Authors: Stacey Ballis
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Contemporary Women
Off the Menu (12 page)
At this point, I happened to change my status on Facebook to
Alana is
… waiting for an offer. Which I was. From my friend Denise, who had dropped hints about she and I team-teaching a special Valentine’s Day menu, and what with all the online percolating that was going on, I was starting to think about romantic food, and daring to imagine that I might in fact have someone for whom to cook this year.
Alana—
So regarding that offer … Is that a professional offer you’re waiting for? Or perhaps a social one?
Not sure what I can do about the former, but perhaps with all this rampant flirting and references to pumpkins and nudity and all, one of us should get bold and make an offer.
So … Wanna go hunting for naked pumpkins?
Or perhaps a drink first would be better form?
Now to sign off I need an outlaw name …
Seth the Kid
Kid—
Guilty of playing up the double entendre … I am waiting for an offer for a cooking-class gig, and waiting for you to ask me out.
But hunting for naked pumpkins sounds like a lovely way to spend an evening with you. Drinking while hunting naked pumpkins even better.
Alana
Then, there is nothing. Nada. Radio silence. One day goes by. Then two. On the third day I ask two straight guys on the crew what the deal is and they say, don’t worry. By the fourth day, I cannot stand it so I send this:
Seth—
I think you’re in NY, and hope you’re having some fun here and there between what must be an insane amount of work. You are missing a glorious day here in Chicago.
Can’t remember if you get back Thursday or Friday, but if you were thinking about trying to get together next weekend sometime, let me know.
Have a great trip, and I’ll look forward to seeing you when you get back.
Alana
On day seven I begin getting weird messages from Facebook, repeats of stuff I already received days earlier, notes from people that messages I sent haven’t been received … so I send this to his regular e-mail:
Seth—
Sort of confused as to why I haven’t heard from you … but have had a couple people tell me that Facebook messages I have sent have not been received, so just in case, thought I’d try to catch you here. So, if for some reason my notes didn’t come through, was just checking in to see if you still wanted to get together. And if for some reason you’d prefer not to be in touch, let me know that too.
Alana
Two MORE days go by and then FINALLY I get this:
Hi, Alana—
Sorry to have disappeared! Been in some work semi-hell, with a devious employee (now ex) making life very difficult and requiring me to be in New York this week. Ah, the joys of running a company. Will be back this weekend to regroup and then I will get back to life in general—thanks for understanding!
S
This is the last thing I heard from him. It would have been totally fine if he had taken me out once, told me there was no chemistry, and wished me a happy life, like any mature, normal guy in his MID-FREAKING-FORTIES would do. But friending me, flirting with me, asking me out and then falling off the face of the flipping earth after I say yes is simply inexcusable. Nearly two months went by, and every time he posted on Facebook it just made me seethe. I made excuses to go to New York to spend time with Bruce, just to remind myself that I am desirable company. I read back over the e-mails we had exchanged eight million times wondering what exactly had turned him off. I overindulged in late-night baking, bringing endless brownies and cookies and sweet breads into the studio so that I wasn’t left home alone with sugary treats, but still managed to gain five pounds. Barry and the girls dutifully made noises about what a shit he had been, what shits men were in general, and reminded me that I was lucky to find out what kind of guy he was before actually getting involved with him. And I got over it, I thought.
And then I got a brief e-mail from him asking if my schedule was busy. Shocked and annoyed I replied simply that yes, it was. He said that was a bummer, and did I want to try to see if we could find some time for an afternoon coffee.
And I? Went off the freaking deep end.
Seth—
So, to be clearer than perhaps I was in my last note, yes, my schedule is entirely my own, yes, it is busy, and no, I am not particularly inclined anymore to create space in it for you.
I have far more lovely people in my life than I ever have time for, and these days, only make room for two kinds of new people. Either people who seem to have romantic potential or people who seem to have good friendship potential. You clearly lost any interest in the former sometime around my acceptance of your date back in December, and have not exactly shown yourself to be terribly worthy of either in light of your overall inconsiderateness.
