Ok friends,
You know I’m down bad when I’m writing to you, directly in the Substack app. Not on a Google Doc where I can organize my thoughts and connect memories and emotions and add in Taylor Swift lyrics for dramatic flair.
But through the app, unedited, directly from my heart, to yours.
To set the scene: I’ve sunk myself into a navy couch. There’s a grey fuzzy throw on top of me. And a ginger tea sits on the table in front.
This is … the sixth place that I’ve stayed in over the past two months. And I am always haunted by what Hot F. said: “It is hard to picture a future with someone who doesn’t feel stable.”
I know that things are lost in translation with the Italians, and I know that he wasn’t calling me pazza. But having the freedom to get up and go, actually enjoying that freedom to get up and go, and not ever signing a long term lease - I understand why, men, aren’t exactly looking to make me their next long-term girlfriend.
If I’m being honest - I’m scared of getting bored. And now, I am reminded by Betty Draper who says, “Only boring people get bored.” Which, I wholeheartedly agree with.
The entirety of the past few years - I have equated: something stable = something boring. To be stable is to settle.
I’m a walking contradiction, I know this. I want freedom. I want adventure. But I also want someone there, or something there.
And I know it’s 8:52 on a Thursday evening, and I don’t have to figure out everything or anything - right this moment. I can use a shower steamer and listen to Gracie, and do a Summer Friday’s mask - because this life, and this adventure will still be waiting for me after.
I’m getting teary-eyed typing this to you.
After yet, another disagreement - to which I, yet AGAIN, told OFM “we shouldn’t talk anymore”. To which, I yet again CHANGED MY MIND (this is a habit of mine, you’ll see) - we ended up meeting for, probably one of my favourite hang-outs/meet-ups/non-dates that I’ve ever been on / had.
I met him at a bar around the corner from the both of us. I asked him to order me a martini. I forgot my ID, they wouldn’t let me in (Guys. I was so happy about this. I told the bouncer “I spend so much money on my skincare. Thank you.”).
He had to come outside and vouch for me. I couldn’t stop talking about how happy I was about getting ID’d for the next 20 minutes.
“You know what else? Before you got here - the guy next to me asked who the martini was for. “Your first ex-wife”? He tells me, with that mischievous grin.
I rolled my eyes. “You’d be so lucky.”
I drink my martinis. He drinks his Guinnesses. I start my apology tour.
“You both are acting a little silly.” My Aries friend tells me. “When we’re vulnerable, we’re scared. You hadn’t seen each other in four years, and all of these emotions came out. And now it’s becoming - “I don’t want to see you anymore” - which we all know, is the furthest thing from the truth.”
“I am crazy. I realize this.”
He shrugged, as if me telling him I never want to speak to him again, is a regular occurrence. Which, in fact, it is.
“So. You’re not going to Rome next week then?”
“No.” I never was planning on it, but he doesn’t need to know that. Sometimes I like to add a little dramatic flair to my messages. Lol.
“Well. I’m happy you decided to stay.”
I drunkingly rest my head on his shoulder. Home.
“Me too.”
The Leafs score. I pretend to care. I tell him that a bird pooped on me while I was shopping yesterday.
He rubs the material of my new black top in between his fingers. “Must be a good luck shirt then.”
The last time a bird pooped on me, the universe also gifted me with an impromptu date. (See: this newsletter).
We drink some more. I missed these espresso martinis.
He asks me if I’m hungry. I point to the cheeseburger spring rolls. He smiles. “What a choice.”
The cheeseburger spring rolls and his chicken tacos come. What a perfect, drunk combination.
“You did everything right, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Leave. Explore. Travel. Write. I’m jealous of your ability to set up shop wherever you feel inspired.”
The game finishes. The live band starts. He gets us two seats at the front.
It’s one of my favourite things. Being spontaneous. People put so much emphasis on planning dates so far ahead in the future. But I say - if not now, then when?
The band starts. This is the first time me and him have been out in a crowd, in god knows, how long. And there’s subtle differences in the way you act around each other - from being in an empty bar, in your apartment, and then being in a crowd.
I have to push myself to be more myself in public settings, where with OFM, it comes naturally to him.
We fall back into our usual pattern. Grabbing each other’s hands from across the table. “Thumb war?” I ask him. He doesn’t even let me win.
Everyone around us starts dancing. He goes to grab us more drinks, and comes over to where I’m sitting. Someone else has taken his chair, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I missed him in the 3 minutes he was gone.
I wrap my arms around his neck. His arms are around my waist. The band is playing a cover of Justin Bieber’s Sorry. We drunkingly sway beside the other bodies.
In between us singing along, we catch each other’s eyes and smile. I’m giggling. I’m happy. I’m so happy.
“I have a crush on you.” I tell him. It’s innocent, it’s sweet, and it’s the truth. In this moment - I am unafraid of rejection, and unaware of everything else that’s going on at this crowded bar.
He pulls me in close and squeezes me tighter.
“I’ve had a crush on you for the past 8 years.”