Running in circles: Zara pt. 1
I was out of my third half-year or so relationship in a row and browsing through Bumble once again. It was mid-November and getting colder. I always stuck to Bumble first because it seemed more serious and I’d had some success there. But eventually, I’d get through all the available matches. And when it was day after day of uninspiring matches on Bumble, I’d swallow my pride and try Tinder. There were a lot more people on Tinder, I just wasn’t sure they were really looking for what I was looking for.
After a week of swiping on Tinder, I came across Zara. This was the type of profile I had matched with where (much like the impossibly stunning Iranian sculptor I once matched with, in a story I’ll get to one day) she was so unbelievably gorgeous that it would be a miracle if we matched. And much like that stunning Iranian sculptor, later that day we did match.
Since we matched, now I could study her profile in full. I stared at it for quite a while. There were some stylish pictures of her sitting at cafes and pools that I couldn’t place as local. Then some more typical hiking pictures with spectacular vistas. And then some pictures of her mid-run in remote trail races. I was relieved that she’d put some more “roughing it” photos of herself where she didn’t look so glamorous. I thought it was very unpretentious and confident since she still looked completely breathtaking. At the same time though — wow those stylish photos were unbelievable. Laughing with friends, or just posing for a chic photo, she looked so natural and genuine. No Snapchat filters selfies where she took 400 and picked the best one. She was devastatingly beautiful and seemed fun and driven. I crossed my fingers that she’d respond to me.
I knew I had to message her something that stood out. More than a standard “Hey Zara. How’s it going?” (though I do like that one sometimes). Her profile said:
“My happy place is outdoors in nature — whether running, hiking, or just exploring the neighbourhood🏃🏻♀️👟🍃
I love a good coffee shop, puzzle, and pint of craft beer. Looking for someone to join me in any of the above 😄”
I loved that she wrote in actual sentences and I figured she’d appreciate some back. I typed out an opening message and hit send: “Hi Zara, your profile’s so well written! Where’s your favourite place for a craft beer in the city?”
It didn’t take long to get a reply of “Aw that’s nice of you to say, especially from a communications guy 😄,” (referencing my job on my profile) as we got into a conversation about our favourite spots around the city. Soon we hit topics like running, board games, and siblings. Over the course of the next couple days we’d send a few messages back and forth. The rapport felt great. Though we never got into one of those live-chat messaging sprees, where we were both online at the same time. Our texts were always separated by an hour or so at least, but the rhythm felt right. It was all pretty standard stuff at this point though, so I tried to turn the conversation more to relationships. I asked how the dating apps had been for her so far…
She said she’d been on Bumble a bit, but there were a lot less guys on there so she moved to Tinder (Hmm, looking for quantity over quality, I wondered). She’d been on a couple dates, but added “I also really hate dating so I don’t think that helps.”
I paused on that one. I’d heard similar sentiments fairly often since so many men on dating apps were unimpressive/lacking social skills/total dumpster fires. But if you hate dating, then why are you on a dating app? You must want something. I’d have to dig into it.
I relayed how my experience wasn’t too bad overall, and that she might hate dating more since she has to date men and I get to date women. But that didn’t seem right to her. She said the guys were actually quite nice. “I think I just need time to open up to the idea of dating. Unfortunately the first few dates are likely to be experimental. Dipping my toe so to speak.”
I could relate to that. I let her know how I’d been in a long-term relationship before, so my years of dating experience were still something I counted on fingers on one hand. She mentioned she’d had the same experience, a big long-term relationship that had ended a couple years ago. So we were on even ground there. OK, I thought, time to ask a more upfront question. “So what are you looking for, anything in particular?” I wrote. “Just a simple way to tiptoe back into the dating world? 😝”
“A relationship eventually, but I’ll take my time getting there. Certainly not looking to rush into anything too quickly. You?”
It was hard to figure out the level of caution she was holding on to versus her willingness to try and connect with someone new just from reading words on a screen. I’d have to parse this out in person. After some more messaging, I drummed up my courage and sent one asking her out. “Sooo, what do you think of meeting up some time for a drink maybe? You can wow me with your craft beer knowledge, though the bar for that is very low haha.”
“Haha yeah that sounds fun 😆,” she responded. I fist-pumped the air, alone in my bedroom. Target acquired! We set about planning our date.
