See Sweet Virginia, The First Date, Just Desserts, To Nobu or Not to Nobu, The Duel, The 36-Hour Freakout and Him, Himself and He for the background on this one.
We went to the stall inside the cavernous Artists and Fleas market on North 7th and began pulling out dresses. They zippered me into the first one and we all fell in love with it: a champagne and pink-copper embroidered evening dress with soft pink netting and chiffon around the bottom and deep chocolate velvet piping around the middle.
“I’m buying that for you,” Zoe said. She wanted to get it for me as a thank you for rescuing her from her psychotic roommate and giving her a place to stay. The dress was gorgeous, so I decided to let her.
Zoe had also gone on a hunt for a crushed velvet dinner jacket that #120 had described. They pulled it out and Zoe said, “Send him a picture.” Anxiety welled up. It felt like too much pressure somehow--whether for him or me I wasn't sure. I took a photo with my phone anyway and sent it to him. They pulled out a few more jackets and Zoe said to take pictures. “No, no,” I said. “Those aren’t the right ones.” It was the anxiety again.
#120 never replied to my text, but I managed to not let it get to me. That night, Zoe did my makeup and I put on my new dress. I met Evan for swing dancing uptown. He was dressed swingingly, too. After we got our old swing legs back, we swung out across the dance floor. Random people came up and told us we looked great. The crowd was a tad on the geriatric side, so we just stayed for a few more songs and then headed to Soho for a birthday party.
I admit that sometimes I exaggerate things, but when I say that all heads turned when we walked into the party, I’m not exaggerating. Complete strangers told me I looked gorgeous, that it looked like my dress was made for me, that Evan and I looked like a million dollars. I felt like a million dollars.
Walking home later, I was sad that #120 wouldn’t see me in my dress, but I was feeling so good about myself that I decided that if I never heard from him again, that was fine. “His loss,” I thought, and I actually meant it.
About a minute later, he texted me. “Where are you?”
“Come downtown,” I wrote.
“On my way.”
“Yay.”
When we met outside my apartment building around midnight, I practically leapt into his arms.
“You’re all dressed up,” he said.
“I’ve had a night on the town,” I said.
We walked with our arms around each other all the way to Veneiro’s. It was just after midnight, so the seating area was closed. We got chocolate and red velvet cake slices to go and went to the benches outside St. Mark’s Church to eat it. I got out my phone and showed him the photo of the velvet dinner jacket we’d found. “That’s it,” he said.
At about 1:30 a.m., he said, “I’d better get you home.” We walked down to Third Street and he came up to use the bathroom. I warned Zoe, “There’s a boy coming in.”
While he was in the bathroom, Zoe whispered to me asking if he’d seen me in the dress. I told her not really, we’d been outside the whole time. I took off my coat and he came out of the bathroom.
“Did she tell you?” Zoe said. “She was the belle of the ball. Everyone told her how gorgeous she was and that it looked like that dress was made for her.”
He agreed that I was, indeed, gorgeous. He pulled me to him and we began to slow dance in place, talking to Zoe, who was lying on the sofa. We turned in slow circles, swaying back and forth, as he told us about the restaurant where he’d just tried out. I rested my head on his shoulder, or we’d kiss, but we kept quietly talking, circling, dancing. Something about it was like magic.
At around 2:15 a.m., he said he should be going. I walked him out the door. We briefly made out in the stairwell.
“Am I doing better with the touching you more?” he asked.
“Yes, you are,” I said.
Signs of Hope: Seeing him really was like magic.
Red Flags: I later put my finger on the cause of my dinner-jacket anxiety: I felt like I was doing too much for him too soon, making things too easy. It was making me uncomfortable. Zoe was operating under the assumption that #120 and I were already a done deal. But because of my history with Mr. Unavailables, I wasn’t feeling so sure.
Turning Point: When he texted me. I was on such a high from the whole evening that I didn’t feel like I needed to be coy at all about the fact that I wanted to see him.
Diagnosis: For him: He seems very into me.
For me: I seem very into him.
“Come downtown,” I wrote.
“On my way.”
“Yay.”
When we met outside my apartment building around midnight, I practically leapt into his arms.
“You’re all dressed up,” he said.
“I’ve had a night on the town,” I said.
We walked with our arms around each other all the way to Veneiro’s. It was just after midnight, so the seating area was closed. We got chocolate and red velvet cake slices to go and went to the benches outside St. Mark’s Church to eat it. I got out my phone and showed him the photo of the velvet dinner jacket we’d found. “That’s it,” he said.
At about 1:30 a.m., he said, “I’d better get you home.” We walked down to Third Street and he came up to use the bathroom. I warned Zoe, “There’s a boy coming in.”
While he was in the bathroom, Zoe whispered to me asking if he’d seen me in the dress. I told her not really, we’d been outside the whole time. I took off my coat and he came out of the bathroom.
“Did she tell you?” Zoe said. “She was the belle of the ball. Everyone told her how gorgeous she was and that it looked like that dress was made for her.”
He agreed that I was, indeed, gorgeous. He pulled me to him and we began to slow dance in place, talking to Zoe, who was lying on the sofa. We turned in slow circles, swaying back and forth, as he told us about the restaurant where he’d just tried out. I rested my head on his shoulder, or we’d kiss, but we kept quietly talking, circling, dancing. Something about it was like magic.
At around 2:15 a.m., he said he should be going. I walked him out the door. We briefly made out in the stairwell.
“Am I doing better with the touching you more?” he asked.
“Yes, you are,” I said.
Signs of Hope: Seeing him really was like magic.
Red Flags: I later put my finger on the cause of my dinner-jacket anxiety: I felt like I was doing too much for him too soon, making things too easy. It was making me uncomfortable. Zoe was operating under the assumption that #120 and I were already a done deal. But because of my history with Mr. Unavailables, I wasn’t feeling so sure.
Turning Point: When he texted me. I was on such a high from the whole evening that I didn’t feel like I needed to be coy at all about the fact that I wanted to see him.
Diagnosis: For him: He seems very into me.
For me: I seem very into him.
No comments:
Post a Comment