"Why would you do that?"
"Because I want to. I know you want me to. And then we can have a good date without worrying about the whole kissing thing at the end."
Something different. Someone who didn't follow rules. A guy who took charge, made a plan, and didn't take no for an answer. We decided the date would be January 1st. If things worked out, we'd be able to look back fondly on how our relationship and 2010 started. If things went poorly, the year could only get better, right?
I remember I wore a mini skirt, sweater, cowboy boots, and a red ski jacket. He smiled as I approached. And then, as promised, he in his 6'4" solidity took me and kissed me. A wonderful kiss. I nearly popped my booted foot.
Eight hours and too many beers for him to drive back to Long Island later, I offered my couch to him so the date didn't have to come to a halt ending with him sleeping in his car. We stayed out three more hours laughing, talking, and occasionally sneaking a kiss or five. He commented on his love for my red jacket - subtle yet forcing me to be the center of attention in that crowded bar. Back at my apartment after closing all the establishments in the area of the city that never sleeps, I fitted him on the same couch he would come be very comfortable on. The next morning we got up, and I tried my hand at breakfast. He was nice about my atrocity and offered to cook me dinner later in the week at his place. We watched a movie, did a little cuddling, and eventually decided to end the date on a high rather than get sick of each other over dinner.
Over the next few weeks and months, we were in touch most days and saw each other a couple times a week. We watched much of the final season of "Lost" together discussing the intricacies of the conspiracy theories. He spent many weekends upstate playing rugby, but we grew closer and closer. We talked about meeting each other's families and were excited to introduce one another to the friends - though we were taking things at a good pace. The physical chemistry between the two of us was absolutely off the charts. Never before or since have I been so drawn to or excited by a man.
Our relationship was fun. It was intelligent. It was close but not next door. We were on the same page on so many levels. And we started to feel. I started to feel. For the first time these feelings didn't push me to run to France or Atlantic City or to throw my phone off the GWB (a recurring threat of mine when people get too close too fast for my comfort level).
One of his rugby weekends ended with a phone call: "We have to talk." Silly me, I thought people only said that in movies. He had run into his 22-year-old ex -- the one who he broke up with because she was in college and moved into his apartment without asking after being kicked out of the dorm and disowned by her parents for being a pothead and all-around mess. He guessed he wasn't as over her as he thought, and I had no interest in competing with any of that. Though Mr. Rugby wanted me to. He wanted me to fight for my man. He wanted me to tell him how much better I was. Unfortunately, that's not my style.
A month later he asked me for another date. We went to the same bar where we ended New Year's Day. He told me he quit his job, cashed in his 401k, and would be heading to Europe to backpack and find himself. He begged me to go with him. I was taken aback. I love to run away too. I love Europe as well. And I know we'd have a blast running away from it all. But I also was not his 22-year-old girl. I had responsibilities that I couldn't up and leave on a whim... certainly not for a man.
He went to Europe at the end of August. He sent me emails and texts regularly. He kept me abreast of his schedule and never stopped asking me to come join him. "Even for a week?" he'd ask. I'd remind him that he had dumped me for an ex. I'd tell him I couldn't run off in a flurry of emotions and lust for a guy who was trying to find himself. He said he understood, but he never stopped his attempts at getting me to go over.
And I never stopped being torn. I would tell The Constant of my dilemma. He even offered once to pay for the flight. The Suzz, however, reminded me of the hastiness of flying off to Europe for a boy. They were the cartoonish devil and angel on my shoulders though I'm not sure which was which. I blamed my pocketbook and stayed in the comforts of NYC.
Earlier this year The Rugby Player called me. I got fluttery when his named popped up but let it go to voicemail. When I called him back, we stepped into conversation as though no time had passed. We talked about Europe. We talked about the intense connection we had shared. I went out on a limb...
"When can we get together? I miss you."
"I miss you too. So much. But I'm seeing someone."
My heart sank. I had no words.
"Actually that's part of the reason I called you. She's older and has kids. I often feel like I'm playing the babysitter. It's very real, and it makes me miss the simple fun I had with you."
"So you called because I'm the fun?"
"I mean... I guess? It's just that I could always be myself with you. You never pressed for too much too fast. You were never needy. You were the perfect girl to date. You're just so fun."
That was the last time we talked. He asked if we could still be friends. I told him I had plenty of friends. I got off the phone and cried.
Earlier tonight I picked up my laundry to find they had switched detergent. It smelled of The Rugby Player. I was instantly taken back to his little apartment on Long Island, cuddled up to his beefy arms watching "Lost" and "A Bronx Tale," eating gravy and Long John Silver's. And I smiled.
I will always wonder how different things would be had I hopped a flight to Prague.
