Tucker #2: Secret Agent Man.

Welcome back, friends!

First, I want to say thanks/laugh at the ridiculous outpouring of interest in this crazy tale. Family, friends, friends of friends, total strangers - y'all wanna know more, and I love you. I promise you won't be disappointed - though I can't promise you won't be extremely anxious for each new installment.

ONWARD!


When I left you last, I was head over heels, stupid in love with Tucker Evans. Couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, couldn't do anything without that crooked little grin of his infiltrating my every thought and every move. Each text he sent melted my heart, every word he said I was hanging from. I followed him around, virtually, like a goddamn lost puppy. Pathetic? Totally. I'm seriously disgusted with myself just writing this. Get it together, Kay. He's a man, not Rob Pattinson, and you are a GROWN ASS WOMAN, not a deranged teenage psycho Twilight fan. /endrage

Tucker and I talked about everything. We discussed our families and our childhoods. We talked about our travel plans and where we wanted to raise our children. We discussed music, movies, Theology, politics. Our conversations were absolutely endless. I was that annoying friend who went out with the gang and had her nose buried in her Crackberry the whole time. I HATE THAT FRIEND. I was falling more and more in love with this guy by the moment, and I literally could not focus on a single thing other than him. My favorite part about our relationship was the music. Tucker had this incredible voice - he would record himself singing and playing the guitar, and send them to my phone. I was addicted to the sound of his voice, playing his small playlist I'd racked up on my cell phone before bed every night. He'd send me pictures as well - dressed up in his suit for work, pictures from tailgates with friends, pictures of his parents' lake house (read: mansion) and their sprawling ranch in North Georgia, full of elaborate barns and horses. I felt like I was inside his life already - like I knew all of these people and places. It was as though I had known him - been in a relationship with him - for years, and he was simply away on a trip. Part of this, I'm sure, comes from the fact that I thoroughly stalked every aspect of his Facebook page. Albums from 2007? Okay, twist my arm. Scroll back and read the wall-to-wall with his ex-girlfriend circa 2009? Don't mind if I do! It didn't feel like I was talking to a person I'd never been face to face with. Throughout my online dabblings, I've had instant connections, sure. I've had great conversation, been smitten, and been more excited than Snookie at an Aquanet factory, but never have I felt such a deep, strong, real connection like I did with Tucker.



A week of this intense texting went by, and I began to feel like there was nothing more I could possibly learn about this man without meeting him in person. He seemed hesitant about meeting at first, explaining that he'd never met anyone from the Internet before, and was nervous about our first interaction. Being the online dating veteran that I am, I told him that we'd pick something relaxed and informal as our first introduction, keep it casual, and avoid any tension. I reassured him that I was born without a shy bone in my body, and awkward first encounters are totally not my style - everyone is my best friend from the get-go (except Jim - but we made up for it), can I get an AMEN!?

We settled on finally meeting at Hoptoberfest - a celebration of all things blues, food, and beer held downtown Grand Rapids in early October. I was already planning to attend with friends, and his coworker had mentioned it earlier in the week. The plan was flawless - I'd go down earlier in the afternoon, get sufficiently buzzed on Hopcat beer, then meet my future husband when he joined us later. What could go wrong? I followed directions like a good doobie, arriving downtown hours before Tucker was supposed to join me, and consuming dark craft beers like it was my job. For the first time since we began talking, I didn't hear from Tucker for hours. I assumed he was caught up in football, taking a nap, or something else, and thought relatively nothing of it. Hours passed without a peep from my southern Casanova, and that sinking feeling started creeping into the pit of my stomach. I distracted myself from the situation with beer and crack fries (oh hey, emotional eater), but couldn't shake the thought that I was being stood up.



By about 9pm, I accepted the fact that Tucker would not be making an appearance. I experienced a wave of emotions all at once. I was furious - not even a text with an apology because something came up? I was devastated - did he change his mind and decide he didn't like me? I was self-conscious - did he come to the festival, spot me, and decide I was so much cooler online? I was annoyed with myself - did I really think this perfect guy was for real, and wanted to be with me? I decided to pull myself up by my bootstraps -- no really, I was wearing boots, he is southern damnit I had to play the part -- and enjoy my night, have a blast with my friends, and forget all about the perfect love that almost was.

I found my friends, strewn about barstools across Grand Rapids, and formed a beautiful alliance of shot-buying, dancing shoes wearing, sweet Jesus how did the Tigers just lose 15-4 depressed friends ready to rock Grand Rapids like we hadn't in a long time. In no time, I forgot about my dashing ditcher and showed the dance floor at Mojo's just how glad I was to be there.

1:30am rolls around. I get a text message.

