i am not dating this summer

Friends,

I turn 32 in 3 days. And I’m not doing anything big or revolutionary or exciting - other than celebrating myself.

Here is my event line up: a facial, a massage, red-light therapy, a hair toner refresh, and a blowout. I can’t even bring myself to make social plans on the day of. I’ve changed. And there’s something about this year that makes me just want to come home to myself.

I’ve been painting in the evenings a lot. I light a candle (Earl of East’s Greenhouse), rotate from listening to Ariana’s Warm or Twilight Zone, and just paint. It started with cherry tomatoes, then roses, and next up are lilies of the valley.

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There’s this theory - that when two people’s story is finished - they will never run into each other again. When the karmic lesson or soul contract is complete - the universe will make sure that those souls never cross.

This is what I thought was going to happen between me and OFM. I thought (even though we live in close proximity) - I would never run into him again. After that snowy night in January, after the tears, the martinis, the Plan B mishap and pregnancy scare - I truly thought - this is it for us. That after eight years, our story finally had an ending. Which, in fact, inspired tattooed Maroon lyrics, “i wake with your memory over me.”

I haven’t seen him in six months. And this is coming from two people who would leave the house, every other day in the fall, and run into each other by chance on the street. And sometimes, we’d run into each other in a completely different neighbourhood, on a random Wednesday.

I had this feeling that he went away somewhere. That he finally moved, somewhere warmer, like he had always talked about. The curtains to his apartment were always drawn, and the anxiety of our run-ins had subsided. But it wasn’t until last week, when I saw - (do not judge me - he lives right next to my grocery store, and his apartment in my direct eyesight) that his curtains were open.

Immediately, I felt a chill. A chill, butterflies, a lump in my throat.

I text my best friend. “I think he’s back. From wherever he was.”

And where was he, exactly?

I have a theory.

“Compassion, Emily. I want you to have compassion. I want you to listen more, and talk less.” My spiritual healer tells me. She called me, completely by chance the evening I had a feeling he was back in the city, and I didn’t call her back right away - because I knew. I knew what she was going to tell me.

The day after his curtains opened, I was on my usual route. Walking by the bars on the corner, the park, the office buildings and the plethora of condominiums and lofts.

A few blocks ahead, I see a figure facing my direction. A male figure, over 6 ft tall. With a navy blue Leafs cap on. A navy blue t-shirt. Lululemon joggers. White sneakers. A build that is all too familiar. He’s on the phone, but looking straight at me.

I breathe.

And I make a left.

I’m not ready yet.