Most people would have written you off completely once your initial ardor cooled, but since everyone I know who knows you thinks you are this great guy, I figured I’d still try to give you a second chance to see if we could be friends. (Why I would want to be friends with someone who behaves in a manner I’m fairly certain his mother would find horrifying, is a different issue, and one I should probably explore.)
I even suppose if your note to me the other day had indicated the slightest bit of remorse on your end, the tiniest acknowledgment that you have been deeply and importantly rude to me, even a modicum of “mea culpa, wait till you hear why I’ve been such an
asshat, and wait till you see how I’m going to make it up to you,” I probably would have been still open to getting together. But “afternoon coffee”? That famous audition-meeting of the noncommittal? The event you don’t really look forward to, and create firm plans to get you out of in a definitively brief time frame? SERIOUSLY? That I REALLY don’t have time for. I don’t even drink coffee.
Despite your behavior, I certainly wish you no ill will. I assume at some point that you and I will, by virtue of the small world in which we live, be in a room together, and interact in the way acquaintances do. Making time to be in a room with you for the express purpose of spending time together? I’m hard-pressed to imagine why on earth I would do that. Sounds like an exercise in futility to me.
Bummer, indeed. The whole thing.
Alana
HA! Take that you supreme fucksnort. That will teach you to be so careless with the emotions of someone of my caliber. Coffee indeed. Kiss the fattest part of my ass. I forward my letter to Barry and the girls, who are unanimous in telling me that I showed him and struck a blow for women everywhere, but I get the sense they think I might have gone a little overboard. Bennie suggests I might have been able to get my point across with fewer words. Barry says he is going to steal it for his next audition. I reread it a few times, and do agree that perhaps I could have edited, but then my pride comes back and I think that he should not have been spared
one bit of my ire. As my dad would say, he is neither fish nor meat, not remotely worthy of attention or respect.
I am all kinds of sassy and self-important for about three hours. Then I get this.
Alana—
Feel better?
Good. I’m glad you got that off your chest. You’re entitled to whatever perceptions you want to have, and I won’t argue with you about them. I’m sorry both that I disappointed you, and that you feel that much more disappointed on top of that.
Since we began those chats, more than you know has gone on. In addition to a very stressful and time-consuming employee issue that’s cost much time and much money, I’ve had two serious health scares and a death in the extended family. All serious flirting and social activities more or less came to a halt during that time. I’m sure you would have appreciated an explanation, but, frankly, a series of e-mails saying, Hi, Alana, forgive the silence, but I’m afraid I might have cancer, followed by Hi, Alana, well you’re not gonna believe this, but I came down with a flu that’s gotten into my muscles and I’m having trouble walking—well that seemed burdensome to both writer and reader alike.
I was just genuinely trying to reopen contact, at which time I would have been happy to tell you what’s happening. I didn’t have to do that, but I did, out of sheer interest in getting better acquainted.
Life gets in the way sometimes, Alana, as I am sure you know. Apart from a few other times of intense personal losses, the last year has been the most challenging of my life, and I’m sorry that it coincided with the opportunity to get better acquainted.
As for behavior that my mother would find horrifying, I think right now she’s more focused on being happy that her son has a healthy prognosis and is likely to live a good long time, and be able to walk straight and breathe easily while doing it.
I can’t really apologize that you weren’t among the first on my list to notify, because frankly I didn’t really notify many people in my inner circle. The anxiety was intense.
How much of the anger in your note should be placed solely on my shoulders or not is up to you to reflect on, but I certainly hear your frustration and I’m sorry my circumstances added to it. But can I just say that someone suggesting getting together for coffee, while perhaps not the dream date you’d prefer, is hardly a slap in the face; and next time, before you invest yourself in such an eviscerating diatribe (incredibly well written though it is), you might ask some questions first. I’m not saying you’re not owed explanations; I’m just saying there are better ways of getting them than acting as if you’ve been the victim of one of the year’s more astonishing emotional atrocities.