"Baby :(" --> from Tucker.

I'm so livid (by livid, I mean drunk), that I can barely reply to his message without chucking my phone at Rosa Parks, who by the way looks incredibly menacing at 1:30am. He continues to tell me how he was called into work, the phone call woke him from a nap and he was in a fog, hurrying to get to the office in time. I tell him I've heard enough, and turn my phone off for the night, cruising home with Springsteen cranked up and not a care in the world.

Over the next few days, Tucker apologizes a hundred times for not calling. I'm annoyed, but can't help but want to forgive him. After all, we'll be getting married in a year (I want a Fall wedding, ok?), so at some point I have to stop being bitter and just cave. We try to make plans again, but every time, something comes up. 98% of the time, it's work. I suppose I should explain this - Tucker had moved to the mitten about six weeks prior, as a surgical supply rep for a company called Janssen Pharmaceuticals - a division of a national pharmeceutical company. He had told me from the very beginning that he was working about 90 hours a week, proving himself as the new guy and fulfilling duties and bottom of the food chain bitch. On the one hand, this meant I tried very hard to be understanding, and not fold my arms across my chest and demand he make time for me. On the other hand, why the hell would you sign up for an online dating site if you DON'T HAVE TIME TO DATE?! Idiot.

The days go by, and the excuse train is full speed ahead to splitsville. I'm growing tired of simply texting back and forth all day. While I love our conversations, and am developing real feelings for this person, I haven't cared much for pen pals since the third grade. We've reached the point where we need to meet in person, to determine if the chemistry is there, if we really click, and if this is going to develop into something real and long term. I haven't even spoken to Tucker on the phone - he's constantly at work, and by the time he gets home, I'm long asleep. This cell phone relationship has gone as far as it can, and I'm ready to move on. I tell Tucker he's gotta shit or get off the pot, and he promises we'll see each other over the weekend when he has some time off work.


As you may have guessed, I never met Tucker that weekend. He ended up being out of town on some work business all weekend, and at this point, I was ready to throw in the towel. Now, let me clarify. I am not the clingy, dependent, needy girlfriend. In fact, I've ended things with more than one person who apparently thought I was a marsupial and he belonged nestled safely in my pouch at all times. I have great friends, and a busy schedule, and am a huge proponent of my independence. That said, I also feel like there's a fine line between working hard and taking your job seriously, and being lazy about making time to see a person. I accuse Tucker of not really caring, as he clearly is not invested enough in our relationship to carve out even an hour for coffee. When I confront him like this, he gets defensive - making me feel terrible for demanding he sacrifice his career so I can see him...even though I'm pretty sure that's never what I asked for.

Now I'm just angry. Don't talk down to me, and treat me as if I'm some whiny, needy little bitch who complains that you spend too much time watching football with the bros and not enough time fawning over me and playing with my cats. Wrong girl, pal. So, naturally, I get my Google on. Why, exactly, did I feel the need to start scoping out my fake boyfriend? I'm not sure. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe on some subconscious level, I thought something was up. You know what they say about trusting your instincts? They were right.

**TOTAL SIDENOTE: this guy just sat down next to me and I'm fairly certain I can detect the precise scents of sharp cheddar cheese and summer sausage. I can't tell if this makes me hungry, or nauseated.


I Google Tucker's name, and am disappointed with the hodge podge of results. Nothing spectacular comes up. There are a few people with similar names, but no glaring red flags present themselves. Suddenly I remember something - during one of our very first conversations, Tucker told me that he goes by his middle name, not his first. I scrolled back to that conversation, and was reminded that William is actually his name. William Tucker Evans.

Feverishly, I typed these monikers into Google, and strangely got the sweats and light headed when I pushed the "search" button. The results appeared on my screen, and my stomach dropped. Hundreds of news articles and web pages were devoted to this person. I was shaking as I clicked the first one, reading about this person - from Tucker's hometown in Georgia, confirming I was reading about the same person. I click through article after article, struggling to comprehend what I was reading. My emotions were fighting each other for prominence - confusion vs. anger vs. disbelief vs. fear. Who was this person I thought I knew? Why was he lying to me? What was he covering up? What in Sam Hill was going on?




Daily Recap:

Major Players:
William "Tucker" Evans: the dude.
Kay: me.

New Facts:
Janssen Pharmaceutical: Tucker's employer
Wyndham Hill Apartments: Tucker's residence (GR, North side)
Tucker sings. Very well.
Facebook: I have SUFFICIENTLY stalked him. I am a creep.


Oh...and I should probably tell you, I've changed the names. I know how sneaky yall are - you're gonna have to wait for the story, Google will lead you to dead ends ;)


Stay tuned.

Cheers-
Kay