defense

Maybe I shouldn’t have had wine. Or maybe I shouldn’t have let him pay for my dinner. Maybe I should just never have dinner with boys at all. I definitely shouldn’t have gone up to see his place. But I just keep hoping that girls can be friends with boys and that I don’t have to play defense all the time.

He’s a friend of Prince Charming, but tonight he’s not saying his name. Only five months ago he stood there and told me he was sure we’d end up together-- that Prince Charming wasn’t ready now, but that it would work out.

“I don’t think you’re right,” I told him. “And I can’t just wait around for him.”

He spent dinner laughing at me, but now he’s sitting too close. I had mentioned my boy in Brooklyn, dropping “we” whenever I could. It seems so wrong that he’s touching my hair. I don’t like this anymore.

He leans in. I turn my cheek-- a kiss-dodge in the truest sense. I know something now. I wait a few minutes, make some excuses, hug him goodbye when he insists.

On the sidewalk, I try to catch my breath. Why do I let this happen? I feel tears behind my eyes, but hold them back and walk. I think about walking home. I don’t want to go home. I know it. I clutch my phone, send a text:

“At 59th street, trying to decide what train to take.”

I know it’s needy before I press send. But that’s what I am right now.

It’s late, but not too late. And I find what I need on a stoop in Brooklyn.


~beatrix

gyan

[B: I didn’t go to work and it might have been because I was sick and it might have been because I was hungover.
H: Haha. How was the date?]

I timed it perfectly, so when I got there, he was sitting at the bar, facing the door.
“You look lovely,” he told me.
That immediately became my compliment of choice.

[B: Really good. He was cute and really nice and we talked about things like puppies and we had drinks for over 3 hours.]

Somewhere near the end of my second glass of wine, he put his hand on mine. He narrowed his eyes, and said, “You’re cute.” I hate being called cute, but he says it and I don’t mind.

[B: And he kissed me, but I only let him kiss me a little.]

It was a good kiss. I wanted more, but after a few seconds, I turned my head and gave him my cheek.

[B: And then he walked me to my subway, and he let me wear his jacket.
H: Wow. Very cute. What does he do? Let me guess-- finance?
B: Hedgefund. He went to business school in ----. . . . I never thought I’d know so much about the quality of MBA programs, but I sort of do now.
H: How old is he?
B: 30, I think.
H: Good age. And he likes puppies.
B: Oh! And he has a plant!
H: Like, is it still alive?
B: For two years.
H: Shut up.
B: I know! Isn’t that cute?]

He tells me I have amazing eyes. He’s backlit, and it’s hard to see his face. I wish it wasn’t a work night.

[B: It’s not like we are serious after 3 hours.
H: Of course you are. You are practically engaged.
B: I have to meet his plant first.]


~beatrix

hugo's girlfriend

She wasn’t as pretty as I’d expected.

I’d been afraid he’d bring her along. I’d been so crazy about him for so long, it was almost like I was nervous about it out of habit. But it wasn’t so bad. And she wasn’t that pretty.

Two glasses of wine helped. It wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t that bad.

And sitting there, looking across the table at the two of them, I realized that what I was feeling wasn’t love or need or even lust, but jealousy.

And, for the five millionth time, I hope that I’ve never ever been in love at all. That when I see it I’ll know because it will be so different from anything else, and I’ll think, that, that is what I’ve been looking for.


~beatrix