Regrets

What? Another postponement? Those were your thoughts, but somehow they didn't make it from your brain to your mouth. “That's OK,” you tell him. “I understand.”

But you don't understand. Why has he postponed yet again? Is he really interested in you, or not? Wasn't that first date as much fun for him as it was for you? He certainly seemed to enjoy himself. He said he loved it. He said he would call you.

Well, he did call. He asked you out again. A lovely invitation to go to the Grand Opening of that new Greek restaurant downtown. Probably because you told him how much you loved Greek food. You were excited, of course.

Then he called again. He couldn't make it to the Grand Opening. “Something came up at work,” he said. “That's OK, I understand,” was your response.

Of course, it was. You wanted to ask what could be so important in a sales job that he couldn't make it to an evening dinner. To a Grand Opening. With a beautiful, smart, sophisticated woman like you. One he had really enjoyed talking with on that wonderful first date. Where you and he spent four hours at the coast, sitting on rocks, looking at the turbulent water below, and talking.

You wanted to cry. You didn't want to go to the restaurant alone, especially to their Grand Opening. You loved Greek food, a lot. But you didn't much care for eating in a fancy restaurant by yourself. Again.

To his credit, he called again. He invited you to Taverna Aphrodite once again. It wouldn't be the Grand Opening, of course. And maybe that was a good thing. It might not be as crowded as the Grand Opening. Then again, based on the rave reviews since then, people had to book reservations weeks in advance for any of the reserved tables. Others waited in line for hours to be seated at one of the open tables. A wait made slightly more appealing since they offered a complimentary glass of wine or an ouzo cocktail as compensation for the long wait.

Their Raspberry Ouzo Slush was billed as “delightfully decadent” in Food & Wine.

How your taste buds watered, drooled actually, as you looked forward to a Raspberry Ouzo Slush followed by an equally delightfully decadent meal with a man who could easily pass as a Greek God or demi-God. A man who actually listened to you. One who “got” you. And how those same taste buds soured when you said “That's OK, I understand” to another postponement. Maybe cancellation was a more apropos word.

Well, the third time's the charm, as your mother used to say. He called again, you answered again, and he actually apologized.

“Sorry,” he began, “but I couldn't get a reservation at Taverna Aphrodite until October. I didn't want to wait that long, and I hope you don't either. So I booked something sooner. Next Tuesday, 7:00 p.m., at The Crazy Greek downtown. How does that sound?”

An apology, from a man? Granted, he should be apologizing. But from a man? Of course, you couldn't tell him that. Those thoughts, like so many, needed to be monitored and kept inside. Part of you wanted to gush. Really? The Crazy Greek? I've heard nothing but good things about their souvlaki. More thoughts to keep inside.

Maybe your enthusiasm was scaring him off. Maybe you should curb your enthusiasm, based on his track record. “Sounds great. I'm looking forward to it.”

Perhaps your mother's constant reminders to be cautious were finally working. Yes, you allowed him the 'great' in your response. But you avoided telling him you were 'really' looking forward to it. That's a good thing; right? You didn't tell him how disappointed, hurt, confused, and angry you were, either. Maybe not telling him that was also a good thing. You can handle it. You always do. Better to keep quiet and go along with the flow, right?

That didn't work out for your mother. And so far it wasn't working too good for you, either. But it was so much easier than being negative, or confrontational. Besides, this time you were going to go somewhere normal with Bob. A second date, at a decent Greek restaurant, downtown. If things didn't work out you could always take the MAX home.

What's wrong with you? Of course, things will work out. He's a gentleman. You had a lovely time at the coast with him on that first date. He listened to you then, he remembered how much you love Greek food, and he even apologized. Finally. On top of that, he's funny, witty, intelligent, well-read. And he's a hunk. Things will definitely work out this time.

Tuesday afternoon. You rush home from work, change your clothes (three times), freshen your makeup, admire your hair since you skipped lunch to get it styled and pick up a good book to pretend to read. Your mind is racing; there is no way you could read right now. You reflect on his deep blue eyes. That doesn't help your mind slow down, or your heart. It does bring a blush to your face. Hopefully, the makeup makes the blush less obvious, in case you blush at seeing him, or something he says.

You check your watch; 6:05, a full two minutes since you looked at it last. He said he would pick you up at 6:00 tonight. But even 6:20 should give you plenty of time to get to the restaurant on time. The phone vibrates, making a small noise against the casual table where it rests next to the book.

Oh, no. It's Bob calling. Another cancellation? It better not be, not again, not after all you went through today. Maybe he's outside, in his car. It's just late enough for him to save the time of coming up to your door and knocking. Picking up the phone you stand and head towards the door as you answer.

“Hello, Bob.? Before you can ask if he's outside or not, he starts talking.

“I'm so sorry . . .” more words follow that phrase, but you aren't listening to him. You're listening to that inner voice, the one that is telling you to speak your mind. Do not, under any circumstances, tell him it's OK and that you understand.

“Steph? Are you there?” You didn't hear his explanation, because that inner voice was too loud. Now he's asking if you are there. You need to say something. Tell him what you really think, how you feel.

“Steph? You understand, don't you?”

You don't understand, not really. You didn't even hear his excuse this time. “Just say it,” you remind yourself. “Tell him you've had enough.” You're really going to regret it if you don't tell him. You're already regretting not having told him sooner.

“Steph?”

“I do understand, Bob.” You're going to tell him what you do understand, not that you understand his lame list of excuses. You're going to tell him how much you have been looking forward to seeing him again, several times, only to be disappointed again. You're going to tell him . . .

“I'm so glad you do understand, Steph. I'll call you next week.” The phone goes dead.

You're not going to tell him anything else until he calls next week. Or unless you call him back.