Are You Just a Substitute Girlfriend? Here Are Solid Signs

If there's one thing you must know about me, it's that I have a type and that type is "unavailable." It's something that started when I was in high school. Crushing on guys who weren't attainable, whether it was because they had girlfriends or because they didn't even know I existed, was an easy way to pretend I wanted to commit to a relationship when I was, in reality, terrified of the idea.

Keep that in mind when I tell you about Kyle*, the first guy I met after moving to New York City from Amherst, Massachusetts. At the time, I felt like I was ready to find someone I could date, and Kyle, with his flannel shirts and hipster glasses, seemed like an excellent contender for the role of boyfriend.

We worked together, and when the two of us were teamed up for a project, we high-fived. "This will be great," he e-mailed when we got back to our desks. "I was really hoping I would get to work with you."

We quickly developed a routine of near-constant communication. We'd text the night before work, betting on who would beat the other to the office, loser had to buy coffee. We'd go to lunch, and when our bosses organized happy hours, Kyle and I would attend together.

Every minute of time I spent hanging out with Kyle (or texting Kyle or Gchatting Kyle), I grew more and more convinced that this was the start of something really big.

One night at dinner, a few weeks into our (maybe something more than) friendship, his head was buried in his phone. Eager to prove how cool and laid-back I was, I pretended not to notice. "Sorry," he said, stuffing his phone in his back pocket. "Girlfriend troubles. She's in Israel for a year. It's just hard. Time zones." I looked at him, trying not to scream. You have a girlfriend? I heard the voice in my head taking over. Uh, does she know we're at dinner right now? Does she know you buy my coffee on Wednesdays and every other Monday?

"You don't need to hear my boring problems." He smiled, then changed the subject.

A few weeks after that, I had a surge of confidence when Kyle again asked me to grab a cocktail after work. "So I've been thinking," I said, as casually as I could. "I like you. I think you know I like you."

He smiled and took a long drink.

"I really like you too — I think you're wonderful — but I do have a girlfriend."

I was embarrassed, but in an effort to not seem like a "crazy girl," I did the craziest thing I could have done: I listened to the relationship issues he was having, I gave supportive and thoughtful advice, and I continued to accept his invites to lunches, dinners, events, and shopping trips.

I became the filler girlfriend.

I figured if I could be the perfect girlfriend-surrogate, surely he would realize that I was the perfect girl for him. Although he knew I had feelings for him, Kyle didn't ease up on spending time with me. I helped him pick out a suit for his cousin's wedding and helped him write his best-man speech. He came over and helped install my AC when the summer got too hot to bear, and we went on walks in the park and to concerts. How could he not fall in love with me? And how could he not realize that we were crossing boundaries?

There would be moments — whether it was a knowing wink or sharing a secret — when my faith would surge that love would blossom out of friendship. Playing the understudy while the real deal was far away distracted me from realizing how unsatisfying this relationship was. And it never occurred to me that my willingness to fill a temporary void was the most attractive quality about me to Kyle.

Until I found myself with a stomach bug. "Ugh, I am so sick," I texted him. "I haven't gotten out of bed in two days."

"That sucks!" he wrote. "Feel better!"

He didn't offer to come bring me Gatorade or soup. He didn't come check on me. Kyle, I was finally, painfully realizing, was not my boyfriend, no matter how available I made myself to him. And if I wanted a boyfriend — a real one — I was going to have to stop acting like he and I were together.

So I stopped answering his texts. I felt selfish, like I was breaking up with someone who didn't know he was being broken up with. He still wanted to be friends, but I hoped my absence would force him to chase after me. He didn't.

It's been a few years, and I've dated other guys since — real relationships where, for a change, the guys knew they were actually dating me. I tend to think of Kyle as the "it's complicated" situation of my early 20s, but I'm sure nothing was complicated about it for him. If you were to ask him what our connection was, he would tell you we had always just been friends.

I'm grateful that Kyle taught me the perils of becoming the filler girlfriend. It was nice being there for the fun parts of a relationship: he was someone to hang out with, share meals with, laugh with. But a real relationship is so much more than companionship. As hard as it was to let go of the pseudo-relationship I'd established with Kyle (he was cute and convenient), having a real partner — one who is there for you in both stomach-flu sickness and after-work-cocktails health — is worth holding out for.

Signs You're a Filler Girlfriend
>> Do you talk every day?
>> Do you keep each other abreast of the details of your lives?
>> Do you try to see each other a few times a week?
>> Does it feel weird if you don't hear from him for a day or two?
>> If you met someone else and began to date him, would the new person find your friendship out of the ordinary?
>> If his partner came back home (say, from Israel), would you spend significantly less time with this person?
>> Do you have s#x?

If you answered yes to all except the last one, you're most likely a filler girlfriend. Want to be a real girlfriend to someone? Stop hanging out with this guy!