Can I suggest letting cooler heads prevail, allowing some dust to settle, and meeting sometime for, perhaps, a friendly tea?
Seth
Crap. So much for my finding my inner strength and representing with the power of the pen all of the women who have had time and energy wasted and then been blown off by stupid boys on the interwebs. I go back and reread my letter again, and for some reason cannot find any of the cleverness or strength I thought it contained forty minutes ago, and instead see an overly reactive, whiny, sad letter that reads like the desperate ravings of someone who is going to remain single for a very, VERY long time.
Sigh.
Seth—
Well how on earth am I supposed to feel better without my righteous indignation? The whole thing isn’t really fun unless YOU’RE the asshole. When I’M the asshole it takes all the enjoyment out of it.
And since you have been so forthcoming, which you certainly had no responsibility to do in light of my vitriol, I will attempt to reciprocate.
You were sort of an unexpected and delightful surprise. Someone I had found to be smart and funny, someone who turned out to not just share the interests I already knew about, but several that I was thrilled to discover. And during a time when (for many reasons I am sure you can guess based on my previous missive) I have essentially left all dating in the hands of fate and fix-ups, you appeared out of nowhere and engaged in delicious badinage, and brought a little bit of hopeful life into a dating dry spell. Just enough that you put a little spring in my step. And then you
disappeared, making me wonder exactly what the hell was so wrong with me that the very act of saying yes to a date sent you fleeing.
Bad criticism, to paraphrase one of my favorite movies, is fun to write. You hurt my feelings, made me feel small, and while I get that it wasn’t your intention, it struck a much deeper nerve than I had a right to attribute to you alone. And when it has happened in the past, I have never really indulged my desire to call someone on their bad behavior, and often regret sucking it up and keeping mum. Clearly I picked the wrong time to decide to let it all hang out.
Thank you for your honesty, and the rightful scolding, which obviously I needed. And I am sorry for what you have suffered, and only wish that things had been in a different place, one where you might have thought to lean a bit, even just for an ear to vent to. I talk too much, and write a hundred words when ten would suffice, but I do listen.
And I happen to like tea very much. Although under the circumstances, I think something a little stronger might be more appropriate. (Scotch, not hemlock …)
Be in touch or not as your head leads you. It’s either the best or worst possible beginning to something, and, frankly, I am at a loss as to which. But I am delivering a ball into your court for you to do with as you choose. I personally am a big fan of the total rewind/do-over. Your mother isn’t the only one who is grateful that you have a healthy prognosis. And now I must go buy a hair shirt. Do you think they have them at Target?
Alana
“I’m still proud of you for standing up for yourself,” Bennie said about the whole affair. “You had no way of knowing he had all that going on. I still think he is a schmuck.”
“Of
course
he is still a schmuck. He could play the woe-is-me health card all he wants; he was Facebooking all over the place every day, posting links and commenting on people’s walls. If he could play fucking Mob Wars, he could have takes ten seconds to just get in touch. Even if he didn’t want to tell me the specifics, a short e-mail that just said things were completely off the rails and stay tuned would have done the trick. It’s just that I am a
worse
schmuck, and I come off like a completely desperate idiot.”
“Well, you never know. You did leave the ball in his court, maybe he will get back in touch.” She didn’t sound convinced.
You can imagine the rest. He did not get back in touch. And to his credit, the one time I ran into him at a restaurant, he was lovely and chatty and did not give any indication of his secret personal knowledge that I am an insane person.
Which is why I am trying with limited success not to hope too hard about RJ. I have been here before, with the meet cute and the sense of possibility and the great e-mails and the greater disappointment.
Then again, I can’t help but fess up that deep down, I know that this is usually when the heroine convinces herself that she is okay alone, that she has a great life that she is proud of, that she doesn’t need a man to complete her or make her days have meaning. That she vows to focus on any new person coming into her life as a potential new friend, nothing more, and that she is going to just let whatever will be, be.