my book at his office reception. Then I declined the invitation and removed his calendar.

I didn't investigate the other women or turn their names into group-chat entertainment. I had enough information about the bloke I was dating.

On Friday, Libby came over. I cooked the tomatoes into pasta sauce. She brought bread and a spectacularly ugly cake she'd attempted for her daughter's birthday.

We ate well. I was still disappointed. Someone can be good company and a lying bastard; annoyingly, they don't have to pick one.

Libby asked whether I'd kept the dinner reminder.

"Changed the guest list."

"Exclusive?"

"Only if you finish the garlic bread."

For another date whose explanation falls apart indoors, read the man with the suspiciously impressive flat.