Intense, bright, and bold are words I would use to describe myself. I’d also add honest, giving and fair. But the combination of Reindeer’s waning affection and my feelings of neglect have me en route to the West Village to meet Super Smarty (Post 89) for a drink (I’ll be enjoying a club soda with lime).
For a few seconds I stand outside the bar debating if this is cheating or keeping my options open as I fear the Reindeer tide is changing. And as someone who was cheated on (Post 3), I’m trying to put myself in Reindeer’s shoes. What would he say if he found out? Then again, I had to pry Reindeer’s birthday plans out of him. And never mind that I spent weeks planning a surprise eating and walking architecture tour that concluded with a restaurant SPECIALLY making Reindeer’s favorite osso bucco. And I went ALL the way downtown to Chelsea (over 160 blocks and 45 minutes on the subway) to buy BEAUTIFUL red and brown vases to go with the décor of his living room. What a jerk!
Inside the bar I spot Super Smarty who is wearing a button-down and jeans. He sees me, smiles and comes over to my side. “Hi, any trouble in finding the place?” he asks. He’s sweet to inquire, but I’d have to be brain dead not to find something RIGHT on 8th Avenue and reply, “Nope, not at all. You picked a cute place!” He seems genuinely validated.
We chat and I find him really, truly, super, duper, incredibly nice. But I CANNOT stop thinking about Reindeer and begin to regret meeting Super Smarty tonight. I go on to realize that I am pretty much officially falling head over heels for Reindeer. And, once and for all I decide, it’s Reindeer or bust.
* * *
The next morning, Reindeer’s birthday, I call to wish him a happy birthday. When I go immediately into Reindeer’s voicemail I force the panic from my heart and leave an upbeat message. He HAD to have known I would call. So why would he turn his phone off? With dread I hang up knowing this Reindeer “relationship” is all kinds of wrong and about to become a hot mess.
Because I have to avoid falling into my girl habit of over-thinking every detail of every call and date we had, I call my parents who are the PERFECT distraction. My mom never listens to me and answers questions I don’t ask. Want an example? I will ask my mother what color the sky is. She will reply 12. And Dad? Yea, he likes to tell long-winded stories I barely care about. But their endearing idiosyncrasies are EXACTLY what I need right now so I feel connected to something. “Guess what?” Dad says. “What?” I ask, bracing for a 20-minute conversation. “I am coming to visit you in two weeks. I booked my ticket!” Dad announces.
Clearly, God has a VERY twisted sense of humor. With my love life crashing in all around me, the last thing I need is a house guest. Aiy!