Cupcakes and Indie Rock: Part I
When I was dating and found someone I was meeting to not be totally repulsive, I would shrug and tell them, “I think you’re really great.” and both times I said it, their reply was:
“You’re pretty cool.”
And I was. I was wearing a persona of a cool chill shruggy girl. I was low maintenance and said, “no worries” a lot. I would intentionally not say half of the shit I wanted to in order to keep up an image that I was unattached and any traces of a heart that I may have had died in last years’ first frost; I said a few more times than I can count that my feeling box was filled with curse words and cobwebs. I was under the impression that I could not have feelings and needs and, you know, a real sustainable personality and also be someone worth spending time with and on.
I was wrong.
Also, I am not actually a chill cool shruggy girl.
I’m a real human girl.
A month and a half ago, a guy I had previously matched with on Tinder messaged me on Instagram (this fucking generation, am I right?) saying that we had exchanged a rather uninspiring conversation last fall but remembered me and despite the weirdness of him reaching out, I agreed to be his friend. We got to know one another over memes and puppy pictures and loving Kayne.
The second time we hung out, I was feeling sick and made camp on his sofa, “You really lucked out that we didn’t hit it off on Tinder. This is the best Jerah.” I told him without looking away from the TV; I was wearing yoga pants and a pull over, tucked under two blankets. My hair was wet and soaking the arm of his couch. He didn’t say anything in response, just asked if I wanted to watch another episode of Bob’s burgers and my answer is always yes. I left his home 11 hours after I arrived and never once felt as though my presence was somehow inconvenient.
I warned him after the third time we met up that I was a consuming friend. None of my friends argue when I say this, but they don’t seem to mind it. He said, “You be you.” so I invited him to go rock climbing; It was the only reasonable response I could think of.
The last time we hung out, I was in hiding. My phone was on do not disturb for an entire Wednesday. He bought me Swedish Fish and halfway through The Lego Movie I sat up and said, “I think I want to nap instead.” “Okay, that’s fine.” he said, untangling his fingers from my hair. I laid down sideways on top of the comforter on his bed and fell asleep looking out of his open window. When I woke up 3 hours later, he was next to me, reading Hemmingway by the light of a single dimly lit bedside lamp; “I feel much better. I think I want ice cream.” So naturally, we had ice cream for dinner.
“Jer. I know this is ridiculous because I have seen you 6 out of the last 7 days, it is so ridiculous…but would you like to go on a date on Tuesday? With me.”
“I haven’t seen you on a Tuesday yet.” I grinned.
For the first time in 4 months, I agreed to an actual date with a real boy. He kissed me in his kitchen and I didn’t shrink three sizes; “I think you’re really great,” I told him quietly while sipping the La Croix he keeps in his fridge for me, “You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know, that is how I feel.” And I flinched when he took a breath to speak, expecting the same sarcastic response I’ve always gotten in return to such a genuine compliment.
The moment was not ruined by a half hearted quip.
“I really like you.”