We met at a trendy micro-brewery called Nonsuch. It had artistic overhead lighting meant to simulate the look of rain and was packed to the gills on a busy night. I arrived and the staff directed me to a cozy table where Zara was sitting. Right when I saw her, my eyes widened and I stiffened up. I couldn’t help it! She was so unbelievably gorgeous I could hardly wrap my head around it. I really don’t mean to oversell this thing, but seriously — I thought this was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. A wave of insecurity hit me right away. Why did she want to see me? Why didn’t I wear better clothes? How was I remotely good enough for her?
She smiled and waved me over though and we started talking. I’d have been perfectly fine just staring at her and hearing her talk about anything, but I did want to connect more deeply. And I was a good talker, I told myself.
Our rapport from texting was translating so well here, and we were able to keep it up in real-time. I relaxed a bit. We were both laughing, digging into topics that were interesting or jumping to new ones seamlessly. For two nonreligious people, we laughed about how quickly religion got brought up on a first date, as she said her mom taught some Sunday school while my mom taught at a Hebrew immersion public school.
I was totally captivated by her as I asked her about everything I could. She had moved to New Zealand with her long-term partner a few years ago, though they had broken up there. She had recently come back home to help out her sister, maybe just six months ago and they were living together. She had a nutrition background and worked for the government in New Zealand. She’d use Kiwi words here and there and I could sometimes hear little bits of a Kiwi accent come through and just loved it. “Nooouuuuu,” she’d say with this little New Zealand twang, as I swooned hopelessly.
She came off as very adventurous and free-spirited. She did ultra marathons like 50K’s which could take around eight hours and she was very dismissive about her ability to excel at them. Through it all she seemed so casually determined and fearless. I brought up my own series of adventures as she asked about my brief acting career (real shocker how quickly it took me to bring that up), travel, and how I stay active. The more we talked the more we seemed to connect.
The night just kept going and the vibe was feeling right, so we finished our drinks at Nonsuch and soon changed locations to a new spot called Parcel Pizza which had opened recently. We kept drinking and talking all night, saying how good the pizza looked here. We wondered very loudly about the orange wine they had on the menu and said we’d have to try some next time we came. Eventually, the staff closed the place down and ushered us out. We said our goodbyes. No kiss, just a nice hug, but that was fine with me. I went home thinking that was a verrrry good first date. Before I even got to bed, I had a message from Zara saying “Tonight was great. Can’t wait for parcel take 2 :)” and “Ps, my number is XXX if you’d rather message normally 😉.”
I was over the moon. The date had gone so well and she wanted to see me again. What more could I ask for?
The next week we set up a date back at Parcel Pizza. She got a reservation, but it was a little later than we wanted so she suggested meeting earlier for a drink at The Forks. She seemed so eager to meet, it made me feel super confident. We had a drink and she had me feel how dry her hands were from the winter air (like low-grade sandpaper, my god). Our banter from the first date picked right up where it left off as we chatted the night away. Soon it was time to go to Parcel Pizza.
Now, the Forks was very close to where we both lived as well as to Parcel Pizza, so walking there would have been no big deal. Instead though, my little brain hatched a plan I thought was worth it. I got my car cleaned so it had that real nice shiny look to it and drove. After having our drink I said, “hey I’ll just drive us there.”
“You drove? But we’re so close!”
As we got to my car and she saw how immaculately clean it looked next to all the brown snow-covered cars of Winnipeg that surrounded us, she burst out laughing in her trademark playful yelp that I’d already fallen for. “Did you drive here just so you could show me how clean your car is?”
I looked at her in faux-shock. “Me?” I said with a cheeky smile, “That’s crazy! Certainly doesn’t sound like something I would do!”
Plan worked perfectly.
I drove the 82 seconds it took to get us to Parcel Pizza and we had dinner together while indulging in a bottle of their finest orange wine. As the night went on, I felt we had this quality I loved where other people seemed friendlier to us than normal, like they were feeding off our positive energy. Our server seemed extra accommodating, saying she remembered us from the week before (thanks to Zara’s memorably sharp laugh), and gave us an amazing table called “the mafia table” because it overlooked everyone else like a mobster would. She also delighted at our choice to switch pepperoni for mushroom on one of their signature pizzas because Zara didn’t eat meat other than fish. I always aimed to be a server’s “favourite table,” (or at least convince myself we were their favourite). I remembered having many of those moments with Daniela, my long-term ex, so it was nice to re-live it here with Zara in a whole new way.
