Don’t Be Fooled — This Date Isn’t Going Anywhere…

From the very first moment that I clapped eyes on Ari, I was intrigued. He was unlike any guy I’d ever met before and I immediately felt out of my depth. He was too good-looking for me, too cool, too savvy, but I hoped that I was different somehow from the other girls he must date; intriguing in my own way.

I met Ari via that classic source, Tinder, and after sending some electric messages, we arranged to go out on a date. We were only free on Saturday that week (not the best day for a first date), but as I didn’t have any other plans, I figured, why not?

We were due to meet at 7pm at a bar that was equidistance from our houses. I arrived at 6.59pm, forever punctual, and peered nervously into the bar. This was the worst moment of any first date — the attempt to identify the other person who may or may not look like the photos you’ve seen of them.

He wasn’t there. I started looking at my phone, worried, and at 7.03pm he sent a message to say that he was running 15 minutes late. This pissed me off. I didn’t like waiting, and I felt a bit awkward waiting on my own inside the bar.

I ordered a drink and sat down. 15 minutes went by, plus another 10. He finally showed up 28 minutes late. I had been considering leaving, but in the end I didn’t because I was so desperate to meet him. What if he was the one I’d been searching for all this time?

So we greeted one another, and I quickly forgot about him being late as we fell into the same fast-paced conversations we’d been having via message. It felt so refreshing to bypass all of the usual first date interview questions and to really talk.

A little while into the conversation he revealed the reason he’d been late — a Halloween costume that he had been preparing. The one which he was going to put on in the toilets at the end of our date as he made his way to a party. Astounded, I looked at him with bewilderment and asked meekly, “You’re going to a party after this date?” Unashamed, he nodded and declared himself surprised that I didn’t also have secondary plans. I was clearly taken aback and again contemplated leaving, but Ari convinced me that it was a misunderstanding and that I should stay for another drink. He put it down to cultural difference — I was British and he was Israeli but had lived in the US for many years, where it was normal practice.

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The date finished on a high note with a steamy kiss outside the bar. Later that evening I felt thrilled when he sent me a message to say that the Halloween party had been shit and that he wished he’d stayed with me instead (but if he’d been having such a good time, why didn’t he stay?).

Like a fool, I agreed to a second date.

This one he turned up to on time and without any other plans — something that should be taken as a standard, but somehow seemed like a compliment to me given our first experience.

The night flew by with more chat, and more attempts from me to pretend that I was someone that I wasn’t. When it ended, I agreed to a third date.

I felt pretty conflicted. On the one hand, I found many things about him annoying — his drawling accent, his right-wing political views, his arrogance. Yet on the other, I was completely and utterly drawn to him in a way that I had never been to any other man.

Looking back, it was clear that he could read me like a book — my nervousness betrayed how much I liked him. My goofy jokes showed how keen I was to impress him. My attempts to appear confident signaled my inner insecurities. He made hints that he was a bit of a player, but coupled them with comments about how much he liked me, that he thought I was different. I could feel myself sitting up straighter under his praise.

On date 3 somehow we got on to a conversation about marriage and I told him that, as a child of divorce, I didn’t really believe in marriage and he responded by saying that if weren’t for the fact that he didn’t believe in marriage either, he’d propose to me on the spot. I could barely contain my smile. Despite what I’d just said, he’d now planted the idea in my head of us getting married, and my brain ran away with the fantasy of this gorgeous, interesting and intelligent man wanting to marry me.

After the third date, I waited and waited to hear from him. I checked my phone every five seconds, but there was nothing. I thought about him constantly. I physically ached to see him again.

Two, three days passed by without hearing anything. I’d wanted to play it cool and wait for his message (which before had been fast to appear), but eventually I couldn’t wait any longer. I message him, asking when we could see each other again. His response: “I’m just in a really complicated time right now. I’ll let you know when I’m out the other side.”

What? I didn’t get it. Date number three had been incredible. I thought he was as excited about me as I was about him. He’d said as much as we’d woken up together the next morning after date 3.

I replied with the truth: I liked him, I wanted to see him again, I hoped he could figure out his shit.

And so I waited. I couldn’t help it. No matter how many other dates I went on, or how much I tried to forget him, he was always at the back of my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. What was going on? Would he message again? What could be so complicated that he couldn’t see me again?

And then, three months later, out of the blue, he asked if I wanted to meet up. Despite my better judgement I didn’t even hesitate before saying yes. So we met, and the story came out. He’d been dating someone else at the same time as me and it had become a proper relationship so he’d fobbed me off. Now it was over, he was ready to start dating me again.

I looked at him, once again flabbergasted. I guessed, correctly, that it had been his new girlfriend that had dumped him. So here he was, looking to pick up second best (and I couldn’t even guarantee that I was second on the list, who knows how many others he’d already tried to rekindle things with). Finally, I managed to gather some dignity and I left. The thing I should have done when he showed up 28 minutes late and on his way to another party.

The feeling that the other person has all of the cards in their hands is never a good basis to start a relationship. The fact that he kept me guessing, kept me waiting, kept me on tenterhooks meant that he had all the power, and I was willing to accept whatever scraps of attention he offered.

The good news is that my older self is wiser now because I went through the experience and learned from it.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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