After the epic first date weekend (is a first date weekend a thing? We made it a thing), we texted a little throughout our work day on the Monday after he’d left in the morning – which was day four of seeing each other. Somewhere in amongst everything I’d learnt about him, he’d said his days were super busy and super long so someone who could appreciate the “have a great day” sign off being the end of chit chat (as I’d done when we were making plans for our first date) was on his page.
Around 9.30pm on Monday he texted to see if I had time to chat. I was just climbing into bed (what can I say, I’m a granny when it comes to bedtimes) so he called and, what I thought was a 15 minute call, turned out to be over an hour when I checked as we hung up. He was easy to talk to and the time passed without me realising. He shared a lot about his day, and his business, and his goals, and his excitement surrounding it all. I liked hearing him so jazzed about everything that was happening.
On the call he brought up that he was a little concerned by how different we were in some respects. When I’d informed him that I eat the same thing for breakfast and lunch every weekday, because I often make poor diet decisions when I give myself choices, I knew he couldn’t get his head around that. And when I told him, in response to his burgeoning business plans, that I had no interest in running a business or being my own boss, but I still had my own goals and motivations, I think he worried that his lifestyle wouldn’t suit me. I assured him it wasn’t a concern for me and I admired people who were developing their lives in that way. It just wasn’t for me personally. We were definitely different in some ways, but none of them really concerned me at that point.
He asked if I wanted to do something with him on Tuesday night and, knowing how busy his week was, it was nice to see he was making time for me. At that point all I really wanted to do was hang out with him and talk more. I felt like every time we’d spent time together up to that point, whether it was lying in bed in the morning or of a drunken evening, we had learnt a lot about each other and I was pretty fascinated by him.
Tuesday ended up not going to plan and he didn’t get finished with work until after 9pm so he ended up just bringing food round to mine – day five of seeing each other – and he stayed the night – day six of seeing each other.
After some very early morning / middle of the night sex, which might just be my favourite kind, I went to the gym while he slept. Later, he walked me towards work, which was on his way home – it was all very convenient – and he took my hand. In the stark daylight of a Wednesday morning I asked if he was comfortable with that, he replied with “if you’re going to wake me up at 4am like that, then I’m definitely ok holding hands”. I wasn’t complaining about any of it.
A couple of blocks from my office a female voice from behind us, very brightly shouted “good morning!” I presumed, as I always do, that it couldn’t be someone that knew me so turned around expecting it to be a friend of his. It turned out to be one of my colleagues who was always interested in my latest and (sometimes not) greatest dating stories and she could not have been more delighted to see me walking hand in hand with a tall, hot brown guy. I did the dutiful introductions and just as we got to where he went left and we went straight, I presumed, similarly to the date on Friday night in Yaletown, that he wouldn’t kiss me. But no, he leaned in, kissed me, and wished me a good day. Needless to say the remainder of the walk to the office was me explaining the whole story to my colleague.
The crazy week continues. After saying goodbye on Wednesday morning, we went out to dinner on the Wednesday night to my favourite fried chicken place, and then he stayed til the Thursday morning – day seven of seeing each other. And then I saw him on Friday for a drink after work – day eight of seeing him.
Seeing someone every single day for eight days since our first date seemed crazy. I’d loved it… but it made me incredibly nervous. And honestly, I like myself, but I’m not sure even I’d choose to see myself for eight days straight, if I didn’t kind of have to, you know?
When he suggested the drink on Friday, a week since our first date, I at first said I couldn’t, I was going to meet a friend, which was true though I wasn’t going out until later. I was reluctant – I desperately felt like we needed to pump the breaks, cool it before we blew it, calmed the hell down. All of which I told him, but he asked me if I could squeeze in at least one drink before I met my friend, and honestly, I did want to see him, despite those nagging feelings, so I agreed.
Sitting out on a patio in the middle of downtown, I mentioned again to O that I was concerned about the flip side of us seeing each other so much was that he would change his mind and he would go in the other direction. I had no concern that it would be me. I knew I liked him, I knew I wanted to continue getting to know him. I knew my only concern came from my fear of getting comfortable with having him in my life and then having to learn to live without him.
He told me to get out of my head. He told me there was nothing to worry about. And he assured me my fears weren’t going to come about. He said “I don’t know what’s going on, I never want to text someone as much as I do with you, I’ve been thinking about you so much during the days, and I don’t know the last time I spent this amount of time with someone. And none of it feels weird with you. So I don’t know what’s happening but we’ll figure it out.”
I desperately wanted to not get in my own way of whatever this was or whatever it might become. I didn’t want my over-thinking to ruin something so fun. But going from zero to 100 so quick, I was struggling to see how this wasn’t going to end badly. I didn’t trust that it could continue – I mean, it couldn’t, no one could or should sustain seeing each other every day of the week. I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t get bored. I didn’t believe in fairytales.
