Mr. Unavailable #126: Don't Tell Mama

See The Imprinter, Business or Pleasure?, Spellbound, No Picnic in the Park, Squatter Love, Who Falls First?, Trouble, Purgatory, Pre-Disintegration, Sanity Takes a Turn, In Heat, Fireworks, Part 1 and Fireworks, Part 2 for the background on this one.

The morning after the fireworks, #126 left and I dragged myself to work. He texted me in the afternoon: When r they going to call about the bed?

Me: Not sure. Just sent them a msg. I’ll email the info to you so you have it.

#126: Does that mean I have to read it?

Me: Only if I die and the delivery people never call you.

#126: Don’t die. OK?

Me: I promise not to die before the bed is delivered.

#126: You must be tired…are you OK?

Instead of texting back, I went home and fell asleep. Mid-nap, he texted me again.

#126: I think I’m going to Mama’s to eat. You hungry?

Me: Yes. I just woke up.

He had to pick up his laundry, so I met him outside of the laundry place with a smile.

“My joke about dying is just my acerbic wit,” I said.

“Oh…you’re…acerbic wit,” he said, nodding heavily like he usually did. I couldn’t tell if he bought it or not. Yes, I had been trying to make him feel guilty. And it had kind of worked.

We dropped his laundry off at his apartment and then headed to Mama’s, a buffet-style hole in the wall with floor to ceiling portraits of, most likely, Mama’s extended family. I told the person behind the plastic partition what I wanted and he scooped everything onto a plate. I was slow to get my money out and when #126 indicated he’d pay for me, I said, “Oh, thanks so much for dinner.” Finally, payback time.

We sat down and, over Mama's home cooking, just talked. All sexual tension was gone. We were just being nice to each other. It felt as if we'd just been to battle and, having reached a peaceful accord, were obligated to go to dinner at least once. In fact, the whole evening had a last-supper air about it. At the end, he took my plates up to the counter and held the door open for me—just like he had the first time we went to dinner. Had we come full-circle?

We said good-bye on the corner of Ave. A and 3rd St.

"Bye, gorgeous," he said. When I turned to walk away, I was pretty sure he was still watching me.

The next day, he texted me. 

#126: Can you contact the bed people again. Tell them this is my only day to be here.

It was becoming more and more clear that there really was a helpless 17-year-old living inside his 45-year-old frame. This must have been just a glimpse of what it must be like to be his girlfriend.

I texted him back.

Me: It probably makes more sense for you to contact them directly so that you can work out delivery. Maybe it will just have to be next week?

#126: I just spoke to them. Won’t be here until late next week. Which comes out to 300 for 5 weeks. I’m going to cancel the order and stick it out on the hard little mattress.

At first I was angry. And then I read it again. Something had gotten to him. He was having a tantrum.

I’d been playing bad cop for a few days, so I decided to switch back to good cop.

Me: Are u OK?

Two hours later...

#126: Yes. I just got angry at them like I was 8 years old.

Me: I figured. J It’s OK. We can cancel it.

#126: Thanks.

Signs of Hope: He was still going to be my landlord, after all, so at least we were getting along.

Red Flags: Would this landlord-tenant thing work? After all, we would never be fully alone in the same room again because a really big elephant would always be with us.

Turning Point: The tantrum that preceded the bed cancellation and then the bed cancellation itself. I already knew what was between us was done, but maybe something else has changed.

Diagnosis: For him: Unavailable.
For me: Did I really just go off and get attached to someone I knew was unavailable from the start? Really? I mean, really?