See Sweet Virginia for the background on this one.
I called him after therapy.
“Feel better?” he answered.
“I’m cured,” I said.
Signs of Hope: We met at The Bean, the coffee shop on the corner. When I walked in, he was sitting there with an empty cupcake wrapper on a plate in front of him. “You ate a cupcake without me?” I said.
“I’ll buy you a cupcake.”
We got up and he bought me one, telling me it was all mine, he wasn’t going to have any. When I finished, he pointed to the crumbs on the table in front of me and said, “By the way, that’s really cute.”
We took the train to DUMBO to see a show at St. Ann’s Warehouse. When we’d chosen it earlier, a poorly written review said something about “dance.” Neither of us wanted to see a dance performance, but the review was so indecipherable, I said, “I’m sure it’s not a dance thing. It’s about boxing.”
About 10 minutes into the show, the boxers threw off their gloves and started…dancing. He elbowed me. I elbowed him back and then we looked at each other, smiling, and leaned together sinking down in our seats to hide our laughter. At the end of the show, neither of us could really figure out what it was about, but I said, “My face hurts from smirking so much.”
On the platform waiting for the train back into the city, he put his arm around my waist and said, “Thank you for getting the tickets. Can I take you to dinner?”
I wasn’t sure where to go, but we passed a good, low-key Thai place on First Street and decided to go in. We talked about traveling and food and I impressed him with a story about how I’d ridden in a limo with Charlie Trotter—and his son. Afterward, it was chilly out, so he took my hands in his and then, standing on a corner, we kissed. I’ve run out of ways to describe a great kiss. I can only say that it was. And it helped that it was freezing out and no one was around, making the kissing not only practical but guilt-free.
I decided we needed more dessert and we walked to Veneiro’s but it was closed. Kissing in front of the locked-up window display of multicolored cakes, he said, “How about we go to your place and make out.”
“OK,” I said.
I neglected to mention that, throughout the evening, a crisis was unfolding. Zoe had been texting me that her roommate had gone mad and she was packing to leave. At my place, I told him I had to make a quick phone call. As I talked, he kissed me—fingers, forehead, neck, arms, it was fantastically distracting.
Poor Zoe started crying on the other end of the phone. I told her she could come over, but she knew that he was there and said, “Oh no, you two play,” and I could tell she was smiling. I told her I'd help her move her things to my place the next day and she could stay with me.
After I got off the phone, #119 leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head, saying, "How fortuitous. You're now going to have a roommate."
I love the part during the first make-out session when you’re alone in one of your apartments and you tell each other what you thought of the other person when you first saw them.
“Look at you. You only moved to New York a month ago and you’re already in some girl’s apartment making out,” I said.
“You’re the only girl I’ve looked at twice since I’ve been here,” he said. “That first night when you said you were going to dinner, I said to Ted, 'Teddy, we’re going to dinner.'"
“What would you have done if I hadn’t texted you?” I asked.
“I would have waited until next Monday,” he said.
After some more making out, he was telling me how much he liked me and said, “I really want to impress you.”
“So, what did you think of me when you first met me?” he asked. I thought it was cute of him to ask, because I would have done the same thing.
I told him how it was Valentine’s Day and I was in a terrible mood but that as soon as he said, “pastry chef,” I sat up and took notice.
A little while later, he said, “We actually met the week before, but you don’t remember it.”
! It was true. I’d even gone up to him and introduced myself but didn’t remember it—not at first. We also had a conversation in front of the restaurant—but I don’t remember that at all.
We made out on the sofa for hours. I confessed, "I almost never let a guy upstairs on the first date." He laughed and said, "almost?"
I love the part during the first make-out session when you’re alone in one of your apartments and you tell each other what you thought of the other person when you first saw them.
“Look at you. You only moved to New York a month ago and you’re already in some girl’s apartment making out,” I said.
“You’re the only girl I’ve looked at twice since I’ve been here,” he said. “That first night when you said you were going to dinner, I said to Ted, 'Teddy, we’re going to dinner.'"
“What would you have done if I hadn’t texted you?” I asked.
“I would have waited until next Monday,” he said.
After some more making out, he was telling me how much he liked me and said, “I really want to impress you.”
“So, what did you think of me when you first met me?” he asked. I thought it was cute of him to ask, because I would have done the same thing.
