Love and iPhones, Lost and Found

I meet him at the Apple store in SoHo, one of the busiest on the planet, where I’ve gone to buy a new phone. I lost mine, the night before, in a drunken stupor. He’s a Genius in one of those tell-tale blue shirts, and he looks to be around 30, my age, with blue eyes, buzzed blonde hair and the beginnings of a beard. Normally, I’d be looking at my phone, but I’ve lost mine, so I can’t help staring — he is that good-looking. Finally, the cute family he is helping walks off and we’re standing face-to-face, I discover, from the tag on his shirt, that his name is David. “How can I help you?” he asks, and our transaction begins.

When it comes to attractive men, my natural defense is to act like I don’t really see them and carry on with my business. I suppose this is a way to deflect possible rejection. Except on this day, I’m feeling so frazzled, and worried that I won’t make my flight to Wisconsin that evening to visit old friends, that I find myself telling David my story from the night before — drunken stupor, lost iPhone, difficulty producing my billing address for the folks at Apple since I’m on Daddy’s phone plan and he’s in Switzerland, etc. David seems especially interested in the “I went to every bar on the Lower East Side last night” part of the story. All New Yorkers drink, I’m convinced, and from David’s expression, I can tell he’s amused in a good way.

Maybe that’s why, once I have my phone in hand, I joke “I hope all my dating apps don’t download in front of you because the number I have is super-embarrassing!” One of his Genius friends overhears this and mentions that David happens to be on Tinder. If I could have, I would have right-swiped him then. Instead, I register that we are both single and the real flirting kicks in. I mention that I’m in a rush because I’m flying to Wisconsin. He mentions that his parents live there. As he rings up my bill. I joke that we should exchange numbers since he is holding my phone in his hand. He agreeably types it in, I call his phone so he has my number and I’m off with a flirty smile. The object that caused this troublesome day is turning out to be my best wing man yet!

On Tuesday, after my weekend in Wisconsin, I text David Apple, which is the way I’ve stored him in my phone. We have a good back-and-forth only to realize that we are both on the same Southwest flight from LaGuardia going to Milwaukee for Thanksgiving, the following Monday. What are the chances!? Romantically, we decide on a first date at the airport bar. Over the next few days, we text desultorily. David is clearly playing it cool, and so am I, though I get a little thrill when he texts me exactly 24 hours before our flight to remind me to check-in so we can sit next to each other (Southwest happens to have open seating). I’m in disbelief about the sequence of events, primarily because I can’t remember the last time I went on a date with someone I didn’t meet online.

By Monday evening, I realize I no longer have a clear sense of what David looks like — just a fuzzy picture of a cute guy in a blue Apple shirt. One advantage of online dating is that you always have a photo to double check before you meet in person. Once I get through airport security, I make for the bar and see one seat open at the corner with two handsome men on either side. David looks to be on the left, in a calculatedly stylish outfit that gives him a lot more Brooklyn flare than his Apple t-shirt. I like what I see.

We each have a few drinks when we both get texts notifying us that our flight is delayed. We agree that we should have dinner with our drinks since it will be a while before we get to Milwaukee. Soon, we’re laughing, brushing arms, and enjoying each other’s company. We ask for the bill and there’s an awkward conversation about who’s going to pay. We go Dutch. Our plane is boarding and we walk to the gate with a nice buzz on.

David offers to carry my bag and I decline — I can carry my own bag, I tell him. He grudgingly lets me have the window seat and as the plane takes off, we realize that we’ve got a whole row to ourselves.

I make friends with the flight attendant on a visit to the lavatory, after confessing to her that I’m having a first date on the plane. She loves this story and supplies us with free drinks for the rest of the flight. David tells me that he is 30 — I called it! — and new to New York. He’s half-Jewish and has older brothers. I am also half-Jewish with an older brother. These similarities, never mind the coinciding flight to Wisconsin, feel a little like Kismet to me. The conversation flows with the drinks, and before the long, we’re making-out and laughing about this unusual first date we’re on.

Maybe it’s the kissing or just that I’m really starting to like him, but I let David carry my bag off the plane. Let’s just say I haven’t always chosen well in the past and I have trouble trusting men, so this is a big step for me. David’s dad turns out to be waiting at the top of the gangway, and since David has my bag, I can’t just slip away as I probably would have (a first date is way too early to meet someone’s father, plus I haven’t met a boyfriend’s family since high school). Instead, David introduces me as his “friend from New York” and we walk to baggage claim, a cozy threesome. After a quick, awkward goodbye, I hit the taxi line and we immediately start texting. We don’t manage to see each other in Wisconsin, but agree to hangout in New York the Friday we’re both back.

