I think this might be a record for slowest relationship start – scratch that, since I don’t know if this is the start of anything whatsoever. The magic 8 ball aka my Mother says yes but this has not been an auspicious start.
This is the longest it’s taken me to have four dates with anyone. I don’t count Jake since we stopped after the first.
Dates isn’t even a great term. The first meeting was a pre clearance date. Then a dinner date, then a spontaneous late night discussion on my couch, and most recently, another couch conversation in lieu of what was supposed to be a date.
Three months from our first contact.
I spent the first month, almost two, frustrated at Kyle’s lack of communication and proactive confirmations of the dates we’d set.
I let a lot of that go in the last 4-6 weeks. I had lowered my expectations, and while I still reached out on occasion to drive a conversation forward, otherwise I waited for him to get in touch.
Then recently, while on the phone one night, Kyle proactively asked about my schedule. We found overlapping dates when we were both at home and child free, and he asked me to see him on three separate dates.
I had no doubt he liked me, but there was something breaking down between intention and action.
The first day came we were supposed to see each other. Used to him not checking in the day before, I did instead. Damned if I was going to sit around wondering.
But no, I was deprioritized. With a late work day, a 7am golf tee off time the next day, and a flight to catch later, there was no time in Kyle’s head to see me with the other things he needed to get done. And it’s not that it was unreasonable, but I received a clear message – I wasn’t that important.
He asked if we could delay until later that week, but I had plans which I wasn’t going to adjust for him. Those plans fell through so I checked in with Kyle that afternoon. He was flying back and said he’d text when he landed. Yeah, heard that one before.
We did have a decent text conversation that afternoon. We were even in contact when his flight landed. He said he’d come over around 9-9:30. He said he was fading fast but confirmed he would make the effort to see me. Not 15 minutes later I texted him that I was ready and then he said
I wish I was kidding. At first I figured he was on his way. He lives only 5 minutes from me. I sat on my couch and waited. I surfed Instagram, first my feed and then the activity list of those I follow. It was now 40 minutes after my last text. Imagine my anger when I saw not 15 minutes before he’d liked a bunch of photos.
At 10pm I texted “you still coming?”
I went to bed and slept fitfully. He sent me a text at 1am:
Fell asleep. Sorry.
Fucking asshole, were the words that went through my head. Memories of him getting home “late” when bumble said otherwise were still fresh. Did I doubt he was tired? Nope. Did he fall asleep? Sure. Did he not care enough to reply to my text even while he had time to play on Instagram? Obviously.
I waited until later morning to respond: okay.
Naturally, there was no response from him. We were supposed to have a date the next evening – date two of the three he had booked with me – and I started to seriously doubt it was going to happen. I had to make a decision about whether to just wait or to reach out it yet again.
I hated the wait.