Mr. Unavailable #98: Who's Deluded?

See From Russia, With No Love, More of the (Exact) Same, Sanity Takes a Turn, The Calm Before the Storm, Fight Club, Rejection=Flattery, Neanderthal No More?, Startling the Natives and Crossing the Bridge for the background on this one.

In the week after the flirty bridge walk, every time I thought of #98, warm feelings bubbled up from my core. Eva had taken some photos of us with my phone during the walk, so I flipped through them every now and then, smiling at the one where his bear arms were thrown around me and I struggled, smiling, as he tried to kiss me. I knew I’d hear from him again, I just didn’t know when.

Five days later, on Saturday morning around 11:30 a.m., he texted me.

#98: how are you

Me: I am good. How are you?

#98: do you wanna go eat?

We met down on the corner of 3^rd St. and 1^st Ave. As soon as I walked up to him, I knew something had changed. He didn’t hug me, kiss me, grope me, nothing. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his holey T-shirt.

“Let’s go to Schiller’s,” he said. “They have very good brunch. Want to go there?”

“Sure,” I said.

As we walked, I told him about my last week at my old job; he told me about the latest at the hospital. It was one of those crushingly hot pre-summer days when you’re not exactly prepared for the heat—or anything else.

At brunch, we talked about stuff—books, good writing. He was argumentative, as usual, but he was also distant. Instead of being a supportive listener, which he had been known to do, he challenged me with everything I said. I was feeling too hot and too held at bay to be challenged. But it made me realize something—I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this at all. I didn’t want to be with someone who was hot and cold, and either argumentative and challenging me or keeping me at a distance.

As it often is, the deciding moment came when the bill came. He fished out the cash for his portion of the bill and I figured out the rest and put everything on my card. If he was sending a message, I was getting it.

Walking back toward the East Village, I stopped being so, well, available. I didn’t start any conversation, and when he asked me questions, I’d give him terse answers. The tables were turned. As I watched him struggle to engage me again, I thought to myself—and not for the first time—I can’t believe that fucking works. Sadly, being a cold bitch gets results.

But that’s not the kind of relationship I want. As we walked up Ludlow Street, I ran into a shop owner guy I knew in front of his store and started talking to him, becoming suddenly animated. #98 went into the store next door to buy a T-shirt. As I said good-bye to the shop owner, Kevin called. I gave him the lowdown in short phrases with suggestive tones.

“I’m with [#98]…We just had brunch,” I said flatly.

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, really.”

“Uh oh, not good?”

“Nope. Nothing doing. Nada. Zilch.”

#98 came toward the front of the store with his purchase.

“OK, well, I’ll give you a call in about ten minutes,” I said, turning animated again.

We left the store and I slipped back into silence. #98 put his arm around me. I saw my opening and took it.

“So, what are we? Are we friends or what?”

“I want to get in your pants,” he said.

Though it was crass, I still felt vaguely flattered. “Oh, well, that’s not what I’m looking for. I want a boyfriend. Why don’t you want a girlfriend?”

“I want a girlfriend…I’m waiting for something really special,” he said.

I experienced a dull thud somewhere inside.

“Oh, thanks, I feel flattered,” I said, feeling vastly unflattered.

“That’s very hard to find, what I’m looking for. It’s something really special.”

By now, we were walking at a fast clip up 1^st Avenue and had reached his apartment building. He stopped and I kept walking. Waving behind me, I said, smiling, “Have a nice day.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him blow a kiss.

Signs of Hope: He asked if I wanted to get brunch.

Red Flags: There could only have been more distance between us if he were physically thousands of miles away back in his Russian homeland.

Turning Point: When he told me he was looking for something special.

Diagnosis: For him: He’s not just unavailable, he's deluded. Maybe he did it intentionally. Maybe he was looking to close the door on anything real ever happening. Or maybe I'm giving him too much credit.

For me: Maybe I was the deluded one—by making the mistake of giving him another chance.