September 30, 2019

The Last Tinder Date: Chapter 4

It's been a while, hasn't it? I've been busy dealing with things. You know... the "I'm almost turning 30" type of things. And if you don't know what those things are, you'll find out soon enough. You can't escape them.

 

Our weekend together went like a flash. Like the moth you didn't realize flew into your living room light until you heard it sizzling while watching a rerun of Two and a Half Men. Just like that, it was basically over.

 

I hadn't seen him in a month, and the last time I saw him was our first date. Did I think he was going to come to fly to see me for the weekend? Fuck, no. I'd been thrown to the trash so many times, I didn't believe anyone with a penis. I figured the testicles were are where men hide their lies.

 

But Nate was different.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't roll your eyes at me; I can see you do it through the fucking screen. Whatever - sure, it's a little cheesy, but what can I say? It's the truth.

 

I arrived at the airport, wearing my flower embroidered jeans, a boiled grey wool coat, and a scarf that hasn't been washed since the emancipation of Mariah Carey. At the moment, I thought I looked stylish; you know, modelesque grunge. In hindsight, I was giving off strong potato farmer vibes. But there's something about potatoes that are comforting, so I'll take it.

 

I stood at the arrival gate waiting for him, anxiously biting the skin around my fingernails. Is he going to like me? Does he remember what I even look like? When he walked through the arrival doors, I tried to pull together my memory of him, but the reality is, I only knew him over the phone. Holy shit, it's really him. He dropped his luggage, wrapped his arms around me, giving me a warm kiss.

 

It was a weird kiss. I mean, the kiss itself was good, but it felt foreign. Were those lips I once kissed? I grabbed his bags and walked towards the rental car. "I can carry them," he said while he tried to grab the handle, but I continued to pull his luggage, lifting my arms slightly so the air could dry up the sweat dripping down my armpits.

 

"I'm so excited you're here; can't wait to see our Airbnb," I said awkwardly. I looked up at the sky and suddenly began to pray. Please god, I know I haven't been a believer, but pleaseeee help me, please, please, please. Do you fucking hear me? I sound tragic; I'll go to church I swear, I'll join the choir, just pleaaaase help me.

 

I placed his luggage into the trunk and got into the passenger seat. Who is this guy? I mean, I know him; we've spoken every day for the past month, but he felt alien to me.

 

"I'm sorry, I uh--" I said nervously, my leg jiggling up and down.

 

"I know," he interrupted as he turned on the engine, "it's a little weird to even be next to you after all this time apart."

 

"Yeah, I mean, we've talked for hours every day, but I don't know how to touch you, you know what I mean? It feels off to me."

 

"I know," he hesitated and turned the engine off, "I feel the same too. Let's just, uh, take it slow and get to know each other again. Does that sound okay?"

 

I looked at him with dazed eyes, as if I entered into the realm of the unknown. Is that okay? What? Am I in a Jewish chick flick? No guy says that anymore - are we in the 90s? Drew Barrymore - are you there?

 

"Uh, yeah," as I nodded in agreement, "that sounds," I smiled, "it sounds like a good idea."

 

The rest of the weekend was spent sitting on the couch, watching movies, and, eating spaghetti in our underwear. I told him about my deaf dog, my father's love of mayonnaise, and how I hate pants. He told me about his Jewish-Moroccan childhood, his coca-cola addiction, and the need for his socks to match his shoes. We were complete opposites, but maybe that was better.

 

When the end of the weekend came, we sat next to each other on the couch of our Airbnb, waiting to give the keys back to the host.

 

"Listen, I want to give us a try, I haven't felt this connection with anyone else before," he said, holding my hand, "but it's not going to be easy being with me, you need to know that. If it's not for you, it's better we end things before they begin."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"You know, me being Jewish - it's not going to be easy. Not everyone is ready to handle something like this. Being Jewish...it's, uh, well, being Jewish is hard."

 

"Yeah, I know."

 

But I didn't know; I had no idea what he meant.

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