The dinner wrapped up. We’d realized we lived very close to each other and Parcel Pizza was only a short walk from either of our places. Zara said her sister was out for the night, so why don’t I come back to her place? I said that was a great idea, and we made our way there. We started another round of drinks and talked for a bit, but the tension was pretty palpable at that moment. We sat on the couch together and talked. I eventually made some forgettable joke to let a pause linger in the air and it worked. I stared at her, waiting to see if she’d lock eyes with me. She held her gaze for a second and that was all we needed. We grabbed each other and started kissing, passionately pressing into the couch and feeling each other up. We quickly moved from the couch to her room and continued. We were all over each other and it was an incredible night.
I walked home afterwards on a high I hadn’t been on in years. I had a group chat of a dozen friends that consistently had about 40 texts per day about random bullshit (into the hundreds during big hockey news). But I had only made passing or self-deprecating comments about my dating life to them. That night though, I couldn’t help feeling ten feet tall. So as I got home and drunkenly sat in my bathroom, I texted them all “boyssss I am ready to be made fun of but I just got back home and this girl is amazinggg, I am on cloud nine 😇😇😇”
What could go wrong?
We continued seeing each other over the next month. Our in-person dates were always great because we could connect so directly. We’d drop off baking treats for each other sometimes in the middle of the week. And we’d either go out to a nice restaurant or stay in and make a meal while sharing some wine (I had changed my Hello Fresh orders to include pescatarian options so I could make us a dinner we could enjoy together).
But I could feel this reticence in her when we were apart. The time between texting back would get longer and longer. Those long breaks made it very hard to be too flirty over texts with her, which I felt was a big weapon in my arsenal. Since she wasn’t reactive, I couldn’t be quick or witty. Everything “fun” I said would just linger there, untouched for hours until I maybe got a simple LOL back, and the moment was long passed. Any time the topic we were talking about was wrapped or concluded, that would be it for texting for the day. No follow-ups later on in the night with something new to talk about. She’d never ask something simple like “how was your day,” or “what are you up to now?” She’d just respond to questions I asked her, and that was it.
It was difficult for me, because I felt like I couldn’t really show who I fully was to her. Instead, I had to save everything for our dates. But by then, we seemed so engrossed with each other in the moment that everything I’d been thinking about bringing up from the days before was forgotten.
It felt like dating two different people: texting Zara and in-person Zara. I was hamstrung. At first, I figured she was just a bad texter (which she easily admitted to) and didn’t prioritize connecting very deeply on that level through words on a screen. But I started to think calling herself a bad texter and not being responsive was actually a way for her to keep me from getting too close. I mean, she was responsive at the start, right?
A couple weeks later in December, she went on a trip with her family to Palm Springs. “I’ll send you some Palm Springs photos to remind you of warmer days 😆”
Pictures! Yes! I appreciated any step toward any new level of intimacy. And she was so hot, obviously I wanted pictures of her.
“Ummm yes please! I might send you some back to guilt you into returning 😜”
“Cant wait” she said.
A few days later she sent some photos. I eagerly swiped through them. They were fine. They weren’t great. I was a little disappointed, but I didn’t want to feel entitled to more than she was comfortable sending.
What I got were far away full body shots on hikes or her surrounded by sandy trails and cacti. In cinematic terms, these might be called establishing shots. Not exactly intimate, but not bad. I wouldn’t have minded seeing her face up more closely, or something with a little personality. They had a very “photos to show grandma” vibe to them. They certainly weren’t being taken for me specifically.
She followed those up with some photos of the surrounding canyons with some wild-looking trees that she wasn’t even in. And while those were nice, that wasn’t really what I was looking for. But I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, or super thirsty. I texted, “Pics with you in them are much better… for proving you were really there, of course 😜.”
So she sent me a sweaty selfie mid-blink on a canyon hike.
I wasn’t sure how to take it! It was like a “purposefully ugly” photo, which could have actually been pretty funny, except it wasn’t really preceded or followed up by any sort of banter or joking around. So was she joking around? Or was she saying this is all you get. It was hard to tell her tone since I got so few messages from her. It seemed like it was a cute joke though… but it would be one of the only close photos of her on my phone for quite a while. Did she not like taking photos of herself? Or just not like sharing them with me?
