Mr. Unavailable #185: Be Mine

See The Voice, Cracking the Code, Quasi-Quadrille, Imperfections, Cheap Empanadas, Slow and Steady... and An Upward Trend for the background on this one.

I forget when I first realized that this would be the first time in 17 years that I’d be dating someone during Valentine’s season. It probably occurred to me one day toward the end of January while wandering through Duane Reade. I happened upon the seasonal aisle and, spotting all the V-Day candy, my heart reflexively began to sink. And then my brain kicked in, remembering #185. What a relief.

Valentine’s week was jammed-packed. I’d bought tickets for the Westminster Dog Show and, when #185 balked at going, I invited Nora. At Madison Square Garden, Nora's rebel side kicked in and we sneaked down during the Star Spangled Banner, slipping past a distracted, overly patriotic guard, to be closer to the action. We gorged ourselves on frozen yogurt sundaes and provided our own running commentary. We had mixed feelings when the black Affenpinscher, Banana Joe, from the Toy category, won. We’d been rooting for the St. Bernard. But Banana Joe looked so happy, he won us over…but I digress…

Although I had Valentine’s plans with #185—he’d asked if I wanted to come to his place in Jersey and he’d make me dinner—they didn’t actually fall on Valentine’s Day. That was fine because, to me, that wasn’t the point. Merely to lay claim to a person of the gender to which I was sexually attracted during Valentine’s season was the point.

So, on Valentine’s Day proper, I met up with Eva and headed to a party in Bushwick hosted by a pair of swingers. The female member of the couple was a burlesque dancer and the male member was a librarian. In modern parlance, that meant he was a UX specialist for design firms and ad agencies. And possibly bisexual.

Eva had her eye on a skinny, tattooed guy in a dirty white T-shirt. We couldn’t tell if he was gay or straight. And then Eva’s most recent inappropriate crush arrived, looking like he’d been hit by a bus. Actually, he’d fallen out of a cab and had nearly destroyed his ankle. He was walking with a cane and had huge dark circles under his eyes. I left them at about midnight but texted Eva later.

Me: Did you meet the guy?

Eva: Yes. Although he was shrooming.

Me: So was he gay or straight?

Eva: Both.

Me: Of course.

The next day, I met #185 in the Chase vestibule at Penn Station. He barely said hello and rushed us toward the trains.

“Hi,” I said. “Are we running late?”

“Oh, yeah, we really need to catch the next train,” he said.

When we got to his place, things became much more Valentine-y. A hot make-out session standing in front of his kitchen preceded him making me dinner. As he prepared the chicken breasts, I looked around. He had two plastic keychain passes to Equinox gym hanging from his refrigerator.

“What are those Equinox things on your refrigerator?”

“I joined Equinox about a month ago.”

“Have you gone yet?”

“No,” he said.

I laughed.

He turned around, his hands greasy with chicken liquids, and said, “Why does everyone think that’s so funny?”

I caught myself mid-smile and realized he was serious.

“It’s not you,” I said. “It’s that clichéd thing where people get gym memberships and then never use them.”

“Do I not look like someone who would go to the gym?”

My half smile turned to a look of astonishment. “Are you seriously mad?” I asked.

Clearly, he was the one who thought he didn’t look like someone who would go to the gym.

“I just don’t understand why people laugh when I say that,” he said.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” I said.

We let it drop and he finished making dinner.

I could tell he was still agitated. He didn’t have a kitchen table, so he began rearranging his furniture. His coffee table became the dining table and he placed a stool on one side and a taller chair on the other. He gave me the chair.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper setup for dinner,” he said.

“It’s OK. You’ve seen my apartment. I don’t even have a coffee table or any chairs. I have to eat on my sofa.”

He took a breath. “I’m sorry about before,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m so sensitive about it.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s OK.” A little while later, he started on a rant against the church.

“Sorry, I don’t even know what your stand is on religion,” he said, without asking what my stand on religion was.

Maybe he was trying to push me away.

After dinner, I got out the Crumbs cupcakes I’d bought for dessert and gave him a Valentine I’d been working on all week. I’d spent $45 in art supplies to make it. Buying a card would have been a lot cheaper, yes, but this had that all-important homemade appeal. Shaped like a heart, his name was on the outside and, inside, I’d fashioned the words “Be Mine” out of heart-shaped glitter. He seemed touched.

We watched a movie, messed around without actually doing it and went to sleep. The next morning, we lingered over breakfast, talking, and he gave me a package of chocolate covered pretzels (that I think he’d gotten for me as a Valentine’s gift although it wasn’t clear) and I caught a noon train because his car was still on the fritz. “I’ll drive you home next time,” he said.

Signs of Hope: He made me dinner.

Red Flags: His sudden anger. That, and we didn’t actually do it.

Turning Point: When I asked him about his gym membership. I was getting to know him, that's for sure.

Diagnosis: As the train left the station, I wasn’t sure if we were getting closer or getting stuck.