Mr. Unavailable #185: Cheap Empanadas

See The Voice, Cracking the Code, Quasi-Quadrille and Imperfections for the background on this one.

Two or three dates into any dating situation, me going insane is pretty much par for the course. Somehow, over the Saturday and Sunday between dates with #185, my brain persuaded me that he was losing interest, or freaking out and backing away, or deciding that he didn’t want to splurge for yet another date.

This was, of course, more a reflection of my own self-worth and freaked-out-ness. But I didn’t know that yet and nothing could have convinced me he was thinking otherwise. Even the email he sent me on Monday—parsed and diagrammed and subjectively translated below—was unable to quell me.

Hey, [Not a more affectionate “Hey You.” This meant he was keeping his distance.]
How is the pajama life? Are you in the middle of nap #1 right now? [Usually much more clever than that, he was feeling lackluster about me.] 

So I was thinking of going to this empanadas bar in the east village...a place i went several years ago and loved. It's really small and if it's packed people are sitting on top of you...so if we are not feeling it I'm sure we can find something that suits us a bit better. [A cheap empanadas bar? Where people will be on top of us? Where he probably went “several years ago” "with a girlfriend." He was going to make swift work of the end in a safe, crowded setting without making a big monetary investment.]

What do you think? [Such hesitance showed he was tippy-toeing around me—you know, because hell hath no fury…]

I arrived at the empanadas place at the appointed time and not only was he not there, but the place was closed for renovations. I waited out front. I was trying to appear collected but seemed to be having trouble normalizing my breathing. Then I saw him approaching.

“It’s closed,” I croaked at him breathlessly as the gap between us closed.

“Yeah, this wasn’t the place I was thinking of, so I was just walking up and down the street to see if I could find it. No luck,” he said. We embraced and pecked each other as if we were new to the concepts of hugging and kissing.

“Where should we go?” he said. I noticed he had no plan B. And he didn’t try to hold my hand or even link arms.

“We could just go to Café Mogador,” I said. Café Mogador, the location of many-a-failed-relationship dates. When we got there, he chose a table in the middle of the room, right out in the open, a very public spot if there were to be, for example, a scene. He asked me to hang his coat up for him behind my seat where I’d just hung mine. Wow, he really has stopped putting in any effort, I thought.

I ordered one of the more expensive entrees from the specials menu.

“So, how was your weekend?” I asked, keeping my hands in my lap. He leaned his fist on his leg and spoke, his voice casting its spell in person for the first time. And the last time, I thought. I guess he’s going to wait until after we eat. Now that he was about to become unavailable to me, he seemed more attractive, more manly. 

We ate and talked and I began to wonder if I might be wrong. I reached my hand out to my water glass and he touched it. And then he held it.

Ohhhhhhh, I am crazy.

Finally, I began to relax.

After we ate, he said, “I thought we might go get a coffee. There’s The Bean across the street.”

“Oh, I was going to ask if you wanted to come over for coffee or tea at my place.”

“Let’s go,” he said, and then, in what seemed like one movement, he paid the bill, got out of his seat and took both of our coats off of the wall.

The next day, I texted Kevin, who’d been kept apprised of my pre-date freak-out.

Me: I got my mojo back. Phew. That was scary for a second.

Kevin: Oh no!!!

Me: Wait. Why oh no?

Kevin: How much mojo are we talking?

Me: Medium?

Kevin: Ohhhh! Okay.

Me: Thank god he’s goofy looking.

Signs of Hope: Let me explain that last text: It’s good that I find him goofy looking because that tempers my crazy.

Red Flags: There’s always a chance my intuition may not be entirely out of whack.

Turning Point: When I asked if he wanted to come back to my place for coffee.

Diagnosis: Despite what my head tells me, everything is turning out just fine.