Later that night, after our drink and after I’d long finished my catchup with my friend, he ended up coming to mine, it was actually more like early Saturday morning around 3am, when he finished work – day nine of us seeing each other. He’d suggested coming over when I’d seen him earlier and I’d said for him to call when he was finished and see if I was awake, though I kind of thought it would be earlier. As proven by the fact I didn’t put my phone on silent, god forbid I missed his call.
When he did call, unsurprisingly I wanted to see him, and the thought of falling asleep with him in my bed had quickly become much more appealing than the thought of falling asleep by myself. I don’t know how I got so comfortable, so quickly, sharing a bed with a 6’5 guy.
Saturday morning, I made us breakfast before we both went about our days and then on the Sunday night I went over to his and he cooked dinner for us – day ten of us seeing each other. It was only week two of us having Sunday dinner together but I already knew I would totally be ok with it becoming a weekly thing. Lord help me, was I already forming traditions in my head? I didn’t stay at his that night because I really wanted to try and start implementing some distance. A safe distance. As tempting as it was to climb into bed with him.
We didn’t see each other on the Monday, the first day since our first date we hadn’t seen each other. A whole ten days later… So I finally managed to carve out some distance. That’s not to say we didn’t text each other all day.
The distance was quickly reduced to zero again when on the Tuesday we went to the outdoor cinema in Stanley Park to watch Toy Story – a movie I’d actually never fully watched. It was something I had longed to do for a date since I first experienced the outdoor movies in the park in my first Summer in Vancouver. It’s such a perfect date night – laying in the park with the movie starting as the sun sets past the beach. It was especially perfect with O, he leant me his sweater that entirely drowned me and he made a great 6’5 pillow.
In a bid to try and keep things normal and not put all of my eggs in one O-shaped basket, I went on a date with someone else on the Wednesday night. The long and short of that date story is, it was terrible. And as soon as I was done, I texted O.
On Thursday he came and stayed again, once he was done with work and I was home from a night out with friends. On the Friday we worked from my bed until lunchtime. We both had the luxury of working from home when we wanted and it was perfect to be able to take advantage of it together. He went to get us coffee as I took an 8am call. Then I made us breakfast as he made a 10am call. It was very, very comfortable.
When he left at lunchtime, we weren’t sure when we’d see each other over the weekend but we said we’d figure it out. He had a basketball tournament all weekend and I had a day at the races with friend on Saturday but we thought either Saturday night depending what time the first day of the tournament finished, or Sunday once he was done with it. I had no problem with the lack of concrete plans. I hadn’t intended to have most of the plans we’d ended up with over the past two weeks but somehow they’d always been figured out.
I texted O in the morning to wish him luck but my Saturday was a whirlwind getting ready for the races and then an afternoon of drinking so when we finally sat down for dinner back in Yaletown around 7pm I realised it was strange I hadn’t heard from him. At all. Granted, he’d been playing basketball all day. Although not ALL day because tournaments don’t work like that. But I tried to calm the concern that came creeping in and instead reason with myself that this was just normal communication levels that I should expect.
He did reply later that evening, saying it had been a good day, his phone had been in his bag and he was staying out where the tournament was that night but would see me tomorrow. It was a short message and he didn’t ask about my day. Strange… But it was a message, so again, I tried to quiet my nagging mind.
I had assumed that as I didn’t see him on Saturday, we’d likely end up having dinner on the Sunday night, by the time he got back from the tournament, and given our two weeks young tradition… but what is it they say about assuming? Yeah, I’m an ass. I messaged him around lunchtime to ask what time he thought he’d be back. I was trying to plan my afternoon and you know how much I love knowing what I’m doing. He didn’t reply. I guessed his phone was in his bag again.
I went to the park to try and preoccupy myself and enjoy some sunbathing on the beautiful, sunny Sunday afternoon. But, as I found out, sunbathing solo doesn’t actually preoccupy your mind. It just allows for a tonne of time to go over every possible scenario that may explain why he’d been so absent that weekend.
It wasn’t event that he’d been THAT absent. If it had been any other two week old “relationship” I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. But this had been different. This was like float along on a high of communication and plans and consistency, and then falling off a fucking cliff. Granted, it had only been a day and a half since I’d seen him but… something didn’t feel right.
Why was it that I couldn’t just put it down to him playing basketball? Why couldn’t I just be chill about it? Why was I unable to just accept that it hadn’t even been 24 hours since I’d last heard from him, there was no reason to panic? Why was it that my gut was telling me something different?
Unfortunately, my gut had pretty much never been wrong before, gut feelings rarely are. But I so hoped that maybe, just possibly my gut was monumentally judging the situation wrongly…