I told him how it was Valentine’s Day and I was in a terrible mood but that as soon as he said, “pastry chef,” I sat up and took notice.
A little while later, he said, “We actually met the week before, but you don’t remember it.”
! It was true. I’d even gone up to him and introduced myself but didn’t remember it—not at first. We also had a conversation in front of the restaurant—but I don’t remember that at all.
We made out on the sofa for hours. I confessed, "I almost never let a guy upstairs on the first date." He laughed and said, "almost?"
Finally, at about 4 a.m., he said, “I’m about to pick you up and throw you on that bed over there.” And then he did, and said, “I probably should have asked you this earlier, but do you have a boyfriend?”
“No. But I do have a husband. Is that a problem?”
I said he could stay over if we could control ourselves. And then I went to get him a toothbrush.
“Is it a toothbrush that was left over from the last guy and you just boiled it?” he said. I pulled out a packaged toothbrush, waved my hand along the bottom a la Bob Barker’s Showcase Showgirls and said, “As you’ll see, this toothbrush has been hermetically sealed.” I changed into my pajamas while he gentlemanly-ly closed his eyes. Then he undressed to his boxers and T-shirt. I remembered a list of things that “the last guy” didn’t like and pre-emptively framed them for #120 like this:
I hope you don’t mind the makeshift closet I’ve made of my canopy…stray cat hair…anything else…”
And he said, “I don’t care. I’m just happy to be in the same bed with you.”
We got into bed and wrapped ourselves around each other. And. It. Was. Lovely. I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t really want to.
The next morning, I got up to take Zoloft & Friends, and, standing in front of the cupboard in the kitchen, I heard the bedsheets move. I turned around and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, blinking his eyes sleepily and watching me. I walked back toward him and he held open his arms and grabbed me back into bed.
Yes, this is what I’ve been waiting for.
Red Flags: While I’m sooo hesitant to mention any because we’re very much in the honeymoon phase, there were a few. When the bill for dinner came, it was cash only and he didn’t have any cash. He said he would run to an ATM, there was one several blocks away. There was ALSO one right outside the restaurant, but it would have cost $3. I offered to pay and he was going to take me up on it, except I only had $2, so he ran to the ATM three blocks away. "I'm so cheap," he said. At least he knows it.
Turning Point: Usually I use this category to mark a turning point in the negative direction, but I’d have to say, the turning point here was toward the even more positive, and it came when we got into bed. He really did just want to be with me.
Diagnosis: As my shrink said the day before, “It sounds like he’s available.”
“No. But I do have a husband. Is that a problem?”
I said he could stay over if we could control ourselves. And then I went to get him a toothbrush.
“Is it a toothbrush that was left over from the last guy and you just boiled it?” he said. I pulled out a packaged toothbrush, waved my hand along the bottom a la Bob Barker’s Showcase Showgirls and said, “As you’ll see, this toothbrush has been hermetically sealed.” I changed into my pajamas while he gentlemanly-ly closed his eyes. Then he undressed to his boxers and T-shirt. I remembered a list of things that “the last guy” didn’t like and pre-emptively framed them for #120 like this:
I hope you don’t mind the makeshift closet I’ve made of my canopy…stray cat hair…anything else…”
And he said, “I don’t care. I’m just happy to be in the same bed with you.”
We got into bed and wrapped ourselves around each other. And. It. Was. Lovely. I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t really want to.
The next morning, I got up to take Zoloft & Friends, and, standing in front of the cupboard in the kitchen, I heard the bedsheets move. I turned around and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, blinking his eyes sleepily and watching me. I walked back toward him and he held open his arms and grabbed me back into bed.
Yes, this is what I’ve been waiting for.
Red Flags: While I’m sooo hesitant to mention any because we’re very much in the honeymoon phase, there were a few. When the bill for dinner came, it was cash only and he didn’t have any cash. He said he would run to an ATM, there was one several blocks away. There was ALSO one right outside the restaurant, but it would have cost $3. I offered to pay and he was going to take me up on it, except I only had $2, so he ran to the ATM three blocks away. "I'm so cheap," he said. At least he knows it.
Turning Point: Usually I use this category to mark a turning point in the negative direction, but I’d have to say, the turning point here was toward the even more positive, and it came when we got into bed. He really did just want to be with me.
Diagnosis: As my shrink said the day before, “It sounds like he’s available.”
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