I invited an ex-boyfriend to my improv show. It did not go well

After not speaking to me for four years, my ex-boyfriend Adam texts me that he’s in town and asks to get lunch. Before I think about how badly this person mistreated me during our 2½-year relationship, the damage he caused to my confidence and self-worth, I’m typing the word “Canter’s.”

Then I text a joke about menu items, and he responds, “You’ve upped your funny game.” And the whiplash of this incredibly blatant person is suddenly back in my life.

When we were dating back in Chicago, he never came to my comedy shows and barely even acknowledged that I did comedy, which sent the message that he didn’t think I was funny. (And wow, how generous is he to say that I’m kind of funny now! ) But this is the new me four years later, and I’m not going to let his comment hurt my feelings.

I’m confident. I’m in charge. So I text him back: “Everything’s been upped.”

I meet him at Canter’s on Fairfax Avenue, a place too pure for this rendezvous, and am surprised by his appearance. He looks 20 years older than he did four years ago. In my head, I’m thinking, “This makes sense. The ugliness within him has deteriorated his physical body.” It may not be a great sign that I think this person is so ugly on the inside that it’s rotting his outside. And yet there I was.

Table for two, please! I sit across from him and notice the twinkle in his eye is gone. It’s that twinkle that got me into this mess in the first place. He would look at me, and I would be so taken by his fun, mischievous, unpredictability. I’m relieved the twinkle is gone, so I can remain in control! I’m also relieved because perhaps that means he’s now on some medication.

During our relationship, he had intense mood swings but never sought treatment other than copious amounts of Miller High Life, which — get this — made things worse. He would become a terror. Sometimes he would pretend to be a baby, like a literal baby, talking like one, acting helpless, rolling around on the floor. Other times, he’d relish saying mean things or picking fights. His buddies even had a nickname for him when he turned evil: Bad Adam.

Sitting across from him at Canter’s, I also notice he appears to be a bit cross-eyed, which I find ironic because I always thought he had a wandering eye. I’m serious: He would constantly flirt with other women while we were dating, constantly compare me to his exes. One time he implied that I wasn’t as smart as his ex because I “didn’t read as many books.”

I’ll never forget the time I heard him speak to a female friend on the phone in a way I’d never been spoken to before — so sweet. To me, he was dismissive. Every time he sneezed, I would say, “Bless you,” and he wouldn’t respond. I thought, “Maybe he doesn’t know that’s the standard exchange?” Then one time, he sneezed, and my cousin said, “Bless you.” And he said, “Thank you.” I couldn’t believe it. This whole time — every sneeze — he had been ignoring me.

I tell him I live alone (I had recently ended a long-term relationship), and he very obviously lights up. That’s when I accept that this lunch might be more than just a catchup. He then acknowledges he wasn’t the best boyfriend and that he feared he “ruined men” for me.

I want to say, “The only thing you ruined for me was you!” But I don’t because now he’s tearing up. The only other time I’ve seen him cry was when he broke up with me (the first time) because I “didn’t get mad at him enough.”

We end up splitting the check. I tell him I’m pursuing comedy here in L.A., and he asks if I have any shows happening while he’s in town. I actually do have an improv show at Upright Citizens Brigade, but it’s a huge gamble to invite him to it. It’s improv and I’m new to it. But maybe I can finally show him what I’m capable of. I invite him!

The improv show has a rough start. It’s Memorial Day, so we hand out candy at the beginning of the show for some godforsaken reason, and then we can’t hear what anyone is saying onstage because the candy being unwrapped is so loud. Finally, the noise dies down, and I lock in. I tell my scene partner, “You never gave me a single compliment!” This is something I want Adam to hear, of course.

I’m not brave enough to say it to his face, so I’ll say it in a make-believe breakup scene. “You never even told me you loved me!” I boldly say as I waddle because I’m also playing a penguin. The laughter is tepid at best.

After the show, my improv teammates and I head to a bar, and I invite Adam. He agrees to join but acts like he doesn’t want to be there. Once again, I feel like I’m not good enough. Old me would have internalized this, but four-years-later me is annoyed. I’m actually amazed at how rude he’s behaving, how overtly he’s ignoring my friends. He makes a phone call, and I hear him say, “I’m somewhere I don’t want to be.”

We stand in awkward silence at Birds on Franklin Avenue, and I’m really kicking myself for this whole escapade. Why did I agree to lunch? To show him how well I’m doing? Maybe I thought he’d be a better version of himself, and we could start something anew? But he’s actually a worse version. Or I’m just seeing him more clearly. What I really want is for him to stop having any power over me. I want to be rid of him. And then he turns to me and says, “Will you marry me?”

And I say, “What?”

It’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. And then he repeats himself, “Will you marry me.”

“No,” I say, my disbelief apparent. He’s quiet, then he turns around and heads for the door. Then he throws his arms into the air and shouts, “I’m freeee!” Like how a child might say “Wheeee!” while being pushed around in a shopping cart.

Did I just release him from a curse? Wait, does he actually think he was the cursed one here? I feel as though I’ve been the one trapped in this hell, trying to impress this guy for seven years. I always got so little from him and assumed there was always a chance to get more. More attention, more validation, more love.

That’s why I got lunch with him. It was a chance for more. But this haphazard proposal, with no ring, no reason, at a random bar? And then he doesn’t get the response he wants and runs out flailing, like a toad that finally got turned back into a man? I’m the one who’s been set free now that it’s abundantly clear: There is no more.

The author is a stand-up comedian, writer and filmmaker in Los Angeles. She’s on Instagram at @alexajloftus and on TikTok at @alexajloftus.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.

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This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.

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