I sent some pretend-vacation photos around snowy Winnipeg (with my own mid-blink selfie included) back to her as a joke. It got a LMAO, then we stopped texting until she was back a few days later.
Christmas passed by and my sense something was already off was growing worse. Our texts were getting more sporadic and less cute. Face-to-face, I could still feel all the good vibes, but we never got too deep into our feelings. Topics were always safe, never vulnerable. Our rapport was so good though, so it was hard to tell from the outside that something was wrong. But things just weren’t getting intimate, in an emotional sense. Then the next few times we’d hung out she’d found a reason to end the night early too, so they weren’t getting intimate in a physical way either!
We’d text more about running since I was starting to run more, and she was an absolute expert at it. It seemed like such a passion of hers, I wanted to do whatever I could to connect with her on that level. On any level, really. And I used to run fairly often. It seemed like the right time to pick it back up. Running topics seemed to spark her interest and she could talk about that with depth. She even invited me to pop by her run club a couple of times.
Eventually, we found a new restaurant had opened up that we both eagerly wanted to try out, Gather at The Leaf. The Leaf was an indoor garden that we could also check out, but the Gather restaurant looked exquisite. Locally sourced cuisine, shareable plates, elegant flavours; the tiny pretentious meals that are exactly how I like to eat on a date.
A date for Friday night appeared perfect, except she checked availability and apparently there was nothing. I went to their website, and she was right. Booked solid. Like any good millennial I loathed calling people on the phone, but I’d heard this could sometimes work at restaurants so I called them up and asked if they had a table for two. They shockingly said that their online system wasn’t working properly yet and they could have a table for us. I texted Zara back to say I got a table! I joked that I’d “sweet-talked” my way into a table and that the only way I could convince them was that we’d have to pretend to be diplomatic ambassadors to Canada — she was a New Zealand representative, while I’d have to go as Iceland (for my sliver of Icelandic heritage). It’s so stupid, I know, but I was just trying to be fun, flirty and silly. She seemed stoked and happy to play along with her new role as New Zealand ambassador.
The night came and we had another great time as fake ambassadors. The dinner was incredible. She sheepishly apologized if her authentic wool sweater from New Zealand smelled like sheep (I couldn’t tell) as I ordered a far too expensive bottle of wine. We soon returned to my place where Zara gave me some peanut butter squares her sister had made, then excused herself and left in about four minutes. No, not my standard one minute of sex and three minutes of apologizing. Just four minutes of awkwardly not wanting to get comfortable at my place, then leaving. She had to be somewhere early tomorrow, so that was that.
It was now the third time in a row she’d left without getting remotely close to me. Close didn’t have to mean sex. It could mean cuddling on the couch. It could mean making out. It could mean giving each other massages as we talked away our stresses. But since this budding relationship hadn’t even been two months long, three instances in a row was a fairly huge chunk of dates with maybe just a goodbye peck.
The next day there was no communication between us. She was off doing a big trail maintenance hike with her running crew early that morning, and I figured she was just exhausted. The day after, I sent a text. Well, three texts. One of those long meandering messages that says nothing and way too much all at once. I write them here verbatim so you can feel my pain:
“Hey there early bird, how was trail blazing yesterday? You did it for like 7 hours, right? I bet you were tired by the end of it, but I’m guessing it was still fun.
Hope you had a good time on friday even if we didn’t actually get to see the Leaf haha. That meal was delicious, I’m such a fan of sharing tapas… but also come on, I think we turned some heads! We looked damn good, great banter, fun stories (drunk and otherwise) and I believe there was a faint smell from your verrry authentic sweater. We hit all the senses!
Hopefully your weekends been nice, and those pb squares are sooo good, so thank you! Two left, we’ll see how long they last…”
It was separated into three blue chunks, each a big azure water balloon stretched to the max and begging to burst, adding considerable weight to my crippling anxiety that something was amiss.
Then hours later, her reply came.
“Yes
Me too!”
That was it.
Three words. THREE. WORDS. Each word a pin that precisely popped each bubble of mine into a wave of worry and misery.
“Yes, Me too!”
