Spontaneity and simplicity is incredibly sexy.
Wednesday. A perfectly mixed cocktail of excitement, nerves and fear pulsed through my body–a body whose shape has never been better. Perfect, some say.
A body that has yet to become acquainted with ‘A’, but whose mind is intrigued. I have never met a man like A. 33. Incredibly successful. Laidback. Funny. And doesn’t give anything away. Translation= I really have no idea how he feels. I met him through my bestest friend and ex, P, in New York. Upon meeting A, he suggested I stay with him for a month as nonchalantly as asking the time. Our first three interactions were comfortable and full of smiles. And then I returned to Puerto Rico.
Weeks of loneliness and disconnection and a remembrance of so many of the words that fill this blog, so many of the emotions that are highlighted in a double life. And I realized how much a catalyst a double life is for loneliness and here I was, facing it, yet again.
My first conversations with ‘A’ after leaving New York taught me that I would not relive the fibers of my past long distance romances.
This realization perhaps bore an apathy. And infrequent messages passed between A and I. I, as guilty, if not more than he. And then A texted, “I think about you constantly. I miss you.”
Tuesday, he bought me a ticket . . . so we could have dinner Wednesday before he left for Europe. $700 for a couple of hours. Practical, no? But oh how I love.
Perhaps the scenario should conjure images of dinner at Per Se. Dressed to the nines, Louboutins, Him, a suit and tie. My long hair cascading perfectly. But no . .
I arrived. To his apartment alone. Another houseguest. A college friend. A, the buddy and I, in my white tank, jeans, and leather Varvatos, go to a low-key dinner. We laugh, we enjoy–as if this is how it has always been. And I would have it no other way.
Sure, I long for his thoughts. I want him to tell me he is crazy about me. Give something away. Barely.
He does however, recant the words of his text and how great it is to think about me, how wonderful to anticipate. We will give “us” a go. I can fly every week. Wednesday through Friday so we can get to know each other–date. And those five minutes were as much as I received.
His flight the next morning seemed to magically not exist. The hours passed and his trip to the office and the plans I made, seemed to fade away. At 2pm he finally left. At 5pm, he was headed home to pack for his flight that evening. I returned at 7pm. TV, Pizza and the buddy. Hours melted into the evening. Sleep took me. And the next morning, A was still there. By my side. Hesitant to leave. No words were given.
And I can only wonder did A and the private jet wait 36 hours because of me. . . .