I do.

Don’t be sneaky, get down on one knee. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot and there’s no non-awkward way of saying this but here goes it..I was dating someone else pretty casually before you and I hung out and since him and I are not committed I felt like it was ok to date others. Now things seem to be progressing a little and I’m feeling uncomfortable about seeing two people at once. I had a great time with you, think you are great and am pretty sure that we would have a good time if we went out again but I’m feeling uneasy. I don’t think it’s fair and I also don’t feel like being sneaky.”

I read the email for the third time, shut the computer down and walk around the cottage I’m staying in. I look out the window. July in Upstate New York. In South Africa, Holland is playing Spain in the World Cup final. Here, the sun’s rays reflect on the river and I move my sunglasses from the top of my head to the bridge of my nose.

One deep breath.

I take 2 strides towards the laptop. I open it up, switch it on. On to my emails.

“I don’t think it’s fair and I don’t feel like being sneaky.”

I hit reply and type “Don’t feel like being sneaky, huh? You fucking”

I hit the backspace button until the page is blank again.

I move on to the next email. It’s Andrew. The subject reads “An invitation to my new performance. Just for friends and family. Norwood Club tomorrow.”

I open my web browser and type in world cup 2010. The same message comes up: Internet connection failed.

The next day, I’m standing in front of the Norwood Club on 14th street in Manhattan.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Antoine. “Did you catch the game yesterday?” “No, I missed the whole thing, no Internet connection where I was, well, a slow one anyway. So what are you up to?”

Antoine says “I was going to ask you the same thing. I’m about to get off work and get a beer at Art Bar.

“Art bar? That’s right next to where I am.”

“Then join me!”

“Nah, I can’t, I committed to going to this performance a friend is putting on.”

“Who are you going with?”

“No one. Actually, my friend who’s performing is the only person I know. To be honest, I’m not crazy about the idea.”

“So don’t go and come join me.”

“Nah, I committed. I’m going.”

Inside the Norwood Club, I’m sitting at the bar and there are two empty stools to my left. I order a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. The bartender is wearing a fedora hat, a vest and tattoos cover both his arms. From the corner of my eye, a silhouette walks in and moves toward me. I don’t move, straining my eye to see who it is. She sits in one of the empty stools, not the one directly next to me. She has dark hair that she pushes back as she sits down. She orders a dirty martini. I bring my glass to my mouth. It’s empty. I order another. I look to my left and take in her black and white top.

In three gulps, my glass is finished. I move my hips to the left, turning my head next, and as my lips part, a man comes over to the bar and says, over the loud music playing in the entire space:

“If you are here to see the Guy Gaylord performance, please come up to the theater space on the top floor!

She finishes her drink and orders another. I get up and move towards the elevator.

In the performance space, a man comes toward me.

“Jerome!”

I look at him and say “Bernard! Wow, how long has it been?”

We sit down in the third row and continue chatting as the space fills up.

My left eye catches the black and white silhouette. She moves to the third row, looks around. I look around me. The space is full except for one seat to my right. She sees it and moves toward it. As she passes me, her foot catches mine and she stabilizes herself by putting her right hand on my right shoulder. My stomach churns audibly. She smiles and sits down.

Andrew arrives on stage. An hour later, the piece ends.

Bernard turns to me and says something and I turn away from him and to my right and I say to her “So how do you know Andrew?” Bernard gets up and leaves.

Her name is Kai and she lives in Chelsea. She met Andrew at MoMA. She’s an artist. She’s reading a book that features my home town in France. I take her card, she takes mine.

Three years later,

Kai and I are in Central Park after a day spent at the Natural History Museum. We are on our way to a couples massage.

“It’s nice to have a day to ourselves during the week, isn’t it?” she says. The sun is reflecting off of her sunglasses.

After our massage, we head back to our apartment in Brooklyn. We are sitting on the couch and she asks me “What are you thinking about?” and I say “you know, when i was sitting in that sauna in the locker room at the massage place, I was really thinking we should just do it, we should just get married.” And she says “oh that’s nice, yeah.”

I sat upright and said “No I mean it, we should do it.”

She says, “I know we should, we’ve been talking about it.”

And that’s when I say:

“What do I need to do, get down on one knee?!?”

And she replies right away: “Hell yeah, that’s what you need to do! Get down on one knee!”

So I do.