The Big Email

Big showed up on email today. There he was in my inbox, subject “hello”. I had finally gotten myself into a space where I no longer scanned my inbox every morning for the sight of his name, trying to fool myself I wasn’t looking but knowing perfectly well I was looking with microscopic detail. Murphy’s Law, life starts to go back to normal, you’ve settled your demons and the demon shows up in your inbox.

Short and sweet, he’s coming back to town today, how about dinner? What is it with me, the man leaves my house 3 weeks ago, leaving me standing here wondering if I will ever see him again, not a word of correspondence for 3 weeks and here I am ready to implode with glee at one email? My one pathetic email I sent to him in a moment of weakness went unanswered and I am now insanely happy he’s written me 3 lines, let alone wants to see me! Someone whack me with a sledgehammer now please!

Did I mention I have a date with Bankman tonight? We made this date days ago, picnic on the beach, wine, cheese, sunset and just bursting with romance and all I can think is Big is back in town. Fingers’ working on its own impetus off goes an email, dinner, OF COURSE. A text message, dinner, SURE. Another text, dinner tonight, ABSOLUTELY? I’m a moron, an absolute and total female idiot. So much for coy and unattainable…

So, now I have 2 dates for tonight. I consult the two ex boyfriends via instant messenger and ACman in France on what to say to Bankman. Why on earth I’m asking a man I’m technically dating for advice on another man is for another day, let alone the exes. All say, tell him the truth. I secretly think they’ve all got an agenda to rid the planet of another member of the Vida fan club. I ignore all three of them, and send Bankman a text, lamely saying that a “friend” just came into town and could we rain check. My conscience is killing me. He texts back that it’s fine. WHY did he have to be so darn understanding and such a nice man!?! Here I have on one hand, Bankman: Cute, beautiful body, great eyes, successful, considerate, romantic, anything and everything a girl could want and then there’s Big, who is essentially a younger Chris Noth with a smaller nose and who doesn’t give a hoot if I exist and tells me he has no “special” feelings for me. I know I should kick him in the nuts and tell him to head to middle earth… I know.

Reality, my conscience is still killing me about Bankman, I’m too honest for my own good. I send him a text saying I HAVE TO meet him. Meet me he does, looking so fresh and sweet, with his gorgeous big smile, and I want to die! Repeat to oneself, stupid-stupid-stupid woman. Sigh. On a little park bench surrounded by a babbling brook, blooming flowers and shady trees (thankfully it isn’t the perfect romantic spot as he’s being eaten by mosquitoes) I re-affirm that I am not looking for a relationship (unless you’re BIG), want to date casually (unless you’re BIG) and need to keep my emotions in check to focus on myself (unless you’re BIG). Of course, he perfectly understands, thinks I am an amazing woman, thinks we have great chemistry, and it’s fine to date casually (please make him stop). Here’s the kicker, he stands up saying “I thought you were asking me here to tell me that a man you’re dating is flying into town and I was going to tell you that was OK” (weak laughter emanates from me, I am sure someone up there is laughing). We do the awkward kiss good bye, and I slink back to my car feeling like a void needs to open up and send ME to middle earth.

However, I am seeing Big in two hours (cue violins and pretty little birds) and I need to find that perfect casual, just threw on, dead sexy, very wholesome outfit. The closet is a battlefield; I throw everything in the room inside and slam the door shut. Straighten the bed because I so want him in there! Music and lights, but not too planned because heavens I’m not expecting him to stay the night. I’m making myself ill. Perfect outfit on I stalk the house maniacally, then settle down on the laptop refusing to look at the clock because I know he will be late. I surreptitiously glance at my mobile in case he sent a text. Uuuuuuuuugh, I know he hasn’t why did I look?! Doorbell rings, heart stops, stand up, compose and skip down stairs nonchalantly. There he is, my devil incarnate, bouquet of flowers in hand, goofy grin and absolutely adorable. How can I not melt, he brought me flowers!!! We kiss and the fireworks are exploding in my head, this man drives me crazy, my knees threaten to buckle, my heart pounds and my hormones are, are, are everywhere. I just want to throw him into bed but a moment of sanity snaps me back to reality and I re-assume the cool, composed, completely in control Vida who insists we need to put the flowers in water.

We walk down the seawall hand in hand, arm in arm, seals bob in and out, the sun starts to settle into twilight, happy couples and families stroll by, we stop periodically to gaze at the perfection, kiss, slow dance in the street, manifest the perfection of a couple in love. I am repeating to myself through my haze of euphoria the mantra that this is not real, embrace the moment and let it go, he has “NO SPECIAL FEELINGS FOR YOU”. Dinner is fabulous; we talk through, laughter and excitement bubbling in and out over a pitcher of sangria. We lopsidedly make our way out, giggling like children and hail a cab home where we dive onto each other in the foyer, in the hall, on the steps, clothes flying and passion igniting a trail to the bed. Later (much later) his arms wrapped around me he strokes my hair, nuzzles my neck and kisses me good night and I want to cry. How can this not be real? How can he not feel this? How can something so beautiful to me be nothing to him? I don’t sleep a wink and the next morning he gets up and leaves, no plans, no commitments, I smile and say good-bye, friends with benefits, a monster of my making. Readers, I know, I know, I know, it’s all wrong and I am fooling myself, but I can’t let go, I need Oprah, Dr. Phil, Deepak Chopra, or just a copy of “He’s Really Not That Into You” rammed into my skull.