The day after the party, Zoe and I were having a Remedy brunch on Houston and deconstructing the night before. “I’m telling you, he doesn’t know you’re interested,” she said. “You left. Even when he was dancing near you, he was looking at you trying to get your attention.”
“Come on, we both know that wasn't dancing," I said. "Besides, it was time to go. I wasn’t going to hang out all night waiting for him to do something.”
“Send him a text. The thing is, is, he wanted it to be a date when you went out the other night. He’s interested and he needs to know you’re interested.”
Zoe and I always seem to get into trouble when we get together for brunch and start texting boys—#120, #125, now this.
I picked up my phone and looked at it.
“Go on,” she said.
I started a text, changing it about 12 times before coming up with: “Shall we go on another date this week?”
It took me another ten minutes to send it, but a second later, I got this: “Where r u now? I’m at Thompkins Square.”
Me: Having brunch with Zoe. Want to meet up in an hour?
#126: Yes.
Me: There’s a coffee place on 7th and 2nd.
#126: Want to come to the park?
Me: OK. See u in a bit.
Zoe asked for our salads to go, made me up—“subtly, for daytime”—at home and sent me off.
When I reached the park’s notoriously homeless entrance, I called him.
Zoe asked for our salads to go, made me up—“subtly, for daytime”—at home and sent me off.
When I reached the park’s notoriously homeless entrance, I called him.
"Hi, I'm at the homeless entrance," I said.
“Hi, we’re over on the grass,” he said.
We? I stopped. I wanted to turn around. Really? We?
“Hi, we’re over on the grass,” he said.
We? I stopped. I wanted to turn around. Really? We?
"OK," I said. "'ll look for you guys."
I moved forward ever so slowly, feeling overdone and exposed at the same time.
I called Zoe, but she didn’t pick up, so I left a message. It was a really long message because, even though she wasn't an active participant, she was accompanying me across the park. I wanted to be on the phone when I found them—you know, like I wasn’t at all embarrassed about anything…how I looked, who was there, what I was expecting….
The jist of my message to her: “I feel really stupid. He’s not interested. He’s just trying to let me down easy. I’m such an idiot.” Over and over again.
I crossed the park and saw three of them on the grass--James, Georgette and #126. They all looked at me as if they could see into my paranoid brain and were carefully examining it. That's what it felt like anyway.
A few minutes later, as I sat twitching on their picnic blanket, I got a text from Zoe. She must have listened to my message outlining my idiocy—or part of it—because she texted, saying, “They have no idea you feel that way.”
I tried to fake normalcy as best as I could. Ultimately, that meant ignoring #126. Even when he asked me questions, I’d address my answers to the others. So, a few minutes later, when we were alone, I was in turmoil. I tried to speak, but everything I said deadened the air between us--unless it was already dead. He certainly wasn't looking at me like he had before.
After about an hour of supreme discomfort, he had to leave to go to a basketball game—some ex-cons versus doctors game or other, I didn’t know, and I’d started to not really care. I got up to say good-bye to him, but when he hugged me, it was without feeling. Maybe by inviting me to the park he was just trying to be friendly, you know, let me down easy. James told me they were all going to a movie that night and asked if I wanted to go. Fortunately, I had plans to meet someone in Union Square later.
Later, I was heading to Union Square when I looked at my phone and saw #126 had called. I called him back.
“Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you were going to the movie?”
“No, I’m meeting someone in Union Square.”
“Oh, OK,” he said. He sounded legitimately disappointed. “Well, we’ll talk soon then.”
“Definitely,” I said.
Signs of Hope: When he texted me back and asked if I wanted to meet him in the park.
Red Flags: When he wasn’t alone in the park. The chemistry that I thought had been there before was gone.
Turning Point: The moment I heard, “We.”
Diagnosis: For him: It was beginning to feel like he just wanted to be friends. At least he was letting me down easy.
For me: My pride will recover in about 24 hours. He likes me in some way, at least. Maybe we really can be friends. It'd be better that way. He's going to be my landlord, after all.
I called Zoe, but she didn’t pick up, so I left a message. It was a really long message because, even though she wasn't an active participant, she was accompanying me across the park. I wanted to be on the phone when I found them—you know, like I wasn’t at all embarrassed about anything…how I looked, who was there, what I was expecting….
The jist of my message to her: “I feel really stupid. He’s not interested. He’s just trying to let me down easy. I’m such an idiot.” Over and over again.
I crossed the park and saw three of them on the grass--James, Georgette and #126. They all looked at me as if they could see into my paranoid brain and were carefully examining it. That's what it felt like anyway.
A few minutes later, as I sat twitching on their picnic blanket, I got a text from Zoe. She must have listened to my message outlining my idiocy—or part of it—because she texted, saying, “They have no idea you feel that way.”
I tried to fake normalcy as best as I could. Ultimately, that meant ignoring #126. Even when he asked me questions, I’d address my answers to the others. So, a few minutes later, when we were alone, I was in turmoil. I tried to speak, but everything I said deadened the air between us--unless it was already dead. He certainly wasn't looking at me like he had before.
After about an hour of supreme discomfort, he had to leave to go to a basketball game—some ex-cons versus doctors game or other, I didn’t know, and I’d started to not really care. I got up to say good-bye to him, but when he hugged me, it was without feeling. Maybe by inviting me to the park he was just trying to be friendly, you know, let me down easy. James told me they were all going to a movie that night and asked if I wanted to go. Fortunately, I had plans to meet someone in Union Square later.
Later, I was heading to Union Square when I looked at my phone and saw #126 had called. I called him back.
“Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you were going to the movie?”
“No, I’m meeting someone in Union Square.”
“Oh, OK,” he said. He sounded legitimately disappointed. “Well, we’ll talk soon then.”
“Definitely,” I said.
Signs of Hope: When he texted me back and asked if I wanted to meet him in the park.
Red Flags: When he wasn’t alone in the park. The chemistry that I thought had been there before was gone.
Turning Point: The moment I heard, “We.”
Diagnosis: For him: It was beginning to feel like he just wanted to be friends. At least he was letting me down easy.
For me: My pride will recover in about 24 hours. He likes me in some way, at least. Maybe we really can be friends. It'd be better that way. He's going to be my landlord, after all.
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