Okay, this is not really an essay, more like a grown-up recount, but I promised myself I would write about it, so here goes. The title is a reference to a post published about a similar situation, eight (!) years ago, on this very blog.
Last Monday, I asked out the guy I liked and he said "yes".
The ask came after a catch up at Cornwall Park, a site where I've gone on many an awkward walk and had many an awkward conversation. If it went poorly, as I suspected/dreaded/imagined a hundred different scenarios about, then no problem - par for the course with Cornwall Park. If it went well, as I allowed myself only the tiniest sliver of hope about, then it would redeem all those awkward conversations forever and ever, Amen.
We talked for over two hours, walking at first, slowly, because he was sleepy. We sat at a pentagon-shaped bench and talked more as the sky changed from blue to a peach and pink affair. Dogs, elderly couples, runners and families trickled past us, ending their evening walks and picnics. The light was fading when I made the first move to swing my legs outward from the bench and head towards the car park.
As we approached the paved lot, I reached the moment that I had told myself I would do it. The fact that my spirit appeared to be leaving my body at said moment was unfortunate, but not an excuse to delay the asking.
"Hey, so, I wanted to ask..." I took a steadying breath as he offered a kind, "Yeah?"
"Would you be interested in... going on a date with me sometime?"
Here are the fragments of his response, transcribed in order of delivery, to a questionable degree of accuracy.
"Oh wow! Thank you so much for asking, that takes a lot of courage, good on you."
*Long pause*
"Yes. I mean, why not, right? We're such good friends and we're on the same wavelength..." *trails off*
"It's just so unexpected!"
"I'm just thinking out loud here, and I may be getting ahead of myself, but like I mentioned, I'm just not sure how things would look in terms of being in a relationship with the season I'm in."
"I mean, yes, my answer is 'yes'."
"When you say 'date', what exactly do you mean?"
*Gives me a hug*
"We'll be in touch!"
*Leaves*
What was I doing during this exemplary chain of external processing, you ask?
Scuffing my shoes against the gravel. Trying not to cry and laugh (at the same time). Trying to breathe. Giving him multiple opportunities to back out of his 'yes'. Saying - I kid you not - "oh wow, I was fully expecting you to say 'no'." Clarifying what I meant by the word 'date'.
I climbed into my car and immediately realised I was starving. I needed fries, stat. I was also aware of making a hiccupping sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cry (see efforts to suppress, above). The only thing that helped was placing my head in my hands and letting it all wash over me.
I called S on the way to my friend N's house. She was excited, and encouraged me not to get too in my head about it all. I took N out to Burger Fuel, having been banned by S from going to Macca's. ("Not a celebratory meal" she said.) N was much more cautious than S; her feelings mirrored my own. "Here's to you," she said, "we can celebrate your courage!" I tipped my Coke bottle against her thick-shake.
I arrived home and crawled into bed a little after 11. The ball's in his court now. If he messages me within the next 1-3 days, I thought, then he's interested. If he leaves it later than that, well, then, clearly, he's not.
He messaged at 7:40 the next morning. By the following morning, we have confirmed plans to go for another walk up a local mountain next Tuesday.
***
My response to this remarkable sequence of events has varied from day to day.
On Wednesday, I am nauseous about the whole thing. I draft a message to him backing out. "Thinking of sending this" I say to S. My mind makes itself sick by going over all the possible reasons why this was a terrible idea. He wasn't attracted to me. He had said 'yes' out of pity. He was secretly in love with my flatmate, J, and my asking him out had made him realise he needed to act on that. These are not pretty confessions, but here they are: a testament to the insanity of the love-uncertain brain.
Thankfully Wednesday is for the most part, a blip. I am nervous, of course. But I am also genuinely excited and looking forward to talking with him, now that my cards are on the table and not clutched close to my chest. My sliver of hope has, against all odds and usual practice, grown.
I am comfort reading, of course. Lily King's Writers & Lovers has calmed and distracted me in moments when I have needed it most. In pulling together this piece this week, I have remembered Casey's words on writing: "I don't write because I think I have something to say. I write because if I don't, everything feels even worse." I have needed to write something, any small thing, to get down on the page how I'm feeling about it all. My journal has barely left my side.
I've also returned to Prayer in the Night, finding solace and firm footing in the God who is present always, even and especially in darkness and uncertainty. I am not expecting heartache to come from this, but if it does, I will be okay. I am kept and held by a Father who has schemed goodness for my future. I am safe.
***
It is Tuesday morning. I am about to head into school. Tonight, I will put on a green dress, drive to the mountain and...
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