Mr. Unavailable #133: Coffee=The End?

See The Telltale Garb, The Sit-Com Setup, The Lukewarm Fuzzies and Little Island... for the background on this one.

On our Roosevelt Island date, when we were at the pub, after I came up with a new nickname for him [eg., Bill-Billy], as we talked over ten chicken wings, #133 had talked about Halloween and seemed excited at the idea of us spending it together.

Instead, after our trip to the island, he fell off the map, and a few days later, as Halloween was approaching, he resurfaced to say he was skipping Halloween to go to his parents’ in Jersey. He seemed to go to Jersey a lot.

From Jersey, presumably, he emailed to ask if I wanted to get together the day after Halloween. A Tuesday. He wrote in his email: “Maybe we could hit a coffee shop or some such in your nabe—got a suggestion?”

A coffee date. The death knell of any budding relationship. There was that as well as the forced casualness of “nabe,” a word he’d never used before. Things were supposed to be progressing not digressing.

Forgetting that I was lukewarm about him anyway, I went into auto-panic. “I’m convinced he wants to go to a coffeeshop so he can dump me,” I said to Eva.

“It doesn’t sound like he’s going to break up. It sounds like he’s very laid back,” she said.

“We’ll see.”

On the night of the date, he emailed me before he left his place, sending me his favorite They Might Be Giants song with the note, “See you soon.”

Hmmm. That seemed not breakup-like.

When he got to my place, he sat on my sofa as I finished getting ready. Also not breakup-like. I sat on the sofa next to him and we made out for a while. That wasn’t very breakup-like either. We walked to get—yes, just coffee—at Ost on Ave. B and found a spot in a corner nook. I ordered coffee. He ordered wine. “I might as well,” he said, noting that it was happy hour (pre-breakup nerves?).

He paid for his wine and then the cashier rang up my coffee. “That’ll be $5.50,” she said.

I paused and looked at #133. “Oh, do you need some cash?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

I would like to say that at that moment a light bulb went off, that I saw clearly that he could never measure up to what I was looking for and that I took matters into my own hands and dumped him myself. But I didn’t.

He paid. “Thank you very much,” I said. We sat down and he leaned into me and put his hand on my leg. I rested my head on his shoulder.

“It’s so funny that you had nothing in your profile and here we are. All you had were those photos, which you looked really pretty in….” he said, and then, as if he’d always thought it but it only just occurred to him to actually share it, he said, “…but you’re even prettier in person.”

He wasn’t trying to charm me; he was just being honest. Maybe I needed to give him a break. Maybe he just didn’t have a whole lot of money to splash out. Maybe he was just a little bit socially awkward and didn’t always know what to do—or say.

He asked what we should do next. “How about hors d’oevres and a movie at my place,” I said, giving him a break.

“That sounds great,” he said. We walked back to my place hand in hand and watched a movie. It was nice, comfortable. He didn’t try anything and I didn’t mind. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Tempered, moderate, calm. Maybe passion is supposed to build. It never seemed to work out when I was crazy about them anyway, so maybe this was just right. I asked him if he wanted to stay over, but he said he had an early deadline the next day. Seemed reasonable enough. We kissed good-bye. “Bye [Bill-Billy],” I said.

Signs of Hope: He had an earnestness that was endearing. And neither one of us broke up with the other.

Red Flags: Coffee?.…“Do you need some cash?”?….Passion?....He didn’t want to stay over?

Diagnosis: For him: Yes, it was just coffee. But maybe he just really wanted to see me.
For me: I’m not sure if he’s what I want, but do I even really know what I want?