Mr. Unavailable #127: Fro-Yo Guy

Vital Stats: 39, 6”ish. Otherwise, a poor man’s George Clooney: salt-and-pepper hair with a three-months-along paunch. Aesthetic: The acceptable side of preppy. Demeanor: Nice guy. Chatty. Approachable.

First Impression: “Of course, the cutest guy in the room is sitting with the cutest girl in the room.”

Second Impression: “Is he gay?”

What Happened: To rewind a bit, in June, on the emotional roller coaster of a day when #126 and I flirtatiously texted (he likes me!) and then I met him in the park only to find he had company (he doesn’t like me!), after which he called to see if I wanted to go to a movie with them (he likes me!), while they all went to that movie, I went to a Sunday night gathering of likeminded downtowners (maybe he thinks I don't like him!). When I got to the gathering, I scanned the room, as I do, and spied #127 a few rows over. He was sitting next to a girl. “Of course,” I thought, “the cutest guy in the room is sitting with the cutest girl in the room.”

On my way home, I ran into the two of them on 2nd Avenue. #127 recognized me instantly and seemed happy to see me (he likes me!). But then, when he spoke, he had a lilt that made me think he might be gay (he doesn’t like me!). They were both from Brooklyn—he lived in Williamsburg—and they were going for self-serve frozen yogurt at 16 Handles. As they tried to persuade me to go with them, I realized they weren’t together (he likes me!). But, still trying to wrap my head around #126, I wasn’t in the mood for a get-to-know-you yogurt with new people, so I went home (maybe he thinks I don't like him!).

Fast-forward a month to the near-present. The day I learned I wasn’t getting the apartment from #126, I was in need of a little perking up and remembered #127. I revisited the place I’d first seen him. When I walked in, I saw him across the room and then followed these next five steps:

1. Pretend you don’t see him.
2. Wander over to where he is as if you’re trying to figure out where to sit.
3. Sit down immediately behind him.
4. When he turns around and says, “Hey!” act surprised.
5. As if it hadn’t been your plan all along, get up and sit down next to him, saying, “Oh…well…I’ll just sit next to you.”

After the show, we turned to each other and talk, naturally, turned to self-serve fro-yo. “There’s a new place down where I work,” he said. “Not as good as 16 Handles but passable.”

“Where’s that?” We lingered at the front of the room as everyone filtered out past us.

“The financial district. On Fulton.”

“Oh, that’s where I work,” I said. “But I’m closer to South Street Seaport.” An obvious first date was percolating. I asked about the girl from the month before. He said he’d heard she’d moved to California and then described the events leading up to how he met her.

“She was friends with an ex-girlfriend of mine,” he said, fidgeting at the mention of his ex. “…but that was nothing, really not much of an important relationship…not an important relationship at all.” I asked about Williamsburg and told him I was thinking about moving there.

“I found my place through an ex-girlfriend…” he said, getting fidgety again, “…it was nothing, just a summer fling…” Every mention of an ex came with a disclaimer. I liked that. “Hey, I should get your number and then if I hear of anything…”

I gave him my number. The next day he texted me a photo of a Strawberry Fields cup of fro-yo.

Me: Ah, even though it sucks, you just had to do it.
#127: You know, having just had some, I wouldn’t say it sucks. It’s just not Handles.
Me: That’s a relief! I’m working from home today, so I may just have to go to handles.
#127: Lucky YOU!! Jealous.

Later that night, I told Zoe that he’d texted me within 24 hours. “Someone was thinking about me,” I said.

“Was there anything more?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

Zoe was adjusting to the peculiar mating habits of New York men—in particular, their tendency to disappear—so she wasn’t feeling particularly generous.

“I don’t understand these men,” she said. “I was at Jerry’s store yesterday telling the same thing to him and a woman walked by and said, ‘Welcome to New York.’ It’s like as soon as you show you’re interested, they disappear or say they just want to be friends. In Europe, if someone wants to know, they want to know. They don’t just suddenly change their mind. And if they do, they tell you. They don’t just go silent. I just don’t understand.”

“Welcome to my world,” I said.

Naturally, five days passed and there was nothing more from #127.

On Saturday, Zoe and I went for self-serve, so I texted him a photo of my melting, chocolate, topping-heavy concoction. A few hours later, back at home, he texted me back.

#127: YUM. I need some too. What flavors did you get?
Me: Cookies and cream and cheesecake. Although I ate the cheesecake while I was waiting in line.
#127: Hahaha. Bad girl, Tara. I’d probably do the same thing. Nice toppings, btw.
Me: Thanks. I try. And then I had another fro-yo down the street. Peach. It was one of those days.
#127: Wow, you’re hardcore with the fro-yo. Have you been to strawberry fields yet?

Um, didn’t he know it was his job to ask me to go with him? I played along.

Me: Not yet. (three unhappy faces with tears)
#127: Why the tears?

I threw my phone down on the sofa, got up and walked to the bathroom saying, “I’m so tired of these men. Can’t they take a fucking hint?”

Zoe calmed me down. “Maybe he thinks you’re out of his league and too pretty for him, so he’s just trying to make sure where you’re at.”

“I’m pretty?”

“Down, princess.”

I texted him back: Because I haven’t been to that one.
#127: We should meet up and go at lunch someday.

Ah, there it was.

Me: That’s a fabulous idea.
#127: Hahaha. Yeah I think it would too. Let me know when you’re not working from home.

Seeing as my working from home depended almost exclusively on how sick I was of coming up with outfits each morning, there was no need to put it off.

Me: In that case, that would be Monday.

Monday it was.

Signs of Hope: He was slow on the uptake, but he did eventually take things up.

Red Flags: I want someone who just gets in there and claims me. Is that unrealistic? Because this guy doesn't seem like a guy who stakes a claim.

Turning Point: When he FINALLY asked if I wanted to go for fro-yo.

Diagnosis: For him: Is he just a patient guy? Does he like to take his time with new relationships? His seeming abundance of exes says otherwise. Or, is he unavailable?
For me: Am I too impatient? Demanding? Maybe I need to give a little more. Act more interested. Be less expectant.