I told myself this was the worst Metoo-ing incident since Harvey Weinstein. How did her interest evaporate so quickly? I didn’t know what to do. I’d been sensing issues and this was my most clear-cut evidence.
That was the sum total of our weekend texting. We didn’t text at all Monday either, then Tuesday rolled around and she suddenly invited me to join her at her run club again. This was mid-January in Winnipeg. Anyone running in this weather was embracing the cold on a whole different level. But I was game, and honestly desperate for any clues into our relationship.
We met outside my building and jogged to the meeting spot together. There, we ran a freezing cold 5K with a group of 20 or so others. She was such a friendly and social person, and running clubs were basically her dream group of people, so she happily chatted with many others while we all ran. I didn’t know anyone other than her, and while I could look like a social extrovert in so many situations, this was me at my introverted worst. I felt at a disadvantage and on the periphery, as I watched her laugh her distinct, intoxicating laugh all night.
I couldn’t really judge her. These were her people, she was just having a good time. After, as we jogged back together, I asked if she wanted to come by for a bit. “No, I have to do laundry,” she said, and hustled off home.
I was frustrated. Why did she even invite me out? She’d barely talked to me. She ignored me all weekend. What the fuck was I to her? What purpose did I serve her life right now? She texted me a few minutes later to let me know the running club had posted videos to their Instagram stories. I checked them out, tapping through them to see if I showed up. There we were, her chatting with some guy and laughing loudly, me trailing behind five feet later like an absolute simp. I felt pathetic.
“Ooh, yay I made the cut!” I texted her. “And I could easily hear your laugh in one too lol”
“Lol! So piercing
Laundry done 👌”
I looked at her message, just shaking my head. I had essentially been shaking my head since I got home, angry and uncertain. Why was she telling me this? Did she really think I gave a shit about her laundry? Was she guilty about her rejection and having second-thoughts? Or just totally clueless about any of it? I couldn’t figure anything out.
But I thought I had nothing to lose. Might as well go with a Hail Mary. So I wrote:
“Come over and help with my laundry.”
Cheeky, right? Followed by:
“Okay I’m lying I have no laundry to do”
It was probably the most direct callout I’d made to her (which says something in its own right). She lived a three-minute walk away, why not just come over if all your errands are done, right?
“Bahaha. I could help you on Thursday, maybe you’ll have something by then 😉”
After coldly rejecting me 30 minutes ago, she was now sending flirty winky emojis to confirm a date to “help” with my laundry. I had absolutely no clue what the fuck was going on. Was I just over-analyzing to my own detriment?
Okay. Thursday. I would get all my answers then. It had been two months, and it was time to stop playing games. What was going on with us? What are we? Where are we going? I was going to ask it all. We’d never remotely come close to talking about “us” as a topic. But I was going to put all my cards on the table and see what happened.
Thursday rolled by and I could think of nothing else all day. I made dinner and opened a bottle of wine as we did our usual talk of safe topics. She told me about her new job working with the government in health, which I thought was fantastic for her. Soon we moved from the dining room to finishing the bottle on the couch as we got more serious.
I figured it would be a bit of a give-and-take conversation. I’d say a bit, and we could build off from there. So I started by saying how we’d been seeing each other for two months now… and before I could even elaborate, I instantly saw her expression change. It was like she knew the conversation she’d been dreading having was staring her in the face, and there was no way out. I concluded my thought, and let her speak.
“There’s someone else.”
My face fell. “Okay,” I said as I sipped my wine.
“There’s someone back in New Zealand. I was dating them before I had to come back here, and I want to see if things will work out with us.”
Okay. Wow. So this was doomed from the start. Why did we go through this all then? Why play around with pretending to want a relationship? We talked more and agreed that while we got along great, our long-term goals just didn’t align. She wondered though if we could continue to see each other casually since we did have a good time together, after all.
To which I said sure. I was devastated, and mortified, yes… but also kind of relieved. Losing her was awful, but at least I knew I wasn’t crazy. I had been reading these signs properly after all. I could relax. And If I could only see her every once in a while on the way to finding something more substantial then so be it.
We were intimate for the first time in weeks. I supposed that being with the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen wasn’t the worst thing, even if that was as close as I could get to her. But I knew she could be more.
And I knew I could be more.