Except once we’re in New York, the tenor of his texts changes — I have to initiate each time, and there are longer pauses between responses. The high of our “cute meet” may be wearing off, and I worry that he’ll cancel our Friday get-together. I am relieved when he shows up at my local bar, where I’m drinking with friends, one of whom is visiting from Milwaukee and is staying with me that night. I can tell he likes my friends. I like him so much that, when my friend hits it off with another guy and goes home with him, David comes home with me. It all works out very nicely.

We have a great night of hooking up and I’m very excited about where this could go. I was the first of my friends to join the online dating world, but I am the last to have a serious relationship. I tend to keep things casual, while I secretly long for something more. Commitment scares me. My only real relationship was in high school with a guy who cheated on me a lot. But after six years of online dating, I’m tired of the game, tired of casualness, and excited about meeting someone IRL.

I believe that the two weeks following a hookup are indicative of how a relationship will unfold. If you see each other a lot, it can turn into real dating. Only I don’t see David the first week, or the second. Not that I don’t try, wearing out the keys on my new iPhone fast. Finally, a bit more than two weeks after our night together, he texts me, late and last minute. I’m a booty call, a little disheartening, but I tell myself I’m OK with it. Maybe if I play it cool, he can go as my date to the five weddings on my calendar this summer.

We have a long night of great sex, and in the morning, I decide to call in sick to work so we can hang out. In between sex sessions, I sneak a few texts to my friends — “OMG David is still here!” David ignores his phone and I can’t decide if this is a compliment or a glimpse into how he is with technology — that he mostly ignores it, which is why he takes his time responding to my texts.

The next week, I leave for Switzerland to visit my dad for Christmas. I vow not to stress about whether or not I hear from David, to simply enjoy Europe. Unfortunately, I have a UTI from our hot day-‘o-sex so he’s hard to forget, especially when I don’t hear anything — no texts, no emails, other than a brief mention that he’s someone’s date at a New Year’s Eve wedding, which almost ruins my own New Year’s Eve. This is when a Sex and the City writer would interject, “He’s just not that into you.” But, I’m more into him than ever.

Once I’m back in New York, David and I get in touch but just like before, I’m always the one to initiate, and it’s starting to feel pathetic. To get my mind off of David, I decide to go out with someone else, a guy named Matt from OKCupid. We’ve been talking online for months now. His OKCupid username is MidnightPretzels, which is how I’ve saved him in phone — Matt MidnightPretzels — and I am now trying to juggle texts and plans between David Apple and Matt MidnightPretzels. (It isn’t actually that hard, since only Matt makes plans with me, for a Friday night.) The night before my date, on a rare evening when I’m at home and in bed early, asleep, David texts and calls. Luckily, I wake up in the middle of the night and instantly check my phone. I text him back, he’s awake and soon, we’re talking. Apparently, he was in my neighborhood and wanted to drop by — another booty call. Instead of playing hard to get, I tell him he should have –“You know where I live” — and we both go to sleep, no future plans made. It seems he only wants me when he wants me.

The next night, excited about my date with Matt (mainly because I’m still into David, and I feel like I’m going to beat him at his own game), Matt and I meet at a new mixology bar. Soon, we’re making out in a booth — apparently I’m in a public make out phase of life. Except when Matt heads to the bathroom, I immediately text David some emojis to make sure he’s still thinking about me. Girls can be players, too. David responds right away so I know I’ve got his attention. Score one for me.

Matt comes back and we continue with our date, and our making out. I temporarily forget about David and Matt walks me home. I’ve intentionally left my apartment messy so as not to end up going back there with him, but my ploy doesn’t work. His ploy of walking me home does. I tell him he can come in for a little while, but no funny business.

Cut to the funny business. Matt and I are hooking up on my couch, grooving on the sexual tension that can only come from months of texting. I never abide by the rules that women should hold out for sex, and I don’t this time, either. Perhaps that’s why I’m still single.

At 4:30 am, Matt and I are still on the couch, my phone rings and I can see that it’s David Apple. He calls three times in a row, and I ignore the call each time. At 5am there’s a knock on my door. It has to be David.

I live in a very small studio with thin walls. The music is pulsing through my speakers — David must know I am home. So I tell Matt that David is my ex, that he is a little crazy and I ask him to hide in my bathroom. He abides. I open the door to tell David to go away, my messy hair and smeared lipstick a dead giveaway that I haven’t merely been sleeping. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “You invited me, remember? You said I should come by whenever I’m in the neighborhood.” Oh, I guess I did. But I didn’t think that would be the very next night! He leaves with a smile on his face, almost as if he’s impressed that I’m not a girl who is sitting around waiting. I’ve beaten him at his own game.

Or, more accurately, beaten myself. I wish David were here, and not Matt, who is now back on the couch, looking as if he is dozing off. I go into the bathroom with my iPhone, and send David two emojis. With technology today, even the shortest of relationships never really end. You can always send a text, and wait for that response, however long it takes. Unless, that is, you lose your iPhone.